In all her years of dirty, delicious, fun and skilful sex, no one had ever made love to her. The first time was quite a shock.

It was breathtaking. He was slow, so torturously slow, but she followed, allowed him absolute control. He spared no effort, no emotion, every unspoken word of love translated into movement, action. Painfully, sublimely slow action. She couldn't tell you later what he did, it didn't even matter. She was immersed in the perfection of it. He was there, he was with her, he was in her bed, in her body and finally in her family. Nothing else mattered, nothing else existed.

She had planned, how she'd planned, she planned every night, generally without meaning to, and often resulting in waking up naked two hours later than she had intended. She had planned to show him her considerable skills, to push him, scare him, impress him and worship him. Instead she felt like she'd spent most of the night trembling, whimpering and just kissing back when she got the chance. She wondered, through the haze of, well, everything, why she or anyone else had ever bothered with art and music. Possibly because Jack was not an option, or possibly because they just didn't know that their pleasures were pale in comparison.

She would have been surprised to find that his thoughts were so similar...

She moved slowly, so painfully slowly, worshiping every inch of his body. He was used to controlling, at least he was back when he was used to anything, which was quite some time ago. But he knew he could never lead her and expect her to follow. He didn't even try, he didn't even think, he was lost in her. Her gorgeous body was only a small part of it. He was overwhelmed by having her, by seeing, knowing, touching her adoration. There was no part of her, mind, body and soul, that he could not have, and no part he didn't desire, and yet he felt he spent most of the night just gasping, sighing and shivering under her touch, being helplessly pulled along by the beauty of it all.