Page 66 of Margins of Love
“I want you so badly, Rachel. I want you, and I want to give myself to you.” His announcement hummed in the crisp night, enveloped by starry reflections from the candlelight refractions of the crystals.
He would not take her virtue; he kept telling himself and almost believed it. But he had nothing to lose if she could be his wife. He looked for remorse in his heat but could not find any if she could only become his wife. She was a virgin Jewish girl. She could make his world whole and allow him to carry on his Cohanim privilege.
Fave leaned back over her. He kissed her on the mouth and probed her gently with his tongue. She instinctively granted him access, and he lay down on her, supporting his weight on his knees atop the covers. They kissed for a while, in a delirium of feeling and sensuality. He deepened the kiss and she responded. The silk fabric caressed his skin everywhere—the lush and soft folds covering her slim body.
There was a truth at the moment that trumped all secrets. It was their moment, their night.Their secret.
She began to unbutton her dress. Her movements were slow but deliberate.
“You don’t have to do this,” he whispered.
“I want to,” she said with a smile when she looked down at him through her perky breasts.
Her body was still tense, radiating desire.
He could help.
With one swift motion, he turned her onto him. She was on him now, and a breast fell out. She looked down, and it took her breath. She covered it with her hand. He caught this shock with a kiss and put his hand on hers. She was not going any further.
He was deepening this kiss and began to wriggle. He wrapped his other arm around her back, and they sat up. He pushed his manhood toward her, the evidence of his desire. While she was covered in silk and lace and all this fabric, he could push and grind ever so slightly and imagine what it would be like inside her. It was only in his imagination, for he had never been inside a woman before. He could not allow himself, but his restraint and self-control were wearing out when he touched the beautiful girl. Everything about her was perfect, smooth, slim in all the right places, and lush in others.
She responded in kind with a tilt of her hips. If it were not for all of the fabric, he would be burying himself to the hilt. But he would not let himself, convinced of his control.
Her dress bunched up her legs. She shifted and looked at all the clothes between them.
“Help me out here, take me out. I can’t breathe.” She lifted her arms and begged for him to drape the garment over her head.
He inhaled and complied.
As he revealed her body, sitting on his, he fell back on the bed.
“Thank you.” She smiled seductively as she dropped the heavy fabrics to the ground behind her.
His eyes closed, but he shook with laughter.
“Why are you laughing at me?” Rachel asked.
“I’m not laughing at you. Far be it for me to do that.” But he laughed harder. He did not know why but he was so happy. She was a gift of beauty, and she was here with him. Nude.
He opened his eyes and took her in, sitting on him. Her forehead wrinkled when her nose crinkled.This would be fun.
Then he stopped laughing and rubbed his face to ensure he was not dreaming this time as he had so many times before.
His voice came out hoarse and almost like a growl. “You are challenging me in the most basic of ways. I should have known.”
“What do you mean?” She climbed off him, covering herself with the sheets.
“Oh no, don’t. Don’t do that.” He put a firm grip on the sheet and met her eyes. “I will always try to rise to the challenges you pose for me.” And he smiled at her—a genuine, happy smile.
He would not compromise her. Fave told himself again and again.
She dropped onto the pillows, frowning. A princess on the pea, withering in his bed. No, no.
No!
He was now near her hips and slid her into the center of his bed. His hands rested on her waist, his thumbs symmetrically rubbing over the tips of her hip bones, her belly rising and falling slightly between them. He brushed a kiss on her navel, then another. She became ticklish again, and he went lower.
With one hand, he caressed the insides of her thighs; with the other, he found her opening. He did not dare to look at her, but she stilled. He was passion, fire, and desire. Unlike ever before, Fave was consumed by heat. He burned to plunge into her, but he could not, and he would not. He had too much respect for her and his ancestral responsibilities. So he inserted a finger, and she squealed. He came up to look into her eyes. He needed the expression on her face as feedback to guide him.
