*Continued from Pearl, Harbour: Far Enough
She's tired. Tending house is hard and her contact with the outside rare, but it provides opportunity to listen to the radio. "Loose lips sink ships," she hears ad nauseum as the war wages.
Weeks of sitting across a humble dinner table, watching him talk and smile placed firm focus on his mouth. His lips full, belying Caucasian genes. A slight nose dividing his face into perfect symmetry. His words wash over her, listened to but unheard.
While he speaks she fantasises about his hands upon her body, his tongue gliding across her belly and back, his breath warm and sweet upon her skin. As she listens, the urge to lean into and kiss his mouth is overwhelming but as yet, she has resisted.
"You're not listening," he quips, jolting her back into reality.
"I am. Sorry. Just... thinking."
He rambles on about his garden, the sun, his life in the water, how wonderfully she cooks with the simplest of ingredients. For him, the talk is mindless and pours onto the brushed hardwood table without thought. He's actually just watching her watching him. Cleavage slightly visible in the scoop of her pale blue sun dress, bra-less and baring nipple. Sunkissed face and shoulders. A tiny crop of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He drowns in her eyes, hazel or green - he can't really decide - and intense. There's something deep behind them, an awareness, some sort of knowing, and he wants to unlock their secret. He wants to surprise her with a kiss but fears his inexperience in the ways of love.
White sheets billow on the line and she sees him across the field, hoeing and watering, the stream of spray rising and falling like minute pearls in the sunshine. Her heart races. She feels that urge between her legs, nipples firming and breath shortening. This is not how it was with Ned.
Her mind retreats to a memory she would rather forget. Infatuation with country lad fueled her need to leave the confines of city and parents more concerned with appearance than adventure. She fooled herself into believing she loved Ned. He was tall, handsome, country-hardened and rugged and in need of a wife, but at 18, what did either know of love? Ned's rough hands knew nothing of her need for gentle touch
An epiphany that Elise never actually 'made love' makes her visibly wince. Never experienced the soulful bliss, heart-wrenching emotion, euphoria of sex with a true lover, waxed so lyrically in romance. Ned was abusive and demanding, abandoning foreplay before entering her, dry and resistant, grunting heavily, thrusting rapidly and offering no shared satisfaction - she had only been fucked and it had hurt the first few times. Her heart had never skipped, or ached at separation. Tears welled out of sadness, never joy. Of fear, never safety. Kintaro offers both and she wants him more than either realises.
Kintaro glances beneath his brim towards the window as she beckons him, her hair falling across her shoulders. He wipes earth-tainted hands on the back of his grubby trousers and walks towards her.
The homestead is empty, its owners away. He ventures into the large kitchen and scans the room. Windows wide open to welcome the summer breeze. An open Arga stove spreads warmth and kangaroo stew simmers gently. The aroma permeates the air and reminds him of his hunger, but the food will wait. He removes his shoes before ascending the staircase.
She waits by the window in one of the bedrooms. Beautiful and serene, she smiles behind her amazing hazel eyes.
"Come here," she whispers, pouring water into a porcelain bowl. She takes his hands and soaps them, her fingers entwined in his and lets the slippery medium reduce the friction of her caress. The motion of her hands firm and gentle, massaging between his fingers, around his wrists. She takes a softened towel and pats him dry, kissing the tops and palms with velvet lips. Her intent now clear.
She wipes his soil-stained face, first across brow and then his lovely eyes. He stands, clean, sweet-smelling. She nuzzles her cheek against his and moves her lips across his mouth into ardent kiss. She leads, stroking her tongue gently against his, taking his top lip between hers and deepening her embrace. He holds her face in his hands as she undoes button and zipper and dungarees fall to the floor. Flannel shirt removed, gliding slowly from his back, leaving him naked and beautiful as a kiss continues.
He slips sundress from her shoulders and slides sweet smelling fingers along her neck, down to her hips, as they move backwards towards the freshly made bed. She pushes him gently back and straddles his thighs, kissing him gently on the neck, the chest, the belly. She runs nose and tongue across his hips. He strokes her hair - glorious and fragrant - as she nuzzles his groin, soft and tender.
Kintaro bites his bottom lip as he enters gently, afraid he might come too soon and spoil her moment. Her heart fit to burst as a wave of heat emanates from soul to skin. This time she will not cry. She breathes, deep. There is pleasure beyond pleasure as she moves in rhythm and song. He can't stop looking at her. She's beyond beautiful, smooth and soft and lovely. And no longer a separate shadow.
He thumbs her nipples, firm and erect, goose bumps rising amid tiny blonde hairs on her arms and belly. He grabs her waist and watches as she closes her eyes, tilts her head back, elongated so stunning a neck. A gasp is seen and felt as his companion enters bliss. Her arms behind her grasping his inner thighs, not merely a burst of lust, but a surge and stream of emotion, of wanting, of necessity. Tears water in his eyes as they finally consummate what each has felt for weeks. She collapses languidly on his chest, replete, smiling and serene. He wants to stay inside her, now and forever and she lets the moment linger as he brushes her hair from her face. She also wants to stay. In this moment, their beginning, no gold band necessary to bind them. Together, complete, their embrace held through the night.
The sound of wheels on gravel springs them to their feet. No longer ashamed of their nudity, they smile at each other before the dramatic realisation that being caught is not an option. He hurriedly draws on his dungarees and with hat and flannel shirt tucked underneath his arm, bolts like a rabbit down the stairs and through the kitchen door. She straightens messed sheets and worries not about the heady, salt fragrance of sex. Elise dresses quickly and pours the dirty washwater down the sink. The towel, she tucks behind the dresser - she can dispose of it later - and glides effortlessly down the stairs to answer the door.
As she unlatches the brass bolt, all the bliss that had entered her just moments before evaporates. She feels as if she's going to faint, her pulse racing. Brass buttons, blue suit, round topped and visored cap... it's the police.
"You're harbouring a Jap. Where is he?"
*Continued in Pearl, Harbour: Pearl in the Water
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