She awoke to light kisses dancing over her shoulder and up her neck to settle behind her ear with a murmur of contentment. A palm skated along her ribs, ghosting across her flank and tickling lightly behind her knee. Cupping her calf briefly, the palm then flattened and made a slow return journey to her ribcage, resting possessively below one breast.

Without opening her eyes, she began a leisurely roll onto her back, letting her partner ease out of her way. Her right arm splayed above her head, her left arm cradled his hand against her ribs while his other hand toyed with her hair.

“Mmmm, morning,” she sighed as her limbs stretched unconsciously against the Egyptian cotton sheets.

“That it is,” grumbled a deep voice from the hollow of her neck, where he was nibbling on the tender skin. “Should we go out for coffee … or stay in?”

“I’m not really that thirsty,” she replied with a hitch in her voice as his tongue flicked against her pulse point. He followed that with a sharp bite to the tendons that flared with her hitch, and then a soothing kiss.

Squirming a little, she began to reach for him, but he took both her hands in his and placed them above her head. Gently but firmly holding her wrists, he leaned in close to her ear once more.

“Don’t move your hands, and don’t open your eyes. This is all for you, just lie back and enjoy.” The combination of his silky voice, the strength of his hands around the fragile bones of her wrists, and the feel of his hot body pressed against hers sent a shiver through her frame.

“But I …” she started to protest.

“Shh, love, let me do this,” he whispered, the words coming from somewhere near her mouth, she thought.

Her thoughts were confirmed as she felt his lips press against hers, almost chastely. Firm and dry, his lips teased at the corners of her mouth, dancing up to rest briefly against an eyelid, then darting to plant a fleeting kiss on her hairline. His kisses walked her cheekbones like butterfly feet, felt but doubted.

Finally, his lips returned to hers once more, settling with a coaxing rhythm, teasing her lips apart. A gentle kiss to her top lip alone was followed by one to her bottom lip, then joined by the flick of his tongue against the seam of her lips. The pattern soon became obvious, and the two mouths danced the steps over and over again, sipping from one another.

Just when she thought she would go mad with anticipation, his tongue slipped between her lips. Her sigh was caught and held by his open mouth, mingling with his hot breath. Tracing the inside of her lips, his tongue dipped to savour the sharp edge of her teeth, then retreated to smooth her bottom lip again.

For long minutes, there was no sound in the room but that of lips joining and separating, and the ticking of the clock beside the bed. Sometimes, he would detour to kiss her jaw, or to nibble an ear lobe, but each time, he would return to her almost bruised lips. At last, he rested one palm against her cheek and settled back to gaze at her lying before him.

“Have you any idea how beautiful you are to me?” His hand began to move as he spoke softly to her, tracing the shell of her ear with the tip of a finger. “I look at you and my heart stops; my breath freezes in my lungs. And then you smile, and I’m almost speechless.”

The corners of her lips curved at the poetic words, and she heard his breath catch in his throat. A feeling of awe possessed her as she realized how truly serious this wonderful man was. This was not simply pillow talk, but rather an expression from the heart, perhaps one that he couldn’t make if she were looking at him. Laying back, she truly relaxed for the first time and prepared to enjoy.

“I love the way you tilt your head when you are intrigued,” he mused as he trailed his fingertips down her neck and across to her shoulder. “And the way you toss your hair when you don’t believe what someone is trying to sell you.” His palm cupped her shoulder as both of them chuckled, remembering all the times she had tossed her hair at him.

“These hands,” he continued as he brought one of her hands to his lips, “have saved so many, and hurt so few.” The sadness in his tone as he said those words puzzled her, but she was distracted by the feel of his mouth sucking gently on the skin between her thumb and forefinger.

His tongue then trailed up over her wrist and into the hollow of her elbow. She heard a small moan come from her own throat as he sucked and nibbled on the skin there, and she wondered just when her elbow had become an erogenous zone. Humming lightly, he continued his oral exploration of her arm, ending with his mouth nibbling across her collarbone and his hand settling just beneath her breast once more.

Unconsciously, she arched herself toward him, seeking his hand, his mouth, his tongue. Leaning up on his arm, he gazed down at her once again, then began to trace patterns across her skin with his fingertips.

Moving lightly, he traced circles around her navel, moving them ever outward, walking the line between stimulating and tickling. Each breath, each movement was noted so that maximum pleasure was delivered, and so that nothing broke the mood.

Shifting focus, he began to circle her breast, his inward movements a counterpoint to his movements of moments before. With each circle, his palm drifted closer and closer to her nipple, her heightened senses feeling the displaced air and longing for greater contact.

Smiling, he watched her nipple pucker and pearl in anticipation of his touch. Leaning over, but still not touching, he blew gently across the pebbled surface, and was rewarded with a drawn out moan.

“Please,” she sighed, “you’re killing me.”

“No,” he replied with seriousness out of all proportion to the situation, “I would never do that.” So saying, he finally claimed her breast with his hand, and her nipple with his hot mouth. His swirling tongue brought cries of pleasure from her, and he slid his hand across to tease at her other nipple.

Slowly, he moved to settle himself between her now spread legs. As he did so, he continued his worship of her body. His hands moved in long sweeps over her torso as his mouth and tongue worked across her chest and neck. She writhed beneath him, fisting her hands in the sheets to keep them above her head.

Stillness gripped her as his mouth moved down her body, tongue dipping into her belly button and plunging in and out quickly. His hands rested on her thighs as he nibbled across each hip, tickling and tormenting until she thrashed against the sheets.

Granting her a brief respite, he traced his hands down her legs, gentling straining muscles and caressing soft skin. Ignoring her restless shifting, he ran the backs of his hands up the insides of her thighs.

“You look wonderful,” he whispered, “hot and flushed and ready to be loved.” As he spoke, his fingertips drifted nearer to the core of her. She arched up in a wordless plea, begging for more.

His lips trailed up her body once more, finally stopping at her neck. Her whole body tensed as she felt him poised above her, and heard his voice whisper, “For you, all for you …”

************

The shrilling of the alarm clock wrenched Dr. Anne Lindsey out of the dream world that she inhabited every night since Duncan had plunged to his death. Her shaking hand quickly turned off the beacon that heralded another day alone.

Pushing her sleep tousled hair out of her eyes, Anne wondered once again why her brain insisted on providing images of things that had never happened between Duncan and herself. Not that they hadn’t made love, rather that this dream hinted at feelings Anne wasn’t sure she and Duncan had shared. Or if they had, they had certainly never mentioned them.

Moving slowly through her morning routine, Anne mentally prodded the deep ache of sadness that seemed to live in her chest. Every day, she thought it would shrink a little, then every night she would dream, and wake to a hurt as fresh as the night she cried over Duncan’s broken form on the auditorium floor.

************

Striding across the trauma room, Anne stripped the gloves from her hands. Her team had done all they could, now it was up to the surgeons, but the young girl’s chances didn’t look good. As she moved, Janie, one of the nurses, called out to her.

“Hey Doc! Aren’t you supposed to be meeting that old friend of yours for dinner tonight?”

“Yes, but I don’t know if I’m going to go,” Anne said slowly, “I’m tired and well the day has been …”

“Ya know,” Janie confided quietly, hand on Anne’s shoulder, “it might be just what you need.”

“You just might be right.” Anne walked out of the trauma room, planning to enjoy her dinner date, and hoping for a night without dreams.