The Model Master

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  The following day she got him out of bed at last, and unveiled the mechanical horse she had put down in his old bedchamber downstairs, then brought him out into the stable yard, which had been fully paved so that his wheels would not get jammed in the mud.

  One of the most steady geldings had been trained by Jim the stable lad to stand still as the device for getting him into the new support saddle was used. Michael balked a bit, but after watching Robin the valet try it successfully, he agreed to have a go.

  He worked the levers to raise himself up, and then slid one leg over. Jim and Robin stood on either side and quickly adjusted the stirrups to their master’s legs.

  "The mechanical horse will help build the muscles again, so you’ll be able to ride more comfortably. How does it feel?"

  "A bit strange," he admitted. "I can’t really tell until I start to move."

  Jim led him around the yard in a wider and wider and faster circle.

  Bryony could see Michael's fear even as his smiled at the exhilaration of it all. He shivered, and she could sense he was being reminded of the war.

  But he held up one hand to wave to her and smiled, and spent another five minutes trotting under the sunshine in the brisk spring air, until he proclaimed himself exhausted, and started to come back down as easily as he had mounted.

  "Well done."

  "Yes, not bad at all," he said, kissing her on the cheek. "Well done to you. This is pretty remarkable. And the saddle."

  "Let’s not forget the carriage device."

  He looked up at her. "I’m a bit weary now, but in a couple of days we can go to Bath. I’d like to thank Ash and Eswara for their help. I know they must have had a hand in this, so don’t even try to deny it."

  "Yes, they did, and Blake."

  "I shall have to write and thank him, and ask him to come see me ride. And even hunt."

  She stared at him. "Hunt? But you—"

  "I know. But I did enjoy it. To eat, of course, not just mindless slaughter. I don’t promise to eat it myself, but the fresh air will do me good. To tell you the truth, I’ve lived with a gun or sword in my hands for so long, it almost feels like a part of me is severed."

  "Oh, Michael," she said, hugging him to her. "I’m so sorry."

  He patted her on the shoulder. "There's nothing to be sorry for. You’ve tried to help in every way possible. More than you could ever know, my dear. There are just going to be some things I have to do on my own. But you understand that, hence all your hard work."

  "Anything you want to talk about, though, I’m always here to listen."

  He kissed her hand and stroked her cheek. He was so loving towards her for the rest of the day that Bryony knew Eswara was right. The more she was demonstrative with him, the more affectionate he was in return.

  Occasionally it spilled over into passion, but as they worked at the desk side by side, his left hand holding hers as they wrote with their right, Bryony was sure she had never been so happy in her life.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Michael was delighted with his surprise gifts, motivated as they were by love, not pity, and he determined to make Bryony even more happy than she clearly already was.

  A couple of visits to Ash and Eswara, and a shopping expedition with Robin the valet, secured him all the items on his new friends’ list.

  He had told them he wanted to give Bryony a night she would never forget, and studied Ash’s drawings avidly. He took the herbs they gave him and made Bryony give him some extra-vigorous massages twice every day whilst he planned his special night of romance down to the smallest detail.

  He got her out of the house a week later, telling her to take tea with her friends, and then he and the servants set about preparing the surprise.

  When Bryony entered the room she found it was lit up like the night sky, with hundreds of candles flickering, making the room glow like a magical cave for two. The bed hangings had been changed, and were now a dark navy silk shot through with gold, as was the bedspread.

  The sheets were turned down invitingly. A single red rose punctuated the line of gold and sapphire silk-covered pillows in all shapes and sizes. The room was redolent with a warm spicy smell, and there were small bowls of lavender and other dried flowers all over the room.

  On the table, which had been set up within easy reach of the bed, a sumptuous feast had been spread, including champagne and oysters, bread, cheese and fruit, a few exotically spiced Indian dishes, some chocolate mousse and some red grapes.

  He was sitting in his new chair with only the back still fastened on, clad in naught but a black silk robe, and an intent smile.

  "Michael," she breathed, "it’s lovely."

  "Forgive me for not trying to be more romantic, make you feel more appreciated as well, my lover, not just a wife, mother or housekeeper."

  "What do you mean, just? Those things are all important facets of me."

  "True, but you are first and foremost the woman I love. You’ve done so much for me I can’t even begin to try to repay you." He took her hand and kissed it.

  She smiled at him gently. "You make it sound as if I were being entirely selfless. I can promise you I wasn’t. I’ve had ample compensation."

  "Still, I want you to have it all tonight. Starting now."

  Bryony held breathlessly still as Michael began to unfasten her dark blue gown slowly, taking his sweet time, until she ached for his touch.

  But he made sure his fingers did not brush her sensitive flesh, so that when he finally reached up to stroke her cheek and then brought both his hands shimmering down at the same time over her back and front from neck to buttocks and her delicate curls, she was already shivering with passion.

  He gave a little nudge and her knees hit the edge of the bed. She sat down with a thump and he spread her legs wide. He began to explore her with a thoroughness which had her begging him to enter her.

  But he laughed throatily and said, "No, this is all yours. You can touch yourself too if you like, show me where you’re most sensitive. But I have a few ideas of my own to try. And did I happen to mention I’ve told the servants to look after the children because we’re not to be disturbed for forty-eight hours?"

  Her eyes flew open. "Oh, Michael, you didn’t."

  "I most certainly did."

  She blushed.

  "Nothing wrong with a little honeymoon, darling."

  She tried to sit up, but his hard hand on her stomach soon had her purring with delight. Just when she thought she couldn’t be any more thrilled, he brought up his other hand and moved one finger.

  "Oh, Michael! Oh Lord, what did you—"

  "Hah, it works." He grinned in triumph.

  Bryony was sure she was caught in the throes of the most powerful climax she had ever yet had. For over two minutes, she bucked, moaned and screamed, and all the while Michael sat and gazed at her, his pale blue eyes burning with the most fierce intensity. Always his fingers were moving, teasing, bringing her on more as he gave her what Eswara had told him was a yoni massage.

  Finally she blew out a shaky breath. "Oh Michael, that was, well—" She shook her head.

  "You’re incredible," he whispered, his voice a deep sultry baritone. "I get so hard just looking at you. I want to crawl right up inside you and never ever be separated from you. Even when I’m inside you, I feel that little heartbeat of yours within, all the torrential passion, and I explode with joy.

  "Yet even as I spill inside you, I still want more and more. I get so excited just being in a room with you, watching you. The light sway of your breasts as you walk, the swing of your hips. I want to pull you into my lap and have you ride me like the wind. I see you under me, your rosebud lips moist and panting, your gorgeous shoulders and those dusky nipples that fit so perfectly into my mouth. I want to take you over and over again until you can’t feel anything but me inside you driving you to your pinnacle.

  "I see you glistening like this just for me, your gorgeous little pouting lips dying to be k
issed," he said, bending his head forward, and illustrating his words with a long lingering lick, "and I feel like I want to devour you whole."

  She felt herself completely afire at the intensity of his words and the depth of the emotion behind them. She had been frightened too of the torrid heat between them, but there was nothing violent or cruel here. It was the worshipful loving she had discussed with Ash and Eswara.

  And now it was on Michael’s lips, and his were on hers. She felt truly adored and cherished for the first time ever. She could believe at last that she was worthy of love, and could love without fear herself.

  Michael began to nibble and suck each of her outer lips in turn. He toyed with her inner lips and the entrance to her paradise with his index finger, whilst rubbing his thumb along her tight little whorl.

  Just when she thought she couldn’t bear it any more, he moved his other hand and inserted his middle finger and curled it, still circling with his other finger and nibbling and suckling. She could feel all of her flesh distending, saturating, and she lost track of how many times she climaxed.

  "Oh, Michael, it’s too good," she gasped.

  "No such thing. You’re gorgeous. Delectable. You’re delicious, and deserve everything I can do to pamper you. Anything you want."

  "All of you. Every blessed inch," she panted.

  "Are you sure you’re ready for me?"

  "What?" she asked in disbelief, remembering their night in front of the mirror. She was sure she was not going to be able to bear this more than another second.

  "Are you sure you’re wet enough? I think we can make you even more—"

  "Oh no, Michael, please, I really am ready," she whimpered, clutching at his hair almost painfully in a frantic effort to drag him on top of her. "Please."

  "Show me. Spread yourself even wider."

  Bryony was so needy she was willing to play any game Michael liked so long as he got into bed with her.

  "Wider. Bend you knees. No, still not glistening and engorged enough."

  She thought she had been thrilled before, but the act of utter ravishment with his mouth which followed sent her soaring to the point where she couldn’t even sob his name.

  And all the while his finger kept circling her entrance and dipping in, until he introduced a second finger and then a third and curled them before spreading them to rub her inner muscles front and back.

  Her face flooded with colour. She was certain she would not be able to hold her rapidly rising passion a moment longer.

  He parted his robe and pulled her into his lap. He held her by her bottom, making her straddle both sides of his thighs with her knees on the seat of his new wheelchair, which he had removed the sides to.

  He teasingly lowering her onto his pulsing erection. He was huge with arousal, so that despite her completely moistened state she could barely fit him.

  He raised her up and down maddeningly on just the huge velvety tip. Up, down and then around and back and forth he moved against her hot slickness.

  Just when Bryony was about to yank one of his hands to get him to let go of her buttocks so she could slide down onto the vast length of him, he flipped her backwards onto the bed and lunged forward up and out of the chair right onto her and the bed.

  He drove into her with long strokes in the most primitive and uncontrollable rhythm they had ever yet shared.

  She clung to him as they spurred each other’s ardour to breaking point. The cataclysmic climax reverberated through him both and came rebounding back.

  Her eyes widened. "Michael, it’s not possible—"

  But he was already hardening again, plunging and pulsing into her, rubbing her delicate bud as he cradled himself in her compellingly rippling body.

  He drove her on until she was utterly spent, and at last, with near-boneless limbs, she helped roll him over onto the bed and got him most of the way into it.

  He reached for her nipples and brushed them lightly with his thumbs, before taking them into his hands and positioning himself to suckle them.

  "Oh, Michael, we can’t. I’m exhausted."

  He flashed her a cheeky grin. "Pardon me? We still have about forty-five hours to go. Just let me get my second wind, love, and a bit of that champagne."

  His flesh stirred upwards toward the ceiling even as she stared at him. "Oh no, you can’t be—"

  "I can, and shall. So, darling," he said in a throaty purr as he reached for the bottle and began to uncork it deftly, "after the champagne, what would you like next?"

  She was still panting heavily, but managed to say, "Well, love, why don’t you just surprise me."

  He looked at her intently. "So long as you know whatever we do tonight is done with love, and that I have never, ever shared anything like our times together with anyone else, not ever."

  She brushed the tousled hair out of his eyes and nodded. "I know. You’ve already told me. Here. And here." She pointed at her head, then heart.

  "And what am I thinking now?"

  Bryony met his eyes candidly and smiled. "That you have some very interesting uses for that champagne, and the chocolate mousse."

  He nodded. "Isn’t love grand? Now I don’t even have to do something so mundane with my mouth as speak."

  With a wicked smile, Michael poured a drizzle of the sparkling wine into her navel and over her mound, and pounced.

  Her squeal and long delighted groan told him mundane be damned.

  Their forty-eight hours became ninety-six, seventy-two of them exploring every inch of each other’s flesh inside and out, and a day to recover from the sybaritic bliss they had subjected each other to.

  Bryony had let go of her need to be helpful and let him take her wherever he wanted to go like a feather being wafted on the wind.

  Once Michael had got over his need to be in control, he had let their passion take them wherever it would. No part of each other remained unexplored.

  As Bryony had told him when they had first met, every part of the body could be the seat of the most incredible pleasure, from the tops of their ears to the tips of their toes.

  He held her tenderly after they awakened on the fourth morning and decided to face the world at last. Snuggled in each other’s arms listening to the rain pattering on the roof, Michael was sure he had never felt so happy.

  "Me neither," she murmured sleepily against his cheek.

  Michael started, certain he hadn’t spoken the words aloud. He tried again.

  Once again, she replied. "I love you too, Michael. I always have, from the moment you opened the door at Blake’s and I fell into your arms."

  He did it once more, just to prove he wasn’t imagining things.

  "Yes, Michael, if you like we can go today and see Jonathan about the ceremony. If you’re sure."

  "Yes, darling," she said after a time, "of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t say yes otherwise."

  He kissed her on the mouth, and then he heard it for certain.

  Yes, Michael, if you’re not too tired. Oh, I adore it when you touch me like that.

  Like that?

  Mmm, lovely.

  Mmm, I agree. You are.

  And you. Mmmm.

  Tired as he was, Michael was sure their lovemaking had never been more splendid. For truly they were two halves of a whole, and he swore he would spend the rest of his life making her happy.

  He wondered how much she knew and could see, hear... Whatever the sense was that seemed to unite them as one.

  Or was it all of the senses? He wasn’t sure, and was almost frightened at times of the beauty of what they shared, the miracle of their love.

  Even in the cold light of day, going about their more prosaic chores, clothing themselves, feeding the boys, going through their correspondence, it was still there, just on the edge of his consciousness.

  To love her and to be loved was Michael’s whole world. No part of his life did not touch upon Bryony in some way. He almost dreaded having to do anything which separated him from her.

>   But to live in fear of losing her was not something he could be happy with either. He just had to trust to fate that all would be well.

  Bryony felt almost the same, except she did not let her fears get the better of her. She blossomed with Michael’s love, and did not even try to analyse the link they had formed, the incredible bond forged by their endurance, faith and love.

  She could see what had haunted him and had shuddered and trembled, wept in pity for him. But she also saw the visions fading, and she hoped that soon they would vanish into the mists of time.