38. Mornings Make the Day
CHAPTER 38
MORNINGS MAKE THE DAY
A week later
Unlike most mornings, when she would awaken suddenly and practically jump from her bed, Diana awoke slowly on this day, wiggling her toes and stretching her fingers before finally opening her eyes. She stretched her entire body, her arms burrowing beneath the pillows until they collided with the upholstered headboard.
There was a moment of unease, an unsettling feeling that something was not quite right, that had her heart rate increasing. A sudden awareness of a warm body next to hers.
There were memories of pleasures she had never before experienced and that awkward moment when she had finally succumbed to her new husband’s gentle urgings and allowed him her body.
He had been absolutely right in claiming she needed a lover.
How he could have been so patient, so sure he could hold off satisfying his own needs before seeing to hers—despite her insistence that he should simply get it over with—she wasn’t about to sort so early in the morning.
Then, after he had finally had his turn at experiencing pleasure, during a much slower and more careful coupling than she had expected, she had watched in wonder as his body seemed to seize, every muscle in his torso and the cords of his neck and the planes of his face straining as if his orgasm was almost painful. A moment after, and it was as if every muscle in his body gave way all at the same time.
If he thought for one minute she was going to allow him to simply roll off of her and fall asleep somewhere off to the side of her, he learned rather quickly she wasn’t going to let go of him. Not even if she was terribly warm. Not even when he claimed to be too heavy for her soft body.
She had clung to him, her body quaking with tremors she had never before experienced. She needed his weight atop hers to keep her from floating away, for she was quite sure she was weightless.
So until she had finally succumbed to sleep, he had stayed atop her, his head tucked into the space between her shoulder and neck, his breathing becoming less labored, and his pulse slowing until it matched hers.
They might have remained that way all night, but at some point, he was on his back and she was atop him, their legs tangled and his heavy manhood pressed into her hip.
Later, she found herself on her side, his knees behind hers and her body tucked into the front of his. Although she would have expected to feel trapped by the heavy arm around her waist, she thought it rather comforting.
That his hand cupped over one of her breasts as they slept made it seem more intimate, even if she found it humorous that another part of him seemed intent on finding a resting place between her thighs.
One thing was certain. She was going to enjoy spending winters in the same bed as Randolph Forster.
As for summers, she hadn’t yet decided.
A hitch in his breathing had her lifting herself onto an elbow, and she scoffed softly.
His eyes still closed, Randy asked, “What is it, my love?” in a voice that sounded as if it was coming from far away.
“You’re smiling,” she accused in disbelief. “In your sleep.”
The grin on his face widened until his white teeth gleamed in the early morning light. “Of course I’m smiling. I’m waking up to my very first day as a married man,” he murmured happily. “A huntress has caught me in her trap, and I’m rather happy as her prey.” He finally opened his eyes, his lashes nearly invisible as he stared at her. “Your prey,” he added before he moved to kiss her on the forehead. “Good morning.”
Diana gave a start. “And here I thought it was the other way around.”
Randy’s eyes widened. “You thought me a hunter?” he asked, his face screwing into a grimace. “I only chased you ’til you caught me,” he teased.
Grinning at hearing his claim, Diana leaned over and kissed him on the lips. When she pulled away, she lifted a hand to the side of his face and studied his features in the morning light.
Reminded of the last mosaic her father had uncovered near Girgenti—the Roman hunter she had found more handsome than any of the others he had discovered during his excavations—Diana was struck by how much her new husband resembled him.
She had completed the painting of that mosaic the day after its discovery, and she was sure her father had already submitted his latest manuscript to his publisher along with that painting and all the others she had done for him.
Until it was in print, she might never see it again. Although she would have expected such a thought to lessen her unusual good mood on this morning, it didn’t.
A better model—a live model—was right next to her at that very moment, his eyes darkening with desire.
“A hunter, yes,” she affirmed. “You’re going to be one in my next painting.”
Randy chuckled softly and relaxed back into his pillow. “Well, until then, can I be your prey?”
It was Diana’s turn to chuckle. “You can be my favorite lover,” she countered. “Mr. Saturday.”
He didn’t hesitate to prove himself.