This Loving Land - Dorothy Garlock [58]
Gently, he moved, slowly, his body rigid, trembling. He raised his head so he could see her face; it was glowing and full of love. His movements quickened. There was no more pain, he could read it in her eyes. With a stifled groan, he covered her mouth with his, and their bodies arched together, her movements meeting his. Tingling waves traveled like quicksilver through her veins. “I love you,” she screamed inside, as her body twisted and he seemed to take her to the edge of the world and they flew out into space locked together.
Wave after wave of pure physical pleasure washed over them. They were two beings wrapped in the perfect bliss of their union, giving all to each other and in return receiving everything and more. Summer only suspected that theirs was a special love; Slater knew it. He had been a man burning for peace, for contentment. It was here, beneath him, in the body of this small woman. He poured himself into her, groaning, shuddering, reaching for her very soul with his possession and binding his heaving body to hers in total consummation.
Afterwards, still joined to him, she hardly had strength left to return his kisses. She was weak and lifeless in body, but her spirit soared, and she wanted to tell him how it was with her.
“It was wonderful! You are . . . wonderful!”
Relief flowed through him. Tenderly, he pushed the damp hair from her face and his heart swelled. He had never dared to hope, to dream, of finding a woman like this. He bent his head and reverently kissed her forehead, her lips, her breast. He was filled with indescribable joy and contentment. Lifting himself up and out of her, he lay beside her and reached for his shirt. Gently, he wiped the perspiration from her face, drew the soft cloth across and around her breast, down over her flat belly, and between her thighs, cleansing her. It was an act of loving devotion, and Summer recognized it as such.
He drew back and they stared at each other. She was acutely aware of his naked chest and lean, muscular body, and he was totally conscious of her slender nakedness, but there was no shyness, no embarrassment.
“I love you,” she sighed in a soft, trembling voice.
“And I love you,” he said huskily. “Thank you for loving me too.”
Later, he slipped into his clothing, then helped her dress.
“If you were in my house, I could love you all night long.” He said it softly, teasingly. And then, seriously, “But I understand your reasons for not wanting to come now.”
Too tired, almost, to move, she sat still while he felt about on the blanket for her hair ribbon, found it, and slipped it about her neck, leaving her hair hanging free.
They looked at each other with new eyes. What they’d had before tonight was wonderful . . . now it was glorious. They had merged, blended, come together as man and woman, her softness yielding to his hardness, their wonder turning to rapture. It was enough to sit close to each other, quietly, letting the soft blackness of night curtain them from the world.
“I feel strange, new,” Summer whispered. “I feel like music.”
“Kiss me again.”
Their lips met in the darkness, clung, and she pulled away from him. The moon was lost behind a wandering cloud. Somewhere, a coyote sent his lonely cry to the wide sky, an owl hooted, a squirrel chattered inquiringly, and then there was silence.
A faint, far-off sound caught Slater’s attention. He listened. There was nothing more. He reached into the side of his moccasins and palmed a small handgun. With an arm about her, he listened a minute longer. In one fluid motion, he got to his feet and pulled her up beside him.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“A deer splashing in the creek,” he said softly. Arm in arm, they left the shadow of the tree and crossed the yard.
“Travis