Elly slid the certificate back into the envelope and returned it to the bureau, along with her glasses. She switched off the light, leaving the room lit only by the soft glow of the nightstand lamp, and climbed into bed and into Connor’s arms, absolutely sure of her place in the world for one of the few times in her life.
He nuzzled the nape of her neck. She undid the sash of her yukata. The traditional kimono is subtly designed to expose the back of the neck. Elly hadn’t believed that such a mundane part of her body could be so exquisitely stimulated. But those old kimono makers weren’t wrong.
“I love you,” he whispered, nipping gently at her earlobe “Yes,” she whispered back.
Connor’s hands slipped up her sides to her breasts. She gasped with sheer delight. Unable to bear it any longer, she twisted around in his arms and opened her mouth against his. He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her until she tingled inside and out.
He lowered her trembling body on the green bed, within these beams of cedar, under these rafters of fir. Her breath hummed out of her throat in a leonine purr. I am my beloved’s and his desire is toward me. Lightning storms danced through her nerves. Her hunger for him surpassed anything she’d experienced before in her life.
He was breathing heavily when he once again looked into her eyes. She knew he saw in hers a wild and untamed countenance. He hovered over her. I rose up to open to my beloved; and my hands dropped with myrrh, and my fingers with sweet smelling myrrh, upon the handles of the lock.
She nodded and closed her eyes. A small cry escaped her as they came together. The concerned look on his face told her he must have seen the tears in her eyes. She kissed him, reassuring him with her body.
For sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely. The dreams had communicated that strong sense of intimacy, of closeness and belonging. But had said nothing about the intensity, the heat, the sheer, raw intoxication of his physical presence.
She heard the keening of dolphins, the sound of the ocean. The world went white. She held him tightly in her arms, lest the universe shatter and they lose each other in the cataclysm.
“Elly—” he said.
Tears tumbled down her cheeks. He swept them away and smoothed the hair from her brow.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I think that happens when I—” She kissed him and settled her head against the pillow, smiling until she felt her cheeks dimple. Every touch generated little sparks of pleasure, like blue static snapping off the fur of a contented cat. She was sure their bodies glowed in the dark.
She gazed into his eyes. “It’s much better than dreams.”
“Much better than dreams,” he agreed.
He pulled the covers around their shoulders. Elly nestled against his chest and closed her eyes. The world fell away. She floated on a warm and quiet sea. As she drifted into the embrace of sleep, a new understanding came to her—that he loved her completely, body and soul. And that was a wonderful thing indeed.
The room was dark when she awoke, the air crisp and cool. Elly retrieved her yukata from the foot of the bed and groped her way to the kitchen. She got the pitcher of mugi-cha from the refrigerator, filled a teacup and warmed it in the microwave, bringing her face close enough to the digital clock for her blurry eyes to read the time. Five in the morning. She drank the herbal tea slowly, letting the liquid warm her stomach.
Connor was still asleep. In the bathroom, she shut the door and turned on the light. She disrobed and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She still had on the choker. She ran her fingers across the smooth pearls glimmering at her throat. “So now you’re a woman,” she told herself. Did she look different? More mature? Not really. She felt like a child who’d gotten exactly what she wanted for Christmas. Mature wasn’t the word for her state of mind.
She stored the choker in the medicine cabinet and stepped into the shower. It was a stall (no bath) with a frosted glass door that clicked shut. The knob in the center of the tiled wall was one of those contraptions found in hotel bathrooms. There was a lever on the faucet. She twisted it. Nothing. She pulled up. The faucet gurgled and cold water blasted down on her. She shrieked and hastily flipped the knob to hot.
The bathroom door opened. “Elly?”
“Ohayo!” she shouted over the rushing water.
“Morning!” he called back. “You figure out how that works?”
“I think so.”
“Glenn got it from a refurbishing job at the Provo Marriott a couple of years ago.” A minute later he said, “I’m flushing the toilet.”
“Put it down!” she yelled half-kiddingly, but welcomed the thump of the toilet seat. When she shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, Connor was at the sink, shaving. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her head.
Connor wiped a clear circle on the mirror. He said, rinsing the razor, “I figured since we’re going to pick up our IDs today, I’d better shave.
Dress standards and all that.”
“One of these days I’d like to see your beard again. I didn’t get a very good look the first time.” She leaned closer to examine his jowls. He stopped and shook his head. “You’re making this difficult.”
“What? You lived in campus housing, didn’t you? You must have shaved hundreds of times with people bumbling all over the place.”
“Not with a naked woman standing next to me.”
She giggled and pulled on her yukata. “When you’re nearsighted, you think the rest of the world sees you as blurrily as you see them.”
“Not that I’m complaining—”
Afterward she patted his face. “You smell very manly.”
“It’s the menthol, and probably a cheap synthetic at that.”
“An aphrodisiac,” she breathed huskily, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her breasts against his back.
Connor picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. “I forgot to do this last night,” he apologized.
The bedroom was freezing cold compared to the bathroom. Elly burrowed under the covers. She reached over and turned on the nightstand lamp. “Could you get the brush off the bureau?” She unraveled her turban. He sat behind her and brushed her hair with long strokes. Elly said, “I haven’t cut it since the beginning of my mission. But I bet you like my hair long.”
“Yes, but I understand the practical implications.”
“Of course you would.”
He gathered up her hair and peeked around at her face. “You would look quite smart in a bob.”
“And how would you know that?”
“Four sisters, remember.”
Elly drew her mane over her right shoulder and lay back on the bed. She thought for a moment and decided to speak before self-consciousness overtook her. She whispered, “We’re not, um, too loud?”
He demurred and instead drew a line down her body, from her collarbone to her belly button, parting her yukata enough to reveal a thin line of damp skin. She smiled. Then she looked concerned. “I mean,” she said, still whispering, “loud enough for Wanda to hear?”
He pointed up. “There’s extra insulation in the ceiling. The original intent was to protect Wanda’s ears from the musical tastes of the modern college student.”
He retraced the line he’d drawn on her body, wider this time. She giggled. It tickled. He trailed his fingers across her skin to the edges of the fabric, opening the yukata like the blue petals of a flower.
The clock radio came on. Morning Edition on National Public Radio. A discussion about the upcoming off-year elections. Elly laughed. Making love to political commentary was so incongruous.
“I forgot about that,” Connor said.
He leaned over to turn off the radio, then settled back and pulled her on top of him.
They proceeded from there without haste.