Disclaimer: So, here we are once again, away from canon and with no particular map apart from my own imagination. Does that mean that any of these characters belong to me? Of course not. (Always excepting Catherine Stewart.)

Author's Notes: Following in the illustrious footsteps of my indefatigable Beta, GiulliettaC, I've decided to make two versions of this chapter. This is the M-Rated version. After all, what would the realm of Fanfiction be without a generous dollop of pornographic voyeurism mixed into the Drama, Angst, and Romance that we all adore?

Giving more credit where it is due, GiulliettaC (in answering one of the first of my many, many questions) recommended the song that is featured in this chapter. It's called "Love is the Sweetest Thing," sung by Al Bowlly (with the Ray Noble orchestra) in 1932. You can hear it on YouTube.

Early April, 1943

DCS Foyle had resigned from the police force first thing in the morning. He spent the rest of the day tying up loose ends at the station and fielding innumerable phone calls. At the end of the day, Sam drove him home. Ostensibly, her raison d'être at the station had been as Mr. Foyle's driver, but she nevertheless turned up for work as usual the next couple of days following Mr. Foyle's departure, offering her services as a driver to whomever might need them, running a few errands for Sergeant Brooke, and making herself generally useful. The sudden change had left most of the men rather lost and bewildered, even those who had little to do with the DCS and received few direct orders from him, if any. Brookie himself seemed…deflated somehow, his usual buoyant good humor absent as he went about doing his bit to keep the station running smoothly.

Towards the end of the third day that followed Mr. Foyle's abrupt resignation, Paul returned to his office. He had been closeted with Assistant Commissioner Parkins, in Mr. Foyle's old office, for the better part of two hours, reviewing outstanding cases and putting things in order for Mr. Foyle's successor. Parkins informed Paul that the likely candidate was a man named Meredith. It had all been tedious in the extreme; Paul supposed that Mr. Foyle had had to suffer through similar meetings on a regular basis.

As Paul pushed open his office door, he became aware of a smothered, snuffling sound. He turned on the light, entered the room, and saw…Sam. She was huddled on the floor, in the corner of the room, directly underneath the plate glass "window" that served as part of the wall between Paul's office and the station's hallway. It was the perfect spot to pick if one wanted to go unnoticed by anyone passing along the corridor, which had clearly been Sam's intention. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, head buried in her arms, sobbing broken-heartedly.

"Sam?" Paul exclaimed in surprise. He shut and locked the door behind him, then moved towards her corner. Startled, she looked up, cheeks glazed with tears and her skin blotchy. She looked as though she'd been crying for hours. "Darling, what happened?" he pressed her in concern. Sam opened her mouth once or twice, but no sound came out other than the beginnings of a high-pitched keening noise that signaled a renewed bout of weeping.

Gingerly, Paul lowered himself to the floor next to Sam. When he eased one arm around her shoulders, she flung herself around his neck. They sat like this for some little while, Paul rubbing Sam's back and feeling her wracking sobs reverberate through his own body.

Sam finally pushed herself away from Paul, gulping air and trying to find her voice.

"AC Parkins," she gasped, "He s-s-sacked me. Said I wasn't n-needed here now that Mr. Foyle had r-resigned." Paul wondered when this conversation had taken place; he hadn't seen Sam meeting with Parkins earlier. But then, he'd spent half his afternoon in the file room, gathering material for their meeting and had gone straight to said meeting without going to his own office first. "I s-s-said that I'd b-be happy to stay on and d-drive DCS Meredith," Sam continued her voice beginning to gain in strength, "He said that it was out of the question, completely against procedure, neither he nor Meredith would even consider it. And wasn't I getting…m-m-married in a few weeks anyway? Said he was sure my husband would ap-preciate having my undivided attention!" Sam's voice had wobbled into a momentary semblance of her customary indignant energy, then she started crying again.

Paul shifted uncomfortably. The last thing that he and Parkins had discussed at his own meeting was Paul's fast-approaching nuptials. It was on the books that Paul had been granted two days leave. The timing was now less than ideal, given the need for a smooth transition from Mr. Foyle's tenure to that of Mr. Meredith, but Parkins had assured Paul that there was no need to interfere with his wedding plans. As Paul had stood to leave, Parkins had offered the younger man his hand and his warmest congratulations. Nothing had been said about Sam or her job.

Paul pulled out a handkerchief, which he offered to Sam, then he sat in silence for a long time, stroking Sam's hair, patting her shoulders, caressing her arms and her back. He couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't somehow make the whole situation worse. He wondered whether he should go back to Parkins and try to persuade the AC to keep Sam on, but knowing what little he did of the man, Paul suspected that would simply make matters worse. He thought back to the first time Sam had been let go from her job, by Detective Inspector Collier. Paul remembered the look on Sam's face, equal parts bewilderment and pain, though she had managed to maintain a professional demeanor on the drive back to the station. He wondered if Sam had had a crying jag like this one after leaving the station, whether she had cried herself to sleep that night. The right words of comfort finally came to him as Sam's tears began to subside.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Paul said quietly, "I know how much this has all meant to you. I'm sorry things haven't worked out the way we planned." Then, after another moment of silence, "Let me take you home now, you're all done in."

They helped each other up from the floor, gathered their things, and left the building.

"I don't know what to do with myself now," Sam said morosely as they walked through the deepening evening. "I feel as worn out as a used dishrag. And about as valued."

"I value you," Paul said, giving Sam's hand a squeeze, "And so do lots of other people. I'm sure something will turn up." He spoke with some certainty, knowing full well that once the Labour Exchange got wind of Sam's availability, she would be pressed into some sort of work related to the war effort. "Any organization would be lucky to have you. And in the meantime…there's just a few weeks left to the wedding," Paul ventured, "Your mother could probably do with your help. And there will be fittings for the dress… You could go back home a little earlier."

"And give the wedding my 'undivided attention'?" Sam was too exhausted to give Paul more than a half-hearted glare.

Paul gave an apologetic shrug. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

"I know, Darling. I'm sorry. You've been such a brick tonight."

"I'm glad I could return the favor. After all, how often have you helped me?" They had reached Sam's doorstep as they spoke. Before Paul could give Sam a parting kiss, she had reached up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in his neck and clinging to him tightly. She wished that she would never have to let go; she felt so cherished and safe, wrapped in Paul's silent sympathy as well as his arms.

When they finally kissed goodnight, Paul had intended something comforting and gentle, and it began that way. Neither of them could have said who escalated the kiss, lips parting and tongues seeking each other, but the intensity of the feelings that it aroused – given the circumstances of the evening – surprised them both. Intoxicated and lightheaded, Sam ran her hands through Paul's hair, felt his own fingers bury and entwine themselves in hers. Moments before, all her emotions had been blunted, stunted, and exhausted. Now, Sam felt a bloom of radiant colour burst inside her as she pressed her body against Paul's. For perhaps the thousandth time since Christmas, she wished that the intervening days until their wedding would melt magically away. It was a long time before they were able to extricate themselves from their embrace and part for the evening.

...

In the end, Sam took Paul's advice; she spent a day or so in boxing up all of her worldly goods to be transferred to Paul's house – quite soon their house – and spent the last two weeks before their wedding at home in Lyminster. Most mornings were spent helping her mother give the house a top-to-bottom spring cleaning. Every other afternoon found Sam standing on a stool in the sitting room, being fitted for her wedding dress, which had already arrived from Littlehampton with Mrs. Donaldson's compliments. Miss Kirk, the seamstress who served most of Lyminster, spent what seemed like hours at a time measuring, and pinning, and fussing because she couldn't get the material at the bust to lie the way that she wished. At the second to last fitting, Sam nearly fell off the stool from a combination of sheer boredom and dizziness at standing immobile for too long in the bright spring sunlight, which had raised the temperature of the sitting room considerably.

The afternoon before the wedding saw a slightly nerve-wracking influx of relatives. Apart from Iain's brother, the Reverend Aubrey Stewart, there were Catherine's two brothers, the Reverends Simon and Theodore Gresham and their respective wives, Millicent and Cecily. Sam liked them all very much – though Aunt Cecily had an annoying habit of taking twenty minutes to say something where most other people would only need five – but being the main focus of everyone's attention quickly became rather overwhelming. At nine, Sam finally made her escape, on the pretext of wanting an early night.

She had prepared for bed and settled herself under the bedclothes with an old Edgar Wallace paperback gleaned from her bookshelf, when there was a tap on the door and her mother entered, bearing a glass of warm milk.

"In my experience, most brides have some trouble getting to sleep the night before their wedding," Catherine said, placing the milk on her daughter's bedside cabinet and perching herself on the edge of the bed.

"Thanks." Sam sat up and took an appreciative gulp. She thought that she tasted a little honey and spent a moment trying to remember who in the parish kept bees and might have made a present of some honey to her parents. "I hope this will do the trick for me."

"Are you nervous about tomorrow?" her mother inquired. Sam twitched her shoulder in a non-committal little shrug. "About tomorrow night?" Catherine persisted.

"A bit," Sam admitted, struggling somewhat to find the right words to describe her state of mind. To let her mother think that she was apprehensive would be both entirely untrue and misleading, because that would imply that she was afraid of Paul or the idea of finally being able to give herself to him completely. Quite the contrary; Sam had been longing for this new chapter in their relationship for months. The long wait, however, had also magnified the portentousness of the moment, which still remained shrouded in a degree of mystery. Sam knew, more or less, what the physical act of intimacy was supposed to entail, but that theoretical knowledge only went so far. What would it really be like, being that close to Paul, when he finally allowed himself to drop the self-restraint that she knew he had been employing for months? It didn't help that, despite exchanging several letters and phone calls, Sam and Paul hadn't seen each other in person for close to two weeks. The butterflies currently flitting round her stomach could best be categorized as 'fidgety.'

"Is there anything you want to know?" Catherine asked her daughter. She was willing to wager that whatever Samantha did know, it was considerably more than she herself had known before her own marriage. It hadn't taken terribly long for herself and Iain to find their level, but looking back, Catherine thought that she could have done with a bit more preparation from her own mother beforehand.

"Does it always hurt?" Sam asked, tracing a design on her coverlet, "The first time?" That was the one nagging, annoying little worry that refused to be dismissed, the idea that something she wanted so much and had been looking forward to for so long would have to be purchased with some pain at the outset. How much pain? How long did it last?

"It usually does. A little." Catherine studied Samantha's half-averted face, "But it's nothing to be frightened of, especially when you weigh it in the balance of a lifetime of marriage."

"Right." Samantha still sounded slightly uneasy, though she was trying to hide it. Catherine decided to try a different tack.

"Tell me what Paul's like," she asked.

"But you've met him," Samantha protested, looking up at last in her surprise, "What do you want to know?"

"Just tell me what sort of man he is. Tell me why you want to marry him."

"Oh, well… He's terribly sweet. And kind. And patient. And so smart."

"Do you trust him?" Catherine interposed as Samantha paused for breath.

"Oh, absolutely!" her daughter exclaimed, without the least trace of hesitation or doubt.

Catherine nodded to herself, her lips quirking upwards with a small smile. "You'll do very well together," she said, standing up and bending down to give Samantha a kiss on her forehead before leaving the room. Experience on one side, trust on the other, and love on both…oh yes, they would do very well together in navigating this particular aspect of married life. Catherine paused at her daughter's door and turned back for a moment. Samantha had finished off her milk and lain down, pulling her bedclothes up to her chin. "One more bit of advice," Catherine added, collecting the empty glass, "Don't bother wearing your knickers to bed. It's such a nuisance to get them off in the heat of the moment."

"Mother!" Samantha exclaimed, sitting bolt upright in bed again, mouth agape and eyes wide with shock.

"Oh, Darling," Catherine smiled indulgently. Samantha thought that she was so sophisticated and worldly-wise, working for the police in Hastings rather than managing a rectory in Lyminster like her staid, respectable, boring old mother. "You didn't think that your father and I found you in a parsley bed, did you?"

...

The ceremony went off the next morning without a hitch. Most of Iain Stewart's congregation jammed the St. Stephen's pews to witness the event, although everyone understood that only the specially invited family and friends were invited back to the rectory afterwards for refreshments. Either despite – or perhaps because of – Miss Kirk's repeated fussing over the alterations, the dress fit perfectly and everyone who saw Sam agreed that she made a positively radiant bride.

When Paul finally caught sight of Sam walking sedately down the aisle, her sunniest smile lighting up her face, he felt himself grinning effortlessly back at her. All the little, niggling stresses over the changes taking place back at the station and the flurry of last minute preparations for the wedding melted away. Everything in this moment was just as it ought to be. With her hands full of nodding narcissi in varying shades of yellow and her golden hair falling in soft curls around her face, Paul thought that Sam seemed to be the very incarnation of Spring and everything that spoke of fresh hope and new possibilities for the future. For their future together. Sam reached the end of the aisle, handed her flowers to her mother, placed her hand in Paul's, and the service began.

...

The crowd of congregational well-wishers to be dealt with after Paul and Sam had been pronounced man and wife seemed interminable, though Sam's poise never flagged. As she accepted congratulations automatically, Sam kept reaching out to brush the sleeve of Paul's suit jacket or to briefly link her fingers with his, and each time she did, assuring herself that this was real, that she and Paul were actually married, a blazing euphoria would rush through her. The last person to come forward with best wishes was the most welcome one to both the bride and groom.

"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Milner," offered Mr. Foyle with a nod and a twinkle, "So very happy for you both."

"Sir!" Sam exclaimed with genuine warmth as her former boss gave her a peck on the cheek, "We're so glad you could come. It wouldn't be the same without you."

"Wouldn't miss it," Mr. Foyle replied, giving Paul a warm handshake. In the aftermath of the ex-DCS's resignation, there had been a slight uncertainty whether he would be able to get away to Lyminster for the wedding now that he had made himself responsible for the welfare of Lydia and Jimmy while she recovered from her attempted suicide. Sam had urged Mr. Foyle to bring Lydia and Jimmy to the wedding as well, although she supposed that they were both doing well enough to be left on their own in Hastings for the day, since her former boss appeared to be on his own.

"Now come on back to the house for sandwiches and cake," Sam added, as a glance beyond Mr. Foyle's shoulder showed her that the bulk of the crowd had finally drifted away. "I'm absolutely starved. And the cake is quite good, really; Mother used the same recipe at Christmas and it turned out very well."

...

In the later afternoon, Paul and Sam boarded a train back to Hastings. Blissfully alone in their compartment, they picnicked on a parcel of food that Sam's mother had packed for them: Spam sandwiches and an extra piece of cake apiece. As they ate, they talked over their impressions of the day, punctuating their sentences with kisses.

"I was afraid for a minute there that Daddy would burst into tears, right there in front of the whole congregation. Did you notice?"

"It was a bit of a near thing, I suppose," Paul admitted. "But I thought he rallied quite impressively." Paul tried to imagine what must have been going through Iain's head, the father of the bride performing the marriage ceremony for his own daughter. "But where on earth did you manage to get your hands on lipstick?" he added, dabbing at his own lips with a handkerchief and surveying the red stains that came away.

"Aunt Millie lent me some, just for the day," Sam grinned, pleased that Paul had noticed.

"Was it her husband who managed to get his hands on a camera?"

"No, no. Aunt Millie is married to Uncle Simon. It was Uncle Theo who took those snaps – Gosh, I hope they develop well. And it was frightfully sweet of him. Almost makes up for that toast he gave."

"It wasn't that bad."

"He spoke for ten minutes, Paul! He really does have this terrible tendency to pontificate. I can't imagine how his congregation has managed to avoid murdering him in his own pulpit – although I suppose most of them just fall asleep before they can work themselves up to homicide. He and Aunt Cecily are a perfect pair – neither of them can stop talking. I can't imagine how they get anything done!"

"Did you drink any of the greengage wine?" Paul asked.

"Heavens, no!" Sam exclaimed, her horror both put on yet genuine. "Well, just a sip, to spare Uncle Aubrey's feelings. Did you have any?"

"One rather large swallow that I regretted. Once rationing ends, do you think anyone could persuade your Uncle Aubrey to make greengage jam instead?"

...

When they finally arrived home, the house was dark and cold. In the shadows, everything looked a little strange and unfamiliar even though Sam had already spent so much time there, and it was now her home as well. They hung up their coats and hats, and then Paul worked on resurrecting the main heater and driving out the pervasive chill of early spring. While he was thus occupied, Sam carried her case up to their room, turned on the gas heater, and began unpacking the items she would need that night. Mid-rummage, she heard Paul call her from downstairs. Sam made her way down the staircase to where Paul stood waiting. He kissed her soundly, then took her hand and tugged her towards the sitting room.

"What on earth, Paul?" Sam asked bemusedly.

"I have a little surprise," he said, opening the door of a cabinet to reveal a gramophone. That got Sam's attention.

"Have you had that all this time?" she exclaimed, "Why on earth have we always been listening to the wireless?"

"I don't have all that many records to go with it," Paul explained as he pulled out one cardboard sheath from among a dozen or so, "And none of them are very recent. Or very lively. But some of them are good for slow dances and I wanted that to be the first thing we did tonight once we got home."

"Really?" Sam's voice registered faint traces of disbelief. Since they had begun seeing each other nearly a year ago, there had been no dearth of dancing or dances – both fast and slow. Despite her fidgets the previous evening, all that she wanted to do at this moment was to head upstairs and begin exploring the joys of the marriage bed. Sam would have thought that Paul would be even more eager for that than she was herself…. But apparently the first thing he wanted them to do in their home was to dance?

"Don't tell me you don't want to dance with your own husband," Paul smiled teasingly, "Not even one little dance? Who's the cold fish now?" he continued, smile broadening. After a moment's perplexity, Sam suddenly recognized her own words from that night…almost three years ago, when they had danced together for the first time….

Sam came closer, smiling, and stood watching as Paul placed the record on the gramophone and adjusted the needle. After a moment of static, the sound of violins filled the sitting room. Paul held out his hand to Sam and gently pulled her into his arms as a crooning voice emerged from the gramophone, and they began to make a slow circuit of the sitting room.

Love is the sweetest thing,

What else on earth could ever bring,

Such happiness to everything,

As love's old story?

Love is the strangest thing,

No song or bird upon the wing,

Shall in our hearts more sweetly sing,

Than love's own story.

…

Love is the strongest thing,

The oldest yet the latest thing,

I only hope that fate may bring,

Love's story to you.

By the time the song ended, they weren't really dancing so much as swaying in place, Sam's forehead resting on Paul's shoulder. She could feel the steady thumping of his heartbeat through his clothes, and the heat of his fingertips pressing into the small of her back through her own. Sam thought of their very first dance, on the wireless in the kitchen and all of the changes and circumstances that had brought them both to this moment of heady sweetness. And she understood that Paul wanted to celebrate this new stage of their lives together by paying homage to where that journey had begun.

"Paul?"

"Yes?" he mumbled, breathing in the perfume of Sam's hair. Sam pulled herself back for a moment and gazed up at her husband – this somewhat shy, earnest, restrained young man – to whom the simple joy of one little dance had meant so much three years ago.

"Let's go upstairs now," she whispered, "I'm tired of dancing."

...

They climbed the stairs together but by mutual agreement prepared for bed in separate rooms; they each still had their own reasons to feel a little shy of each other while undressing. Sam had elected to change in the spare room, the one in which she had camped out for a week back when her lodgings had been bombed. It wasn't until she had run a quick brush through her hair and exchanged her traveling clothes for her nightgown, however, that Sam realized she had made a strategic error in her choice of sleepwear.

She had known from the start that rationing would make acquiring anything resembling bridal lingerie impossible and out of the question. But this was such a special occasion in every sense of the word – her first night together with Paul – and Sam had wanted whatever she wore to look pretty and alluring, even if she couldn't look like a film-star in something slinky and lacy. After making a review of all her nightgowns, she had selected her summer nightie – a very simple, sleeveless cotton shift which displayed a hint of cleavage. Sam knew, of course, that early spring – even on the South Coast – could be quite as cold as the winter that had preceded it, but she had assured herself that she would manage decently as long as she remembered to turn up the gas in their room a bit higher than usual.

But she hadn't reckoned on how cold the rest of the house was likely to be after no one had occupied it for over twenty four hours. By morning there might be some ambient heat in the spare room, but just now its interior was approximately the same temperature as the street outside.

Shivering from head to toe, Sam extinguished the light in the guest room, hurriedly opened the door of the main bedroom and closed it behind her, then scrambled under the bedclothes without ceremony, barely registering the single candle that Paul had left burning on the bureau, dimly illuminating the room. Sam snuggled against Paul's flank, desperate for his body's heat to warm her up.

"You're frozen," Paul said in concern as he rubbed his hands up and down Sam's bare arms. Even under the blankets, he could feel the way her skin had broken out in gooseflesh.

"I've been a bit of an idiot," Sam muttered, feeling herself blush, "Should have worn something warmer. But I wanted to look…nice." Paul's hands were wonderfully warm; already she could feel her shivering subside.

"And you look ravishing," Paul declared with wholehearted approval. He had only caught a brief glimpse of his wife in the flickering candlelight as she rushed across the room and into bed, but Sam had nonetheless been a vision of rosy skin, golden hair, and snowy drapery. Paul gently moved his hands from Sam's arms down to her waist and drew her closer to him. Then he leaned in further and captured her lips with his.

Within a few moments, Paul felt the by now all too familiar ache of his own arousal, and for a fleeting second, out of long habit, he began steeling himself to dampen his desire. With his next breath, however, came the reassuring memory that such restraint was no longer necessary. Blood surging in triumph, Paul moved his hands from Sam's waist to her hips and deepened their kiss, losing himself in its rapture and the promise of more to come.

Sam twined her arms around Paul's neck and shoulders, feeling his own arms encircle her waist, drawing their bodies closer. She registered a brief confusion when their legs tangled and she felt…the absence of symmetry. No left leg for her own right leg to nudge, no left foot for her own right foot to caress. The next moment, however, she dismissed it from her mind, running her hands through Paul's hair and down his jaw, enjoying the slight scratch of emerging stubble.

Paul had felt Sam's brief pause, her own legs searching automatically for his missing one. He remembered the night he had proposed; she had been her usual tower of strength when he had showed her his leg detached from its prosthetic. His stomach clenched briefly in apprehension, wondering if this time Sam's reaction would lean more towards pity or distaste.

He needn't have worried; she simply carried on with her explorations, her hands roaming busily over his head and face, her tongue dueling with his, her body molding itself to his. Her enthusiasm was unmistakable; Paul felt his own desire increase and his doubts recede.

"Lie back," Sam ordered softly when they broke the kiss, pressing forward against Paul's body with her own until he was flat on his back while she lay propped on her side, leaning over him. Feeling very daring, Sam shifted her concentration to undoing the fastenings of Paul's pyjama jacket. With each button released, she kissed another patch of his bared chest, working her way down Paul's stomach, breathing in his scent, delighting in the taste of his skin and the way that the hair she found growing there tickled her chin. It was wiry, compared to the hair on his head, but also softer than she had expected, as was his skin.

Paul half sat up when the last of the buttons had been taken care of and pulled the jacket off himself completely. They kissed deeply again and Sam suddenly found their positions reversed, with herself flipped flat on her back and Paul looming over her. She gave an involuntary, slightly startled squeak at the abrupt change and Paul froze with one hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Are you all right?" Sam could hear the concern in Paul's voice. He was panting slightly and when she replied, she realized that so was she.

"Perfectly," she reassured him, "That was just a bit sudden."

"Please, Sam, tell me if you want to slow down, or stop…or anything. God, I love you so much." Paul felt a sudden twinge of anxiety; it was his responsibility to ensure that this whole experience should be as wonderful for Sam as he could make it. But he had never been much of a Casanova and the two and a half years since his last experience of physical intimacy suddenly seemed like a very long time.

"I love you too," Sam replied, running her hands over Paul's shoulders, marvelling at the unexpected revelation that they were as smooth and hairless as her own. "Please, Darling," she continued pleadingly, "Carry on what you were doing. I trust you completely, and I don't want to stop in the least."

Paul bent his head over Sam and kissed her again, deeply, with a gentle reverence suffused with passion. And Sam felt Paul's hand move from her shoulder to her breast. Through the thin cotton of her nightgown, he cupped its soft weight in his palm and Sam released a gentle sigh composed of equal parts longing and contentment. Then Paul shifted his hand slightly and his thumb found her nipple, which he began tapping almost as though he were using it to send coded messages to the rest of her body.

And, amazingly, that seemed to be precisely what Paul really intended. Each gentle tap sent a jolt of electricity from her breast to…that…place between her legs. Sam's hips squirmed restlessly as a lovely, torturous pressure seemed to build there. The rapidly dwindling section of Sam's brain that was capable of rational thought tried to puzzle out how these two non-contiguous bits of her body seemed connected in some strange, mysterious way. It didn't make any sense.

Or maybe it made all the sense in the world, Sam found herself thinking in ecstasy as Paul shifted his body and his hands to repeat his ministrations on her other breast with the same wondrous results. As though from rather far way, Sam could hear herself moaning Paul's name with grateful delight.

Then, Sam felt one of Paul's hands travel down her side, past her waist, in search of the hem of her nightgown. At least, she supposed that must have been his goal, because once located, his hand began a return journey up her body, the material hooked over Paul's thumb while his palm and his other fingers traversed the firm, warm flesh of Sam's thigh. She heard him give a low growl of appreciation when he discovered that she had indeed taken her mother's advice from the evening before and left her knickers in the spare room along with her other clothes; Paul's hand encountered nothing to interfere with the smooth expanse of Sam's skin as her thigh merged seamlessly with the flesh of her buttocks and hips.

They remained locked in an ardent, exploratory embrace for the next couple of minutes. They were each still half-dressed and it became increasingly obvious that they would not be able to rectify this situation without briefly letting each other go. It was rather difficult to do, though Sam managed to disengage herself from Paul's arms long enough to pull her nightgown over her head and drape it over the headboard.

On impulse, Sam lay back down, then rolled on to her stomach, while Paul was occupied with removing the last of his clothes. The gas heater had warmed the room nicely, but the sheets still felt cool and smooth against her bare skin and caused a frisson of pleasure to run through her body. Feeling suddenly coquettish, Sam flipped her hair to one side, inviting Paul to kiss the nape of her neck, the way he so often did when they were preparing dinner. He accepted her wordless invitation, smothering the back of her neck with frenzied kisses. Sam found herself simultaneously titillated and ticklish, giggling delightedly. Then she felt Paul's lips travel lovingly down her spine, his breath coming in warm puffs against her skin. He bestowed two quick kisses to her bottom when he reached it, then his lips retraced their steps until they arrived at their starting point, and he peppered her shoulders and neck with more kisses. The front of his body was covering her back and she could feel…him pressed against her bottom. So wonderfully hard.

And all at once, Sam was flooded by an overwhelming, aching need to accept Paul into her own body; for them to be joined as one. Wriggling desperately, Sam managed to turn over on to her back so that now she and Paul were face to face. Then came an uncertain pause.

Before Sam could decide what to do or say next, Paul bent down over her and planted several tender kisses around her bellybutton, then slid one hand along the underside of Sam's thigh and wordlessly encouraged her to raise her knee, bestowing another kiss on it when she had done so. Sam raised her other knee without being told; she saw immediately how her legs now framed Paul's waist and felt how this new position had opened up her body, granting him access. With a sudden flash of insight as to how to proceed, Sam reached out and took hold of Paul. In the dim candlelight, the dark silhouette between Paul's thighs struck Sam as quite impressive… When she grasped him Paul let out a shuddery sort of gasp.

"Have I hurt you?" Sam whispered anxiously, unsure just how sensitive men were there. She couldn't believe that she was touching Paul so intimately.

"God, no," Paul managed with difficulty, "I'd tell you if you did." He felt Sam guide him to her entrance and nudge him in a little way. Then he reached down and gently detached her hand from him, interlacing their fingers and pushing their hands down amongst the bedding.

This doesn't have to be perfect, Paul told himself, attempting to bolster his confidence. He and Sam had their entire lives together as man and wife to discover how to give each other complete pleasure, to learn about each other's bodies. But nevertheless, he so fiercely wanted this moment to be perfect, as perfect for Sam as he could make it. He pushed forward into Sam as slowly as he could manage. She was slick, and warm, and tight; for Paul, at least, this moment was everything he had dreamed of during the long months of their courtship.

When he had entered Sam fully, Paul held himself still. He waited until he felt the tensed muscles of her abdomen relax; she gave a small, experimental squirm beneath him. Paul took possession of Sam's lips once more, kissing her deeply and ardently. He felt her arms encircle him, her hands exploring his shoulder blades and tracing his spine.

Hunching his shoulders and raising himself on his elbows, Paul trailed kisses across Sam's jaw and down her neck until he reached her nipple. Sam arched convulsively at the sensation of his lips and his tongue caressing her there, letting out a startled yelp of pleasure. Paul leaned forward again and kissed her earlobe.

"Do you have any idea how much I love you?" he whispered hoarsely into her ear.

"I think I do." Enough for him to wait over seven months for this moment, with a patience that Sam still couldn't quite fathom, despite knowing from personal experience precisely how powerfully enthralling all this could be.

"You are so beautiful." Paul's declaration was breathless and fervent. Sam had been told of her beauty innumerable times over the years, but she had seldom felt her beauty as intrinsically as in this moment, as the words fell from her husband's lips in the throes of passion.

Sam felt Paul raise himself slightly once again, putting a bare inch of space between them. Eager to reclaim the feel of his skin on hers, Sam tried pulling Paul back down onto her. Before she could manage the task, however, she felt Paul's thumb come to rest between her breasts, then travel down her sternum and stomach. He paused to circle her navel, then continued downwards again to where their bodies were joined; he seemed to be searching for something, though Sam didn't know what.

She knew immediately when he had found it, however. Because whatever that spot on her body might be called, when Paul teased it with his thumb, the same electric, throbbing rush returned to that place between her legs, this time building in intensity with the promise of something bigger.

Paul knew he had found the right spot when Sam gasped in delighted surprise. As he continued the stimulation, her breathing grew shallower and the desperate wriggling of her hips more pronounced. Then Paul felt Sam's body arch and tense in a slightly different way, felt the inner muscles with which she was enveloping him go into throbbing spasms, and knew that she had achieved completion. With this knowledge firmly embedded in his mind, Paul finally gave himself up fully to the dictates of his own body and the rhythm it chose to set in order for him to achieve gratification as well.

Through the ripples of pleasure still coursing through her, Sam felt Paul moving his body with an undulating pattern that continuously increased in tempo. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around Paul's shoulders and her legs around the small of his back. And then with a gasp of his own, Sam felt Paul's ecstasy overtake him, his seed pulsating deep within her. Both of their bodies went heavy and slack as the tension and excitement leached out of them, leaving a deep peace behind.

"Are you all right?" Paul asked after his ragged breathing had had a few moments to even out.

"Never better," Sam replied with a broad smile. Paul shifted his weight preparatory to moving off of Sam. Sensing his intention, however, she tightened the hold she still maintained on his body with her arms and legs. "No. Don't go anywhere," Sam pleaded, "Not yet."

"I must be crushing you," Paul protested gently.

"That's my lookout. I promise I'll let you know if I find I can't breathe." Sam reveled in the feel of Paul's weight against her, as she lay sandwiched between the solidity of his body and the softness of the mattress and bedding. It was utterly delicious. "We're as close as two people can possibly be, right in this moment," Sam added in wonderment, "And it's not just our bodies. It's… everything. Can't you feel it?"

Paul smiled and captured her mouth in a slow, lazy kiss. He knew exactly what she meant; there was a palpable emotional and spiritual intimacy between them that was simultaneously linked to the union of their bodies and yet at the same time, quite separate from it as well. "Yes, I do," he replied, nestling his face at the juncture of Sam's neck and shoulder.

"Paul?" Sam ventured a few moments later.

"Yes?" he murmured, trying his best to ward off the drowsiness that he could feel creeping over him. At the moment it felt like a losing battle.

"We did everything we were supposed to do just now, didn't we? We didn't leave anything out, did we?" Sam's voice was tinged with a cautious uncertainty and Paul raised his head with a small, though rousing, stab of anxiety. He knew when he had felt Sam's climax take her; surely that couldn't be what she was driving at. "I mean I know that I…" Sam trailed off, not quite able to say the words aloud as yet, "And I could feel when you… That was everything, wasn't it?"

"Yes, that was everything. Sam, what…"

"But that didn't hurt one bit!" Sam's face lit up all over again with her exclamation. "I kept waiting for some kind of pain or discomfort, once I…let you in. And then afterwards, I kept…bracing myself for what we were doing to hurt in some way, but we just kept going, and everything felt so…marvellous, but I was worried that if I said something then, there would turn out to be something more, and then that would be the part that hurt. But if we've done everything, then I'm not tempting fate to say it. Everyone always says that the first time hurts." Her eyes suddenly grew large with a new source of panic. "That was my first time," Sam insisted hurriedly, "I wouldn't have you think that there was ever anybody else. Not like this."

The last thing that Sam had expected in response to her earnest declaration was for Paul to start laughing; he let out a great rumbling chuckle whose vibrations transmitted themselves from his body to her own. Sam slackened her hold on Paul and he rolled off of her, still shaking with mirth.

"It would never cross my mind to doubt you, Sam, I promise," Paul replied, relief over her declaration adding to the sheer joy coursing through him. "But I don't think this sort of thing really follows rules that are as set in stone as all that."

"Are you laughing at me, Paul Milner?" she asked, struggling to feign indignation – an emotion Sam was finding somewhat difficult to access while in the physical and mental afterglow that still enveloped her.

"I'm happy," he declared, "I can't remember ever being this happy." Paul briefly attempted to elaborate on the state of his feelings, but he was too spent, mentally and physically, to manage any real analysis. He lay back, drinking in the sight of Sam, bare, glowing, and relaxed in the aftermath of their shared passion, feeling god-like, all powerful, absolutely…complete. Together, they had created a perfect moment. The residual apprehensions and feelings of inadequacy attached to his leg seemed fallen away to nothingness.

"Good," Sam responded emphatically, "Because I'm very happy too. Positively jubilant."

Sam drew the bedclothes back up over them, then settled herself comfortably on her side, nestled against her husband. Her free arm was draped across Paul's chest, her hand absently continuing its explorations. In her current, calmer frame of mind, Sam was struck by the prominence of Paul's ribcage and the sharpness of his hipbones through his skin. It was amazing to what an extent the suits that he wore padded his frame.

"I'm going to have to try fattening you up just a trifle now that we're married," Sam announced. She felt as well as heard Paul chortle contentedly in response.

"Good luck with that while rationing is still on the books," he replied, kissing her hair.

"Well," Sam said with a wide yawn, "I can only try." A short while later, they both drifted off to sleep wrapped in each other's arms.