James had eyes of summer-sky blue, ringed with deep navy. I felt heat and hardness on my hip, but with my hands still held fast in his grip, I could only wiggle in protest. His finger began the slow circling he knew well would drive me crazy. I craned my neck, seeking to meet his lips, but James kept them a breath apart. He lowered his mouth to mine but didn't kiss me. His fingertip settled against me, but he didn't move it yet. "Do I want to know why you like to watch me sleep?" His grin tipped the corners of his mouth. "Because I like to," I told him just before his questing fingers made me inhale sharply. His fingertips grazed the curls between my legs as he spoke. His free hand inched up the hem of my nightgown and found my bare thigh. It hurt a little, but then that's what makes the pleasure so much sweeter. James pushed my hands above my head, stretching me. James settled between my thighs, the only thing between us the thin fabric of my summer-weight nightgown. He could pin both my wrists with one hand, and he did, pulling me onto the bed and rolling on top of me. I was more interested in the playing as I bent over him to blow a puff of breath across his lips. He had large, callus-fingered hands, used to working but perfectly suited for playing, too.
James looked thin, sometimes even breakable, but underneath he was all muscle. The twin dark circles of his nipples, the ridges of his ribs made sharper as he flung a hand over his head, the soft patch of hair furring his belly and meshing with the thatch between his legs. Sunshine filtered through the tree outside our window and dappled him in all the spots I wanted to kiss. But sometimes, like when I watched him sleeping, the rock turned out to be limestone, easily dissolved by the slow-dripping water of my doubts. Then our marriage was solid and substantial. Most of the time, our marriage was so matter-of-fact I couldn't have disbelieved it if I'd wanted to, not when it came time to do the laundry and buy groceries, or clean the toilets, when I packed his lunches or folded his socks before putting them away. I even had the driver's license and credit cards to prove I had the right to the name. I wore the ring and answered to the name Mrs.James Kinney. If it was harder to believe he belonged to me when he was sleeping, it was also easier to remember how much I loved him. Only dreaming did he loosen, soften, melt. I wanted to watch him for a while.Īwake, James was rarely still. The sight of him, all long, muscled limbs and smooth, sun-burnished skin, curled my fingers in anticipation of touching him. That there were good things to be had in the world, and I had them. That this was my husband, my house, my life. I liked to watch him sleep, despite the way it sometimes made me want to pinch myself to prove I wasn't dreaming. Tug-tugging, I slid the covers off to reveal his body. On little cat feet, like the fog, I crept toward the bed.
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