Thank you, God. Thank you, Jesus. She loves me. She loves me. She loves me.

She said it, and I believe her. I believe her, because she never would say it before, and she knew that was what I wanted. She didn't say it, even though she believed that it would have made me more likely to consider letting her go. She didn't say it in the middle of love making, when the fever was high and I'd do just about anything for her.

She said it in the sweet afterglow, with a gentle, thoughtful look on her face. She said it after the first time, the very first time, she touched me first of her own accord. I've always known we were one. Now she knows it, too.

I'm watching her sleep now. She's curled up on her side, head against my shoulder. I can feel the silk tickle of her hair, the moist brush of her breath. Her mouth is a little swollen. I couldn't stop kissing her. There's a small, red-purple bruise on the side of her throat where I marked her, sucking till the heated blood flowed to the surface.

I tighten my arm, but I can't pull her any closer. She's already pressed to me, body stretched along mine. She makes a questioning murmur, still asleep, and her leg hooks over mine. I stay still, because I don't want to wake her. I want to keep watching her. I watch her, and marvel.

She's mine, this woman. In the beginning, I took her. But now she's given herself to me, and that's the stronger hold.

It's scary. I realize now why she fought it so hard. Because love leaves you open to a whole new world of hurt. I think about Justine, and how she was when she lost Arthur. I imagine how it would be if something like that happened to Scribe, and I wonder that my sister didn't just curl up and die herself. I think it was Joshua that kept her on this earth. He's a little bit of Arthur, and that was enough to convince Justine to stay.

Children. Some author fella called them hostages to fate. I can see that. If you have more sensibilities than an animal, that's what they are. They color every part of your universe. There isn't a damn thing that doesn't relate to them in one way or another. I want a child. If it isn't to be, then that's alright. Just having Scribe will be enough. But oh, I want to see her holding a little bit of God's grace that we two brought to earth.

I imagine what it would be like. I smile to myself. I expect I'd drive her crazy. I'd be all over her, all the time. Eat this, don't eat that, come take your walk, but not too far. Don't you dare try to lift that, woman. Did you take your vitamins yet? No? Why not? How much juice did you drink today? Not the cookies. Have an apple instead. I laugh as I imagine her reaction. I expect my ears would get a bit singed.

Will it happen? I lay my hand on her belly, considering. It's gently rounded, but she's always been a bit plump. If she WAS pregnant, how long before it would show? Some women can carry almost to term, and you scarce notice it. Others get to their fifth month, and you'd think they had a basketball under their shirt.

I imagine her big with child, grumbling as she tries to find a comfortable position to sleep. I'd have to get more pillows, to prop her tummy comfortably. I imagine pressing my hand to the fertile swell, as I am now, and feeling a flutter push up against my palm, and knowing that it's life, and that I had a hand in creating it. All things devoutly to be wished.

But she'd be enough.

Her hand is laying on my chest. It begins to move, stroking slowly. I glance down. Her eyes are open, staring at nothing, still slightly unfocussed with sleep. I can tell by the way that her hand moves in idle circles that she's not trying to arouse me. She's just feeling me, petting me. She feels comfortable in just touching me, without the need to make it any more than that. It's ironic that I find that so erotic.

"You awake now, darlin'?" She answers with a hum. "You still love me?"

She sighs. "Isn't it the woman who's supposed to be the needy one? No, I only used you as a one night stand to satiate my lust. You're nothing but a sex toy to me. I can't use you if you don't service me."

I laugh. "You do say the sweetest things."

"Pervert." She kisses my chest. "Yes, I love you, mountain man."

"Bout fucking time. I'm so damn lovable, I don't know how you held out this long."

"Terror. Love is scary."

"I was just thinking that."

She lifts her head and looks at me. "You?" There's disbelief in her voice.

"Me. You scare the hell out of me."

She frowns. "How?"

"The thought that I might lose you." It's hard to say the next part, but I force myself. "The thought that you might leave me. That'd rip a chunk out of me, Scribe."

She studies me quietly. "I won't."

I search her eyes, and nod slowly. "No, you won't."

She settles back down. "Can we get a tv? I hate to deny Jacob anything, but Barney is on the same time as Iron Chef."

"In the spring. You want a big one?"

She rests her chin on my chest, and one eyebrow arches. Her hand slides down, past my abdomen, into my pubes, and she presses her hand over my cock. "That's a loaded question."

I grin in delight. This is a side of her I haven't seen before, but suspected. Playful, teasing. "You're becoming a wicked woman."

"It's not my fault. Some dastardly person debauched me. I managed a corn dog stand at a mall for a long time. Do you have any idea how many `big, hot wiener' jokes I had to listen to? Cute. The first hundred or so times."

Her hand is moving again, stroking my cock. I don't expect to get hard. I've already come twice tonight. I'm young, and I'm vigorous, but I'm not Superman. I don't expect to, but damned if that's not what's happening. This one's gonna take a while to get rid of. "Baby, are you sure you should be doing that?"

The eyebrow goes up again. "You want me to stop?"

"Not really, no. But I thought maybe you'd be a bit tired."

"You've been doing most of the work."

"If you don't stop that, you're gonna have to finish it."

"Well, duh."

I was hard now Wanting to reciprocate, I reached down and stroked her pubic hair aside, reaching for her clitoris. She moaned and squirmed up against my hand. This would be alright, then. Just the hands. I looked down, then moved my hand to slip a finger inside her snug passage. I'd been overcome by the moment before, and hadn't thought about her condition.

I pulled my hand free, and she made a grumbling sound as I examined my finger. Then I looked down at my cock, admiring the whiteness of her fingers against the rosy flush. "Baby? There isn't any blood."

"Hm? There isn't?"

"No. Just an itty bitty smear on that towel, that's all."

"Oh." He hand pauses. "I usually go longer than this. My period has been so wonky the last year, though..." I think about spotting, but I don't say anything. My heart is filling up again. "That's okay, then. It means I can do this."

She moves. Her leg slides the rest of the way over me, and she kneels up, straddling me. She's still holding my dick. Now she looks down, obviously concentrating, and positions me. I watch in surprised delight.

The tip of my cock head nudges apart her pussy lips, and she slowly begins to sink down, impaling herself. I give a long, happy groan as I'm swallowed in the tight, moist heat. I slide in easily, my way greased by the spunk I had deposited there a little while ago. She ends up sitting on me, and then begins to rock gently.

It feels so good. Just slow, small movements. No rush, no hurry. We have time. All the time in the world. She reaches toward me, and I take her hands in mine, meshing our fingers. She rides me, posting a little, up and down. We stare into each other's eyes. It lasts for a long time, and she doesn't close her eyes, not even at the end. Not even when her body clenches around me, milking me so that I give one hard upward thrust and spill my liquid lust inside her again. Not even as she shudders and moans, hips jerking.

And when we're done, she lies on top of me, covering me, and I hold her. And she's whispering in my ear.

"Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe..."