After Forever Ends - Ramone Melodie (бесплатные книги полный формат TXT) 📗

“I never said I don’t believe in God,” I defended myself, “I said I’m not convinced. And most people would say that a faerie stealing your socks doesn’t make sense. Why is not believing in something that can’t be proven so difficult to understand?”

“Because, Love, there’s that and then there’s faith. Then there’s you and me and I believe we are magic. That’s why I brought you here. To prove it to you.”

That statement made me so happy I could have burst, “Maybe there is such a thing then,” I admitted, “If it’s something you can feel but not see. Things like love. Love could be magic.”

“There are lots of things you can feel but not see,” Oliver said knowingly, “And if you point the torch right there,” He moved my hand higher so that the beam of light widened, “You’ll see the cabin.”

It was a tiny, semi-circular one room cabin situated deep in the woods, sitting high on a steep hill. I could hear water ripple from behind it and spotted an owl watching us from a tree right beside the front door. It flew off as we approached. Oliver hurried up to the door, set down his sacks and tugged on the handle. It didn’t open. “What the bloody?” He tugged again, this time harder, and then moved aside a pot from the porch. He took the torch from me, pointed it down and ran the beam of light along where the stone foundation met the bottom of the cabin. Finally, he threw his hands up, “Oh, he did not!” He swore, “That stupid git took the key!”

“What?”

“Alexander! He locked up! First I told him not to lock the bloody door and next he keeps the key in his pocket! I’ll kill him! I swear I will!”

I was shivering in my shoes, the night air biting at my bare legs. “Oliver, it’s OK. We can drive back and get the key.”

“It’s a three hour drive one way, Love!” He was exasperated. His dark eyes were wide and his brows were so high they disappeared under his fringe, “It’ll be near midnight by the time we get there and tomorrow by the time we get back! I had planned to show you around the wood in the morning!” He looked around quickly like a thought had struck him, “Well, sod it all then! I’ll chop it down!”

“Huh?”

“The door,” He looked around irritably and then found what he was searching for; a heavy handled axe leaned against a pile of split wood. “I’ll chop down the door!”

“Oliver, wait!”

I started to stop him, but found I had to step back instead as he swung the axe over his head until the door splintered almost in half. He kicked it in, turned to me and smiled, cocking an eyebrow, “Old wood, Love. I’ll get a new door tomorrow when we go to town,” Oliver held out his hand palm up, “And a proper new lock and key that I’ll keep with me. Come in then and let me show you the place.”

There was nothing to it. It was one oblong room built of stone and wood with a bed shoved against a far wall, “I put clean linens on it,” He told me proudly, then pointed to the bathtub, which was right beside the bed, “We can use this, too. I washed it-like, except that there’s no running water. You have to take water from the well, and then boil some on the stove to make it warm and dump it in. When you’re through, you pull the plug and there’s a hole cut in the floor where it drains out. Brill! Mind, stove’s there,” He motioned to the other side of the room, “Burns wood and it gets right warm in here.” He lit an oil lamp, which was on a sconce against the wall. The room sprang to light, “There’s the loft up there. That’s where me and Alex used to sleep. Don’t think we’ll need that, but the ladder’s hanging just in case. Now the loo is outside, back there, but I left some paper in here in case you don’t want to…”

“I love it!” I told him enthusiastically.

He beamed, “Really?”

“Yes! But I’m freezing!”

“Right! I’ll light the stove!” He shuffled past me and began to fiddle with some matches while I threw broken boards from the door out into the lawn. When he was through lighting the fire, he hung a duvet over the doorway, which did very little to keep out the night wind. We sat on the floor near the warmth of the stove and snuggled beneath a woollen blanket, enjoying the closeness of each other. That was something that we did our whole life together, just sit and be close. Often it involved no erotic touching or even kissing, but it was very much just as intimate. Oliver’s arms were the warmest, safest place I had ever been or would ever go. I never found another spot where I felt more like I was home.

So there we were a few hours later, wrapped in the blanket with our fire burning down, and the sun already on the rise. We were dozing a bit, with me leaned back against his chest. I could hear his breathing become light and feel his body slump and then he would jerk and wake us both. I was just asleep when he whispered, “I love you, Sil.” He ran his hand along the inside of my bare arm. I felt his nose against my neck as he inhaled my skin, ”Just Silvia Cotton, not hurt or ticked off,” He kissed my ear, “Just Silvia Cotton and she’s just fine…and I love her.”

He’d said it a thousand times by then, but every time he did I felt a rush of warmth. I turned my head toward him and my lips lingered on his. “Let’s go to bed,” He whispered in the same voice, “It’s almost light outside and you’re already asleep. No need to stay on the floor when there’s a bed to lie in,” I allowed him to half lift me in his arms and went with him to the side of the bed. It was dark away from the stove. I could see the outline of his body as he pulled his heavy sweater over his head. He drew back the duvet and was on his knees as he held out his hand for me to take. I reached for him and stepped in close, taking him off balance.

It was me who initiated it. I began kissing him slowly on his mouth, his chin, on his throat, his neck, his ears, the part of his chest exposed beneath his t-shirt. I let my hands wander over his broad shoulders, the back of his neck and face, down his sides to his hips. I undid the button on his jeans and pushed them down with his briefs. I ran my fingers across the hard, flat muscles of his tummy, let them slide around his hips and across his bottom. I pulled up his t-shirt and lifted it over his head. .

Oliver returned my kisses and my touch. His hands caressed my face and arms. They tangled my hair. He crushed me to him, warmed my thighs with his long fingers. He unzipped the zipper on my skirt. It clung to my hips for a second, and then fell uselessly to the floor. He fumbled with the buttons on my blouse until it fell open, then ran his lips along the bulge of my breasts, not even trying to undo my bra or go beneath it, just breathing me in and tasting my skin. Then he unclasped it with one hand and caressed my breasts as he kissed my neck.

I pulled his face back to mine. He scooped me off the floor like I weighed nothing and lay me on the bed. He kissed my breasts, dragged the tip of his tongue over them and along the length of my belly and down the path to my knickers. I lifted my hips to help him remove them and then he found me.

I gasped. I was weak all over.

Oliver moved back up and laid his weight upon me. I had never wanted anything so badly in my life as I wanted him. I wanted all of him, every bit of his body, every piece of his soul, every ounce of his love. There was no sound but our breath, the only light in the room were grey whispers that seeped in around the edges of the sheet he had hung in the doorway. I finished undressing him, slowly and with great care, making every inch of his flesh known to me.

We were belly to belly on the smooth sheet, my legs wrapped around his middle. I could feel him ready for me, so close to where I was waiting. On thrust and he would be inside me, but he stayed still, kissing me endlessly, waiting for my final permission. I rolled on to my back and pulled him on to me in one motion.

“Make love me to me,” I whispered in his ear, “Please, I want you to. I’m ready.”