Lessons in Love Ch. 03byCheleste©
Rachel needed every ounce of the strength she had newly found, when war came to their small country, and Donald had to answer its call.
As the messenger rode away, Donald plodded slowly up the hill, bowed under the load of the burdens on his back. He felt sick inside. His world was turning upside down, and threatening to fly apart in all directions. Where to begin securing it, and how?
He had always appeared so wise and all knowing to Rachel. But at this moment, he felt more helpless and bewildered than he had ever felt in his life. He was not leaving this small farm with the same confidence with which he had come to it.
Rachel was surprisingly calm when he walked inside. He clasped her and held her tightly, his body trembling against hers.
"Donald. Donald," she crooned. "I'll be okay. Really, I will. Really."
He looked searchingly into her eyes. "Rachel, you're the most precious thing to me in the whole world. If I leave you, you have to know that I'll be back for you. You have to know that, do you hear? You have to..." his voice trailed off as he took her lips in a desperate kiss, wishing he could take her inside himself so he wouldn't have to leave her.
Rachel kissed him back frantically, needing to know more than ever that he belonged to her and she to him.
He lay her on the bed and covered her with his body, sucking the skin of her face and neck into his mouth inch by inch. His hands stroked her hair, her shoulders, her torso, memorizing every curve and slope, every shape and contour. His tongue explored her, cataloging each taste and texture. He felt urgent, driven.
Rachel mouthed his muscular arms, his stomach, his hardened nipples, taking from them the nourishment she would need to sustain her in the coming months - years? No, they wouldn't even contemplate that length of time.
She took his shaft in her mouth, moving it rhythmically in and out, pulling it deeper each time. The tip of her tongue moved smoothly around its ridge, caressing and soothing the smooth, taut skin.
And when Donald grasped her arms, pulling her up to his mouth again, she swallowed him up, clasping her legs around his hips, thrusting recklessly, forcefully.
She squeezed him inside her, breathing, "I won't let you go. I won't let you go!"
Anger swept through her body, hot and potent; and she defied the world to take Donald away from her.
"You're mine!" she cried hopelessly. "You're mine, you're mine, you're mine!" she chanted with her movements.
Donald hugged her with aching arms. Her words drew him powerfully toward release, but he fought it to stay just a little longer in the scorching limbo of anticipation. For to capture the elusive ecstacy would mean losing it. Time would move on, and it would be over.
Then the volcano erupted, spewing molten lava endlessly over their shaking bodies, crying out with each fresh explosion.
The embers burned long and languid, until movement ceased and the flow was stayed, returning underground once more.
The air was suffocating as they continued their preparations for Donald's departure. They toured the small farm so Donald could enlighten Rachel about everything he had been doing in the past months, and what would be needed in the future ones.
Rachel concentrated with furrowed brow as he talked, knowing she probably wouldn't remember half of it. But she also knew that she would figure it out in her own way well enough, and that he needed to say it to assuage his own fears.
However, the shadow of events happening beyond their little farm darkened every movement they made and word they spoke. Rachel found it hard to breathe without shuddering, though the early summer air was warm, even sultry.
When they slipped into their bed at an unusually late hour, Donald held Rachel close to him all night. Somehow, the intensity of the afternoon's tumultuous emotion had given way to a quiet resignation. Everything that could be said or done had been, and now they simply fell into each-other's arms with the determined knowledge that nothing would keep them apart forever.
So they prepared internally for the long fast, mentally battening down the hatches and putting in for the haul.
* * * *
When peace was declared and Donald returned home, Rachel was beside herself. She grasped his neck, burying her face in his chest.
"Oh, Donald!" she wailed. "Oh, Donald! Oh, Donald! Oh, Donald!"
"Rachel. My Rachel. My Rachel!"
She turned her face to his, and he pressed his mouth to hers, tasting, capturing, remembering. His hands clutched her arms, her hair, her neck, her torso; examining every part of her, matching the catalog he had made when he had left her.
Then he took Zachary into his arms, held him close, closed his eyes, and exhaled, "My son! My son is safe and my wife is here! I'm never leaving you alone again! Never!"
Rachel's eyes glistened, and she just stared at Donald. There was so much she wanted to tell him, so much they needed to talk about, but none of it mattered in this moment. She just wanted time to stop so she could stand in his presence and gaze at him forever. It was all she needed. It was all she would ever need.
When they were finally alone in bed, Donald cradled Rachel close, scarce believing she was in his arms again.
Rachel had been cold when she got into bed with him, but the closeness of his body was now warming her in many ways. She could feel the heat of his desire, and his manhood was already moving against her, pressing her belly, pushing to touch her inmost depths.
His hands moved restlessly into her gown, searching for her smooth, soft skin; gliding and caressing; rubbing, plying, molding; searching to find the way in, the way down, the way of pleasure; prickling, tingling, mounting, moving pleasure.
Finding her warm, moist folds, he stroked, making delicious moaning, humming sounds. He kissed her, moving his mouth, his tongue; searching her, touching, exploring, grasping, sucking, fondling, finding, exciting, activating, arousing, quickening.
Rachel remembered the secret she hadn't told him yet; the secret there hadn't been time to tell yet, and she swooned, knowing he had reached that furthest, deepest part of her and planted the magic that was growing there; and that he would reach that place again tonight: that hallowed place; that place of ecstatic, loving creation.
And she reached for him, pressing him into the hollow between the folds, taking him inside as he drove, deeper and deeper and deeper; and she felt the ecstacy welling up inside her, swelling like a balloon, lifting her up, up into dizzying, rapturous heights.
She moaned, reaching, reaching for the bliss; and he drove deeper, deeper, until a powerful spasm of ultimate pleasure and release overtook him, and she met him in that place, crying out over and over again.
It was still there, and though they couldn't stay forever, they would visit it often, finding it always welcoming and wondrous.