Wish Upon a Star. Olivia Goldsmith

her new white lace bra. Michael bent down and his tongue glided from her neck down to the small cleavage that was created by the uncomfortable underwire. Claire wondered what he would think if he took it off and the cleavage went away. Then she told herself to relax. His tongue flicked against her skin and the sensation was so delicious that she couldn’t contain the moan that escaped her lips. ‘Oh, do you like that?’ Mr Wonderful asked.

      She couldn’t speak. She only nodded. Michael maneuvered himself next to her and pulled her closer. She nestled her head against his chest. He took her hand and placed it on his shirt, indicating to her that she should help unbutton it. Claire, in her dreamlike state, still managed it without difficulty. His chest was flat and slightly furred, just in the middle, with soft straight down. The scent that came from his skin was dizzying. She closed her eyes as she breathed, then laid her cheek on his exposed skin. She took her index finger and slowly dragged it down to his stomach. She felt the smoothness and heat of his skin. ‘Are you ticklish?’ she asked.

      ‘Tickling isn’t what I’ve got in mind,’ he replied. ‘Unless that’s a euphemism for making love to you.’ He looked down at her. ‘But I won’t rush you. You tell me when.’ He placed his hand behind her head and ever so slowly laid her on her back on the sofa, kissing her as she reclined. My god, Claire thought. This is so … magical.

      She was surprised but grateful when he got off her and scooped her up and carried her into the bedroom. He placed her on the duvet and meticulously removed her shoes and then unzipped the back of her skirt. Claire was shaking from the chill and thrill. He then took the coverlet from the bottom of the bed and slid it over her body.

      He took off the rest of his clothes, right down to his shorts, then sat on the edge of the bed and discreetly took off his underwear before he climbed in next to her. He wrapped his arms around her and for a silent moment they lay under the coverlet. Her heart was beating hard and she could feel each thump between her legs, an ancient drum beat. The bed felt so smooth, the sheets so cool and fine, the quilt so light. Claire held her breath. She felt Michael’s hip press her thigh. His breathing slowed; then she realized he had adapted his to match her own. Without a word they rolled into one another and pressed hard against each other, kissing passionately.

      ‘Are you still cold?’ he asked, in between kisses.

      She shook her head while still maintaining the connection of their lips.

      ‘You’re an angel,’ he whispered.

      Claire felt her muscles tighten. She had always wanted to hear these words but knew she shouldn’t dare believe them. Yet the temptation was enormous. Michael pulled away from her to look in her eyes. She smiled and tried to put all thoughts out of her head. Michael caressed her cheek and she breathed a sigh of contentment. Here she was in the arms of Mr Wonderful. Better still in bed with Michael Wainwright.

      He nudged her onto her back and then laid himself directly over her. She wasn’t surprised by his skill but was by his strength and gentleness. Could it be because she was willing? His tenderness was genuine. He cradled her head with his hands and held her face to his and kissed her deeply. He stroked her hair. ‘You’re an angel,’ he murmured again. He buried his face in the nape of her neck. ‘Mmmm, you smell delicious.’

      Claire kissed him passionately. She couldn’t decide which use of his mouth she preferred: him speaking or him kissing. He was also very crafty with his hands. They moved effortlessly from her breasts to her thighs and up again to her mouth, each time becoming more probing, more intimate, more responsive.

      Claire had only made love with Bob and that had been awkward and unsatisfying. But with Michael it was different. He registered the slightest shifting of her body, every change in her breath. He knew what she wanted without Claire having to say a word. Since she didn’t like to ask for things, this was the best of all worlds. He was patient, precise and playful, but she also felt such an exchange of emotion that she lost herself. As they made love, Michael kept his lips on hers, and Claire thought he had a hundred variations of kissing, all of them in sync with all his movements as well as her own. He removed his lips only long enough to look at her or when he lowered himself to her nipples and down the length of her torso.

      Michael brought her to climax first with his tongue and then his fingers. Claire couldn’t breathe. This was a wonderful experience. She had never had any of this with Bob. Claire had no idea how much time had passed when he finally slipped inside her for the first time. He was such a powerhouse that she was entranced just watching his body moving over hers. His concentration, control and coordination were astounding.

      At last, they both collapsed in sweaty exhaustion and he fell asleep with Claire still engulfed in his embrace. After a few moments of reveling in it all, she drifted off into a slumber deeper than Sleeping Beauty’s.

      

      In the morning, without an awakening kiss, Claire startled herself out of sleep. In the semi-darkness she had one of those moments of dislocation. Where was she? It wasn’t her ceiling. Then she turned her head and saw Michael, still sleeping. The events of the night before flooded back. Claire smiled and felt herself blush.

      While Michael slept, she simply looked at him; at his long arm lying on the sheet, his chest moving under the covers and how the light from the street was shining on his face. She felt safe, comfortable, happy. It was a feeling she wasn’t accustomed to.

      Claire sighed deeply soaking in the satisfaction of the feeling. Happiness this deep was something you could not hold onto, especially with Michael, and at least she was wise enough to realize it. She wasn’t thinking about the sex, though it had been exquisite. It was simply looking at Michael, feeling the warmth, comfort and protectiveness that staring at him brought her. It was pure joy.

      Slowly, so as not to wake him, she lifted her head to gaze at his sleeping face. Even without animation, his features had a beauty and liveliness that made Claire wonder. From their conversation the previous night she felt Michael Wainwright was not just another pretty face. After all, in his own way, Bob had been very handsome. But unlike Bob, to Claire’s complete surprise, Michael seemed to have a depth of feeling, a sense of compassion and understanding that had been blocked in Bob.

      As if feeling himself observed, Michael opened his eyes. ‘Hello,’ he said, his voice dipping somehow in the middle of the word, making it sound like a self-assured greeting. Claire felt herself blush again and this time it did embarrass her. She fell back on her pillow. Michael raised himself on one elbow, bent over her and kissed her. He lifted his head. ‘Go back to sleep, angel,’ he told Claire and tucked the sheet in on either side of her.

       SEVENTEEN

      When Claire opened her eyes again Michael was already dressed, his back to her as he loaded his pockets from the top of the bureau. He picked up the last two objects: the comb he tucked in the breast pocket of his jacket and the watch he strapped onto his left wrist. He was ready to leave!

      She sat up suddenly and he must have seen her reflection in the mirror before him. She couldn’t see herself but she could see his face, and the way it changed from concentration on his task to an open smile. ‘Good morning,’ he said. Surely he likes me, Claire thought. His smile was so warm. He didn’t have to smile, she told herself.

      Michael turned away from the mirror. As he came toward the bed he reached out for her hand, then kissed it quickly. ‘I didn’t want to wake you,’ he said. ‘I thought if I couldn’t sleep until noon, at least one of us could.’ He pushed some stray hair off his forehead. ‘As they say over here, “I’m knackered.”’

      ‘What’s that?’

      ‘Tired. Exhausted.’ He grinned.

      Claire glanced at the clock beside the bed. ‘Oh, I won’t sleep very long,’ she told him.

      He turned to go, giving her advice over his shoulder. ‘Well, change your plan. Sleep in. Then call down for breakfast, eat it in bed and then get your hair done.’ Claire