I feel the hardness of him in the water between my thighs.
He slides a little of himself inside me. Enough to tease me and make me want more.
I moan and grab his strong, muscular arms.
"More. Please! Give me more."
"Since it"s our wedding day ..."
He forces me down onto him and I let out a yelp of pleasure as he goes deep inside me.
"Don"t move," he instructs, pinning me to his lap with a strong arm.
He leans over to pick up the soap again. Then he takes my arm and gently washes it from top to bottom.
I moan with pleasure at the gentle movements on my skin and the full feeling of him inside me.
Marc moves the bar of soap over my neck. Then down my other arm.
When he moves the soap down to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, I drop my head back in pleasure.
He makes circles, washing me carefully and precisely. Then he washes my stomach and back.
I can feel him inside me the whole time, and every little jolty movement sends shivers of pleasure around my body.
"When I was younger," Marc whispers, dropping the soap between my legs, "they used to wash our mouths out at school. For bad behaviour."
"You were badly behaved at school?"
"Very."
Marc begins to rock back and forth, and the soap moves with him.
"Oh Marc. Marc." My head drops back again as I sway on his lap, and my hair tumbles down so the ends touch the water.
Marc tilts his hips forwards so the soap rubs me harder. His expression is stern and remorseless.
"Oh G.o.d. Oooooh," I moan.
I throw myself against his chest, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders as his pace increases.
Marc strokes wet hair from my cheek and holds me tight.
The slippery soap is doing amazing things between my legs as Marc moves.
I feel his beautiful hard muscles against my b.r.e.a.s.t.s and smell his amazing, crisp, clean skin and hair.
Marc grabs my b.u.t.tocks and lifts me up and down in the water.
Splash, splash, splash.
I can"t bear it any more.
"Oh G.o.d! G.o.d! Marc! I"m going to come."
Burning heat spreads between my legs and over my whole body.
It feels so amazing in the hot water. I let my eyes close. Every part of me feels soft and beautiful.
"Yes. Yes," says Marc. "Sophia. Yes! Sophia." He forces himself harder inside me and then he comes too, pulling me onto his lap and squeezing my b.u.t.tocks.
We grip each other tightly.
The water laps around us.
After a moment we look into each other"s eyes, breathing fast.
"So." Marc twists my wet hair around and squeezes water out of it. "Still the best day of your life?"
"Definitely."
4.
I wake the next morning in the townhouse bedroom, surrounded by fluffy white feathery pillows.
"Good morning," I say, seeing Marc"s beautiful profile glowing in the sunlight as he lies beside me.
"Good morning Mrs Blackwell."
I feel a grin tug at my lips. "We got married yesterday, didn"t we?"
"Yes. And now you"re mine forever."
"I was always yours forever," I whisper. "Married or not."
"But now everyone else knows it too. Other men, specifically."
I laugh. "Just because you want me doesn"t mean every other man does."
"Oh believe me they do," says Marc. "You"re just too adorably innocent for most men to pa.s.s up."
"I"ll have to take your word for that."
"I thought you were never going to wake up."
"What time is it?" I murmur.
"Nearly nine. If you"d have slept any later, I would have thrown cold water over you."
"You wouldn"t!"
Marc laughs. "No, I wouldn"t. Well not to wake you up. There are more enjoyable ways to use cold water."
"Are there?"
"Yes. And as your husband and former teacher it"s my duty to show you every way imaginable." He kisses my neck and whispers, "But right now the doctor is waiting. Come on sleeping beauty. Rise and shine."
"So early?"
"Yes. Breakfast in the limo. You"ve even got time for a quick shower."
"After the bath last night? You"re saying I need to shower?"
Marc runs his fingers into my hair. "I wouldn"t care if you never showered again. But I know you enjoy showering every morning. And I"m not about to take any pleasure from you, no matter how small."
I pull myself up and notice the gleaming silver band on my finger.
"Marc. We"re married."
"I"m glad you remembered."
"I"m Mrs Blackwell ..."
"Correct. You are my wife. And I will take care of you, Mrs Blackwell, until your dying day. I will never, ever take you for granted. You will be on a pedestal for the rest of our married life."
"How did I get so lucky?"
Marc"s eyes are clear and soft. "It"s me who"s lucky. For you to accept me. And to love me. For what I am." He claps his hands sharply. "Right. Doctors."
"Can"t we be just a little bit late?" I plead, shuffling my body towards him. "We haven"t actually consummated our marriage in bed yet, and-"
Marc takes a deep breath. "You, Mrs Blackwell, are testing the very last ounce of my self-control."
"But would it be so bad if we just-"
"You have an appointment. I am never late, which means you will not be late. No matter how much temptation you throw my way. Your health is more important than anything."
"But there"s nothing wrong with me exactly."
"I didn"t say there was." The smile is back on Marc"s face. "In fact, I"m hoping the doctor will confirm everything is very, very right."
5.
In the limo, I have an attack of nerves.
Yesterday, thinking I could be pregnant ... it wasn"t real. But now we might find out for certain. What if I am? Is it too soon? Will Marc really be happy about it?
As usual, my nerves mean I feel a little sick. And I don"t want to eat or drink anything.
Marc has ordered a whole breakfast menu for the limo journey fresh fruit, cinnamon brioche buns, smoked salmon bagels. It"s delicious food, perfectly presented, but the thought of eating makes me feel queasy.
Marc tries to coax me like an anxious parent.
"Just a sip of fruit juice? A tiny bite of brioche? You should eat something, Sophia. It"s not good not to eat."
"I really can"t." I lean against his shoulder. "I"m so sorry Marc. It all looks delicious, but I can"t."
He strokes my hair. "Don"t be sorry. Is the smell of food making you sick? I can get rid of everything." He leaps forward and bangs on the gla.s.s. "Keith, we might need to make a stop-"
The car slows down.
"No, no, it"s fine," I insist. "We"ll be there soon." I swallow and look out of the window, trying to keep the sickness down.
I feel even more nervous as the car pulls up on Harley Street.
"These buildings look like your townhouse," I say, gazing at the beautiful three-storey Georgian houses.
"Our townhouse," says Marc, leading me towards a shiny black door. "As of yesterday, half is legally yours."
"Wow," I say. "Maybe I should sell my half and travel the world."
"As long as I can travel with you."
"As if I"d travel anywhere without you."
By the door, a shiny bra.s.s plate says, "Doctor Karen Christian Private Physician".
"How well do you know this doctor?" I ask.
"I don"t know her at all," says Marc. "But she comes highly recommended."
"By who?"