HER MOTHER'S DAUGHTER

Chapter Nine

She leaned and kissed Henry briefly, He didn't react. She withdrew from him and stared at him intensely. She had just experienced a rough break up with Chance. She decided to drown herself in alcohol. She wouldn't blame her actions on the alcohol because she was sober enough to know what was happening and with whom. Strangely it felt good kissing him. It made her yearn for more
Henry was leaning over her, his fingers touching her face was light oozing with heat that burnt its way into the depth of her womanhood. He cupped her face with his hand before kissing her.
She had been kissed before. Done more than just kissing. Kyle had been her first real relationship and it went further than just a kiss. Then there was Chance whom she always believed was the best kisser in the whole world. She loved his kisses. Now she realized that she had never been kissed before. Not really. Not like this.
Never like this.
Henry's eyes were open, as were hers. He hardly touched his lips to hers. It was not impossible to loose herself in pure physical sensation even though every part of her body dazzle with awareness and ached with desire. It would be a lie to say she doesn't know what was happening and with whom. It would be impossible to tell herself afterwards that it was the action of the alcohol she took earlier. She was sober enough to know what was going on.
He kissed lightly over her nose, cheeks, her eyes, her temples, her chin. And returned to her mouth, which he touched softly, teasingly, with his lips, making her to kiss him back in the same way. There was the warm moist flesh behind her lips, which is he touched and stroked with his tongue. There was her own tongue moving lightly across his top lip and back over the bottom one. He touched its tip, sliding over the top of it deep into the cavity of her mouth. There were sucking and stroking and soft, wordless moans in her voice, in his.
And then his arms closed about her as he leaned farther over her, lifting her against his chest and they shared a deep, hard, open mouthed embrace that had her clinging and pressing and yearning for more
"Char"Henry said softly before dipping his head and setting his lips to hers. Their lips clung softly, warmly, yearning for many moments before one of them drew back. He was not sure who.
Her eyes were dreamy with latent passion, her cheeks flushed with desire. Her lips were parted and moist with invitation. And his own heartbeat was drumming in his ears and threatening to deafen him to reality.
"Char"He set his hand lightly on her waist and drew her against him. She inhaled slowly and revel in the pleasure. He lifted her bridal style and led her to his bed. He hastily undressed her as he kissed and brushed every sensitive spot on her body coercing a moan from her. He set her gently on the bed. She watched him finish undressing. He did not turn his back and she did not look away. He was smiling when he climbed into the bed beside her and propped himself on one elbow to look down at her. He framed her face with his hands, sliding his finger into the warm silk of her hair.
"You are not just pretty Char. You must know that. Prettiness is transitory. It passes in a season. You will be beautiful when you are thirty, when you are fifty, when you are eighty. At twenty you are dazzling, breath taking. And you are mine. He dipped his head and touched his parted lips to hers, tasting her with his tongue before withdrawing a couple of inches"I want to be inside you".
"Yes, Hen"Her teeth bit into her soft moist lower lip. She lifted a hand and cupped one of his cheek. "I want you".
"I want to be a part of your name. A part of the soul that bears that name"She added.
"You, me, we, us"he lowered his head and spoke against her mouth"let us invent a new word, Char. The unity of Henry and Charlotte. She opened her mouth beneath his, suddenly shaken by the words they had spoken.
She realized too late, as his tongue plundered her mouth and his hand gave an intimation of magic and sensual delight ahead, what this was all about. She understood far too late what Chance meant earlier when he said that she should clearly think and find out what she really feels for Henry. Why she had failed woefully in all her other relationships.
This was love. Oh, perhaps not love exactly. But this was being in love. She loves Henry, her best friend.
He was right. There was no word. No pronoun. There was never a word for the deepest realities.
His hands, his skilled fingers were everywhere. He knew unerringly where and how to touch her, where to brush with feather like finger tips, where to tickle, where to pulse his fingers, where to massage, where to pinch and scratch. He knew where to kiss, where to lick, to suck, to nip with his teeth.
She had no idea how long it went on. She touched him. Knew where to touch, caress. And when to change the nature of each caress.
"Char"He spoke her name over and over, as she did his. He was her beloved.
The ache, the yearning, the need became more persistent and more localized. She needed him there.
Here.
Now.
His hand between her thighs, worked light, deft magic in her most secret place and built a frenzy of desire.
"Hen"She set her hand over his wrist. "Hen"She said, he understood what she needed to say.
"Slick, warm and ready"He said.
"Come"she said to him"oh please come".
His whole body bore her down into the mattress, holding her immobile while his thigh came between hers and pressed them wide, his hand slid beneath her. She twined her leg about his. He raised his head and looked down into her face, his eyes heavy-lidded with passion. But not blind passion. He looked deep into her own eyes.
And then she felt him hard against the pulsing ache of her entrance. And pressing through it, pushing slowly but firmly, filling her, stretching her, alarming her.
"Hen".
She closed her eyes to revel in the wonder.
He lowered his head then to rest in her hair in the pillow. He withdrew slowly to the brink of her and pressed inward again.
There was wetness and heat and soon the rhythmic thrust and withdrawal of a riding motion to which her own body adjusted to. She tugged at his hair kissing and nipping at his neck, nose and entire body. And yet the sensation went beyond that localized physical point. This was the mating of man and woman, of Henry and Charlotte. It was a ride to union, to that wordless moment at which the I and the you of the two of them would loose focus and meaning. The moment in which the plurality of we would become singular.
Desire, yearning, need, all became pleasure and reaching...
"Now Char"He lifted his head again. His lips touched hers. His eyes looked into her own. "Now. Come. Come with me. Now. Char"
Yes, now. All the way. Now. All the way to nothingness, to everything. To oblivion, to the ultimate knowing. To oneness.
"Hen".
Someone cried his name. Someone murmured hers.
She felt a final blissful gush of heat and knew that the mating was over. It was complete.
There was lightness and coolness as he moved off her. The comfort of his damp chest as he drew her side against him, his arm about her and the coziness of the bed cover over her shoulder.
"Char"She heard her name.
"Mmmm"She smiled sleepily.
"I love you"He said.
She was too tired to hear his confession. She slid into a delicious slumber.
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