Single Minded Purpose

Intimacy between Husband and Wife

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Matrix and I do not own the rights to the lyrics to the song “The Last Worthless Evening” by Don Henley.

Summary: Smith and Sarah’s wedding night.

Author’s Note: I cannot thank my loyal readers enough for continuing to express interest in this story and I especially wanted to thank Cecilia for her invaluable help in writing certain parts of this chapter. Thank you!! Without you, my friend, I would have been lost at sea.

“How are you?” Sarah asked, stepping shyly and hesitatingly into the room where Seraph was being kept as a prisoner. Surreptitiously, she folded her right hand over her left so the garish ring she wore on the third finger of her left hand was hidden from Seraph’s view. To be doubly sure he didn’t see it, Sarah turned the stone inward.

“I might ask the same of you. I suppose congratulations are in order. How is your new husband treating you?”

“So you’ve heard.”

“Everyone has,” Seraph replied, unable to keep the harsh tone of condemnation from his voice. “Someone as powerful as Smith cannot do anything—least of all getting married--without every program in the Matrix knowing about it.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t the one to tell you first, but you were unconscious. You’ve got to believe me that I didn’t want to marry him, but he held a gun to your head and…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself—Mother told me everything,” he said, putting a finger on her lip. “Don’t cry, Sarah,” he murmured when he saw her eyes well up with tears. Unable to stop himself, he held her in his arms. For a moment, she felt completely safe and for a moment, she had forgotten the presence of the copy standing guard in the doorway. It wasn’t that Smith did not trust them to be alone together that he instructed his copy to accompany Sarah to where Seraph was being held, it was primarily because he wanted a report of everything that passed between the two.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Seraph said, holding Sarah closer to him. She melted into his arms and embraced him tightly until the copy strode briskly forward to break them apart. Sarah was now his creator’s wife after all, and should not be seen hugging anyone other than Smith. The clone had had its orders to keep Sarah and Seraph in its sight at all times and they were not allowed to touch one another over much.

“We have to leave now,” it said to her and Sarah did not argue; if she wished to be allowed to see Seraph again, she would have no choice but to conform to the rules. Sarah was loath to part from Seraph but she realized that she had been given a degree of freedom and leniency, but this clearly overstepped her prescribed boundary. The copy was right: it would not be wise to flaunt the rule so blatantly on her first visit in case it prevented her from getting a second.

The copy opened the door and waited for his new mistress to leave before departing himself. He turned the key in the lock behind him, once more returning Seraph into a prisoner. As soon as Sarah and her keeper had left, Seraph raced to the door, putting his ear against it to listen to her retreating footsteps. When all he could hear was silence, he slowly made his way back to the sofa and sat on it heavily.

Seraph had been shocked by Sarah’s appearance when she came to him, although he chivalrously said nothing for no woman--especially one carrying an unwanted child—wants to be told how large she is getting. Her pregnancy had advanced by an alarming degree since he saw her last—in the motel when she lay on the bed, bleeding. She only looked about five months pregnant then, he thought, but now she looks much closer to eight months along, if not more.

lllll

Strains of music, made barely audible by the closed bathroom door, was the first thing Smith heard when he entered his apartment. He paused at the door, leaning slightly to hear the music better and perceived there was a sound accompanying it, but he could not quite make it out. It sounded plaintive and full of sorrow and Smith was intrigued in spite of himself. What is that awful noise? Was she singing along, he wondered, almost tempted to smile at an image of Sarah singing in the shower. The brief moment of humour disappeared in less than a heartbeat when he heard and recognized the melody and lyrics of a song he never wanted to hear again.

It’s been over two years for me, and I’m still not quite myself.
And it just breaks my heart to see you here this way.
Someday I’ll get up the nerve to walk up to you and say…

He stood up, enraged almost beyond restraint. She was actually playing that song, the one Bronwyn had been listening to when she threw herself off the balcony. How dare she!

“I thought I told you never to play that--” Smith said angrily, storming into the bathroom without knocking. It was not until he actually came through the door that he realized that she hadn’t been singing along at all—the sound he had heard was weeping. His anger melted away in a moment, because, as once before with Bronwyn, his child was appealing to him to help and comfort its tormented mother who was in a great deal of emotional pain.

Silently walking closer, making sure not to alert Sarah to his presence, he looked over into the bathtub. The water was still running, which explained why she hadn’t heard him when he came in. Sarah was sitting huddled in the tub, her arms tightly clasped around her knees, her forehead resting on them. It looked as if she had tried to wash her hair at some point for there was still shampoo residue in her hair and running down her back.

“Here, let me turn this music off before I rinse your hair,” Smith said quietly, removing his jacket and sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the tub, rolling up his shirtsleeves as he did so. Sarah raised her head and looked along her shoulder reproachfully at this intrusion of her privacy, but made no move to stop him. She did not even reprimand him for turning off her music; Sarah had primarily put the CD player on to muffle the noise in case the sounds of her distress filtered through the door.

“Thanks,” she said. “I started washing it but I kind of forgot about finishing what I started.”

“I don’t mind,” Smith replied easily and to his surprise, it was the truth as well. He found that he liked the feel of Sarah’s hair sliding over his hands as well as the sensation of her clean, wet skin beneath his fingertips.

“What are you doing here, Smith?”

“As of this moment, I am rinsing off the soap you’ve gotten on your body and I will do the same to your hair. Bend your head back,” he instructed gently, “and let me know if soap gets in your eyes. How did it go with Seraph? I know you went to see him today.” Smith took his time rinsing his new bride’s hair and ensuring that all the shampoo had been washed away before he began running the warm water over her back.

Here it comes, thought Sarah apprehensively, he found out what happened and he is going to ban me from seeing him again. “He was in better shape than I thought. Mother did a good job of healing him. Thank you for letting her see to him. ”

He had been about to reply sharply that it was only because of her agreement to marry him that he had spared Seraph's life, but the quiet conversation they were currently having was a pleasing change from the usual diatribe, with Sarah cursing at him; telling him how much she hated him and the child she was carrying. Therefore, he remained silent, waiting for the explosion. Instead, she yawned and grudgingly apologized for doing it almost in his face.

“That’s all right, I know you didn’t get a lot of sleep last night,” he said, his voice and face serious. He did not intend to allow even the slightest trace of humour find its way into his tone. Sarah eyed him warily, waiting for some lewd remark of why brides were notoriously tired the day after they were married, but none came. However, his eye gleamed for a moment. He helped her step out of the tub and wrapped a large towel around her, tucking the end of it between her breasts.

“Here, sit down, and I will dry your hair,” Smith said, indicating the chair at the vanity and she obeyed. “Now I’ve never done this before, so you’ll have to bear with me,” he said with a slight grin. Taking one of the large towels on the heated towel rack, he removed the excess water from her hair and after that was done, began to brush the knots and tangles out of her long blonde hair. Sarah watched his face steadily in the mirror and was amazed at this display of consideration for her. He continued to brush her hair until it was nearly dry. He buried his hands in her hair and proceeded to give her a thorough scalp massage. Sarah had never been given one before and was surprised to discover that it was not only relaxing, it made her feel better. And the fact that she found it a little erotic did not hurt either.

“Thank you,” Sarah said with a small smile and their eyes met in the mirror.

“My pleasure, Sarah,” he responded and smiled back at her. I never would have thought that doing these tasks both to and for a woman could bring contentment to me as well. I like the way her hair feels running through my fingers. I liked the sensation of her warm skin beneath my fingertips as I touched different areas on her body last night. It was more than just sex, I honestly enjoyed giving her the extra attention she deserved and when I felt her respond to my ministrations, it heightened my pleasure considerably. Now I finally understand why Jones did this to Bronwyn as many times as he did: it gives a man a sense of fulfilment and satisfaction to know that what he is doing to a woman is pleasing her.

I made the right decision when I told her everything last night, he thought, still gazing intently at his bride’s reflection in the mirror as she continued to do the same. Since then, her attitude towards me has changed for the better. It has only been a day, but I’ve already noticed that she does not flinch when I touch her and she is more at ease in my presence.

As he continued to look at her, he could not help but see how tired she was; her face was drawn and there were dark circles under her eyes. “You should get some sleep now, Sarah,” he said, smiling at the sudden guarded look she gave him. “No, you can sleep alone tonight; I won't bother you. Unless of course, you wanted me to?” he asked. Smith suppressed a smile when she lowered her head and blushed furiously.

“No. I mean, yes. I mean--I don’t know what the hell I’m saying anymore. I’m tired, Smith.” I just need to be alone, Sarah thought. I need time to figure out what is going on. Yesterday, you were evil beyond description—shooting Agent Johnson before he even had a chance to draw his gun and have a half-assed chance of defending himself; having Seraph nearly beaten to death and using him to make me do what you wanted. Last night, however, your actions toward me in bed were astonishing; it was as if someone else was making love to me, someone completely unrelated to the one who killed Agent Johnson and hurt Seraph.

Jekyll and Hyde. That’s what you are, she thought looking up at him. It was the Jekyll side of you that I fell in love with, but it was the Hyde side of you that had me violently and repeatedly raped; laughing as you callously burned the picture of my son before my very eyes.

However, after last night, I understand at least a little of why you are the way you are. I remember everything you told me; things you had told no one, had kept locked away inside that secret, dark place inside of you until you allowed me to see inside. Horrible memories, things that no one, program or human, should ever have to experience, let alone remember.

I will never tell you that the reason I was crying while in the bath was because of what you told me last night; those tears were not for me and the situation I am in now, my tears were for you. I know you would be angry if I told you that I felt sorry for you; the last thing you would ever want is to be pitied. Before last night, I never would have dreamed that it would be possible, but I do pity you, my husband.

It all started after we came home and when the door closed behind us…

I closed my eyes and waited. I expected violence and roughness now that we were finally alone but aside from his hands encircling my waist, he did not touch me. The silence between us deepened until I could bear it no longer. I opened my eyes to find him looking down at me with an amused look on his face.

“What did you think I was going to do?” he asked quizzically. I was at a loss for words to answer.

“Well…I wasn’t sure, really. I thought--”

“You thought I was going to rip off your clothes and throw you on the bed, didn’t you?”

“Well, weren’t you?” I countered awkwardly, completely confused at this point. He as much told me he would do it in that filthy dump where we left Seraph.

“No. Sit down Sarah,” he said, guiding me to the edge of the bed. I obeyed and waited for him to continue. He sat down beside me and rested his hands on his knees.

“I won’t deny that I am angry, very angry with you for what you tried to do during this pregnancy. Twice you tried to kill my child. Once by having an illegal and very dangerous abortion and now by starving yourself. I would have thought that since you know what it is to experience the loss of one child and how heartbreaking that can be, how could you do this to mine?”

I stared at my hands and could not formulate an answer immediately. I looked into his eyes and saw the hurt in the depths of his blue eyes as he gazed at me. Then all at once, the answers he was looking for came. Once the words started coming out of my mouth, there was no stopping them.

“You raped me, Smith. Okay,” I said hastily, seeing as he was going to say that it wasn’t he who did the acts, it was his clones. “It wasn’t you personally, but you ordered them to hurt me. But it was you that burned my picture! You did it on purpose! You had that planned…you searched my apartment until you found it and…” I could not continue because that memory had hurt me the most. “And afterwards, when I found out I was pregnant, I couldn’t stomach the idea of bearing the child of the man who burned Alex’s photograph, knowing how much I needed to have that one picture!”

I turned my face away so he would not be able to see my tears and laugh at me. Pregnant women are notoriously emotional over just about anything, but my sadness now had nothing to do with hormones. I was tired, upset, and dealing with painful memories made my head hurt. More than anything, right now I needed someone kind and loving to hold me and make all of my pain go away: but the only one near enough to do that was my husband and he certainly was neither kind nor loving.

“Here,” he said, offering me a handkerchief. “Dry your tears, Sarah. You’ve had your say, now I am going to respond. Did it ever occur to you that you were not impregnated during that afternoon, but another time, a few days earlier perhaps? Could it be possible that you conceived my child during an act of love, not an act of violence?”

“What?”

“We made love for the first time in front of my fireplace, do you remember? And the next morning too, although copulating in a shower is not the most romantic setting, it was consensual nonetheless.”

“But the Oracle said that I had conceived during your attack on me!”

“And you have never heard of her been wrong before?”

His statement echoed through my head, making it hurt even worse. What if she was wrong, I thought. What if I did conceive during either of those earlier encounters? Could it be possible?

“What the hell difference does it make?” I said. “The fact remains that you hurt me and laughed! Once I found out I was pregnant, it really didn’t matter when or where it was conceived. All I knew was that I couldn’t bring myself to go through with this pregnancy. Period!”

“So you were going to murder a completely innocent being, who did not ask to be created, whatever the circumstances of its conception…”

“You’re a fine one to talk about the sanctity of life,” I snapped, “when you’ve killed who knows how many people during your time as an agent! And tonight, you didn’t even give Agent Johnson a chance to defend himself! You just shot him in the back of the head without any warning!”

“Have you forgotten that he is still an agent? I didn’t kill him; I only killed his Host.”

I had forgotten about that and I sighed in relief that Agent Johnson was not dead after all. Most brides anticipate their wedding night—but I loathed it. Just fuck me and get this over with, will you, I thought angrily. I began to unbutton my blouse and I felt goose bumps prickle my arms; mostly because of the cool air that touched my exposed skin but I think it had more to do with what was going to happen between us.

“Here, let me,” Smith said, his fingers easily unbuttoning my shirt. I trembled involuntarily when I felt him touch my bare skin.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

I lowered my head as I felt warmth spread through my cheeks. As I dreaded, Smith had noticed.

“Why are you blushing, Sarah? You shouldn’t be embarrassed; I’m your husband now.”

“I know,” I said, still averting his gaze. I don’t need to be reminded thank you very much, I thought angrily.

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

“I’m embarrassed.”

“Why?”

“I’m fat,” I said slowly. I used to be size 3; now I am wearing a thirteen.

‘No, you’re not. You are pregnant—there’s a difference. What’s wrong? Are you going into labour?” Smith asked, alarmed when he saw the expression on my face; for suddenly the baby inside of me shifted its position unexpectedly, catching me completely off guard.

“No, it’s nothing like that. At least, I don’t think so. The baby moved, that’s all. Oh!” I exclaimed, instinctively pressing my hand against myself. “There it goes again.”

“Does it hurt?”

I shook my head. “It’s just moving in a different pattern than it usually does.”

I stole a look at Smith and I could see that he wanted to know and discover what was going on inside of me, but his pride forbade him asking if he could feel this for himself. He was trying to act nonchalant, but he failed. I could tell that he desperately wanted to touch me; a part of me felt sorry that he could not know what it felt like for a woman to feel the life within her stir.

However, I knew that if I allowed him to touch me, then that just might convince him to be gentle with me when we consummated our marriage. An idea occurred to me just then: if I relented and let him feel his baby move now, he might consent to letting me see Seraph tomorrow.

I lay back on the bed and Smith laid his hand on my belly. Smith said nothing, but the look on his face said it all. Like any man about to become a father, he was in awe of the life he had helped to create. A completely new creature would soon be born; in Smith’s case, this child would replace the one he had killed, albeit inadvertently, because of his overwhelming rage. His eagerness to be close our baby was no surprise. I tried not to smile when he put his ear against my abdomen.

“Can you hear anything?” I asked, before I remembered that agents were created to have sensory capabilities that surpassed anything a human might experience by far. With his abilities, he just might be able to hear the heartbeat of his unborn child.

“I can hear its heartbeat and a sloshing noise every time he or she moves. Everything it is doing, I can hear. It’s a miracle,” Smith said, quietly marvelling once again at hearing his child move about inside of me.

“It’s all right,” I said, as I saw him reluctantly withdraw from me. “You can listen all you like; I don't mind.” I was surprised to realize that it was the truth. I do not know how long he lay with his ear against my womb. My arm was growing stiff so I rested it on my husband’s shoulder. You and me and baby makes three, I thought to myself, and this is the closest the three of us will be in proximity with one another until you are born. I only wish I didn’t hate your father so much. But he did too much to me to ever allow me to forgive him for his actions.

“Thank you,” he whispered, raising his head and looking at me appreciatively. I suppose he saw how tired I was; my exhaustion over the last few days was something that could not be hidden from an observant and perceptive program like Smith who had been trained to read emotions from someone even if they hadn’t said a word.

“Here, sit up,” Smith said softly, taking my hands away from my awkward attempt to massage my neck and ease the pain in my head. Skilfully and gently, he massaged my aching neck and taut shoulder muscles. I groaned deeply as I felt his fingers easing away everything; all of my pain, all of my troubles seemed to evaporate into thin air the longer he continued to knead my skin. I sighed in complete contentment and groaned in pleasure when his fingers accessed the parts of my neck that I could not reach for myself. It felt so good; it almost seemed as if I became a rag doll in his hands. I had no will of my own anymore: I only knew that I did not want him to stop.

“How was that?” Smith asked quietly. “Is there anything else I can do to make you feel better?”

I immediately took advantage of his statement. “Yes there is, Smith.”

“What is it?”

“May I see Seraph tomorrow?” I prayed his answer would be affirmative—I wanted to explain to Seraph in person what I had done. With great trepidation, I waited to hear if there were any stipulations or conditions to my visit, but there were none.

“Now it’s my turn to say ‘thank you’,” I said with a wry smile. Smith rose up to a sitting position and kissed me. He was gentle and considerate, something I had never expected of him considering that I tried to harm his child not once, but twice. Now that I was his wife, I fully expected to be taken quickly and forcefully and if it was not for the fact that I was so far along in my pregnancy, I am sure that’s what would have happened. But for now at least, Smith had learned his lesson. Even though he was very angry, he had learned from the past and would make a huge effort not to let the caged beast of his still-simmering hatred go free. As much as he wanted to, he could not; the life of his child had to take first priority over everything. At least for the time being. Once our baby was born and no longer in danger, it would be a completely different story.

Leisurely, he took his time removing his jacket, shirt and tie. His hand snaked around me, undid the clasp of my brassiere, and slid the straps off my shoulders, leaving my breasts completely exposed to view. He stroked my breasts, cupping them gently in his hands. He was eager to consummate our marriage—no one had to tell me that; I could tell he was getting aroused by simply looking at his coding--but he knew that it had not taken much effort on his part to end the life of his daughter. Since I was farther along in my pregnancy than Bronwyn when she lost the baby, he had to be especially careful.

His anger was still there, below the polished surface of his psyche, but I knew that he would not jeopardize our son or daughter’s life by taking out his resentment on me. Still, I was afraid. I flinched when his lips began to nuzzle the sensitive area between my neck and shoulder. I had thought that he would want to consummate our marriage quickly, but there was no rush. No one would disturb us; therefore, he had all the time he needed.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Sarah,” he said, the heat from his mouth scorching my flesh wherever it touched.

“Smith, don’t…” I said, and my pride balked for a moment at the pleading tone in my voice, but I didn’t care. The last time we were together was when his other selves assaulted me and if a little begging on my part would prevent a repeat performance, then pride be damned! I had known Smith long enough by now to figure out that if I made him angry, lust would invariably follow. No bride wants her first time with her husband to be violent or painful and I was no different. Having tasted for myself the extent of his rage and the wide spectrum of his ability to inflict pain, I knew exactly what he was capable of.

As if in a dream, I felt him caress my exposed breast, pinching the nipple slightly, before lowering his head and taking my aureole fully into his mouth where it hardened completely. Despite myself, I could not refrain from whimpering when I felt the soft nub of my flesh being enveloped by his warm and wet mouth. Because of the pleasure I was receiving, I grabbed a handful of the blanket and clung to it. Smith turned his attention to my other breast and I could feel my resolve not to enjoy what he was doing to me slipping precariously.

I groaned when his hand slid down my arms, side and come to a rest on my hip. I instinctively knew what his intentions were and tried to writhe out from beneath him.

“No, Smith, don’t do this,” I begged, my voice a breathless whisper. For God’s sake, I thought to myself; leave me some semblance to dignity. Don’t do this! Don’t make me want you!

“I’m giving you pleasure, Sarah,” he murmured, as if he could read my thoughts. “This is our wedding night; the first night of our married life together. We should both experience sexual satisfaction. The two of us should both enjoy this, our first intimate time together as man and wife. Don’t cry, my love, my beautiful bride.” He reached up and wiped my tears away. “Are you crying because it is me who is your husband and not Seraph who is in bed with you? Be honest; I promise I won’t get angry.”

“Sort of, but it is not entirely that.”

“What is it then?”

“The last time I was with a man was when you had your clones hold me down, force my legs apart and…” I could not continue my train of thought any further. “How can you expect me to want you after you did that to me?” I said and I knew he could hear my anger and hurt by the look I saw on his face. He sighed heavily and I thought it had to be a trick of the light shining overhead that I imagined I saw remorse in his eyes.

He embraced me tightly and I could not stop myself from willingly going into his arms and resting my cheek on his shoulder. Those memories hurt so much; they were something that I would have to live with the rest of my life, but now all I wanted was to feel strong arms around me, comforting me—even if they belonged to the man who had had those violent acts perpetrated on me. I sobbed against him until I was too drained and weak to cry any more. Smith held me close through it all, never uttering a word of contempt or reproach, and for that, I will always be grateful to him.

“Why are you like this?” I could not refrain from asking. “It’s like you have a good side and a bad side—like Henry Jekyll and Edward Hyde. Two sides of the same coin, but completely different.” I could tell that he wanted to tell me something, something important but he was debating if he should or not. “Tell me, Smith.”

When he still hesitated to answer, I pressed the matter further still. “I am your wife; don’t I have a right to know what is bothering you? You let me open up and express myself, why don’t you do the same? Maybe you will feel better too, I don’t know and neither will you until you try. Give me a chance to understand you. Please?”

His expression hardened and I felt frightened, but I stiffened my resolve and waited. Call it women’s intuition, ESP, or whatever you like, I knew he desperately wanted to tell me something; what it was I didn’t know, however, for my own sake, I had to try. Something inside of me told me that he had not been created to be a monster; something had happened to him in his past that turned him into one.

It has always been a part of my nature to try to help those around me, even those I did not like all that much, but I had learned that those were the ones who needed the most help. Like it or not, I was Smith’s wife now and if there was something I could do or say to make living with him easier, then I was damned if I was going to give up so easily.

“All right, I will tell you, since you want to know so badly. I am the way I am because of what Mother and Father did to me. Actually, no, that’s not entirely correct: Mother merely watched while Father had me tortured.”

“Tortured? What do you mean?”

“All right. Tortured perhaps is not the correct term for what he did to me, but judge for yourself.”

lllll

When he had finished, I could only stare at him in shock and disbelief. He smiled wryly at my expression. “I’ve never known tenderness or love, not even from our parents. Ever since I met you, I have envied you so much because you have always known, to some degree at least, some degree of love from either of them. The only way I could ever express my anger and resentment was through violence, especially towards women, because of Mom. She stood by and watched and did nothing.”

“What about Bronwyn? Did you love her?”

“Yes. Bronwyn was different. Maybe the Frenchman was right when he told me I only wanted her because she was unattainable. It was only after her death that I realized that she never would have loved me; it was Jones she wanted. During those two weeks in that hotel, I thought I could make her forget about Jones if I kept her mind dulled by narcotics and alcohol. I showed her a side of myself that I have never revealed to anyone. I gave her everything, every emotion that I’ve always thought were nothing but weaknesses.”

I put my arm around his shoulder and drew him close to me. Smith had been there for me when I was distraught; and even if I knew he would never express it, he was feeling the same emotions that had driven me to such despair earlier. His breath brushed against my cheek as I held him. He wrapped his long arms around me and I made no move to demur or protest.

“Don’t turn me away on our wedding night, Sarah, I need you.” His lips sought mine hungrily and I kissed him back. A fundamental difference between men and women in dealing with grief and despair is that women cry to feel better and men need comfort on a physical level. After all, I was Smith’s wife and this was our wedding night and if he sought consoling on the ultimate physical level, I was going to give him what he needed and only resist if he became rough or violent with me.

“I won’t, Smith,” I said, stroking his face.

lllll

“The logistics may be a little tricky, owing to the fact that you are so far along,” Smith said with a slight smile, “but for once, I am going to use of a few tips from Jones on how to make love to a very expectant woman.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” I found myself asking. I was apprehensive but curious in spite of myself to see how a man—and the pregnant woman he is with at the time--can be sexually satisfied without causing harm to her unborn child or undue discomfort to the mother-to-be herself.

“Let’s just say that Jones was highly creative and very imaginative,” Smith said wryly. “But first things first,” he said, as he began to remove the remainder of his clothes. I focused my attention to one of my fingernails instead of watching him undress and when he got into bed and laid his nude body full length behind me, I trembled when I felt his fully erect manhood nudge against my buttocks. I was afraid that he was going to sodomize me as he did in that third-rate hotel room; it had not been a pleasant experience to say the least and to endure it again would have been too much. But, as it turned out, I was underestimating him yet again.

I gasped when I felt him kiss and nuzzle the length of my back and caress me before starting to knead the small of my back where the pressure points are, then my buttocks. Everywhere he touched me he anointed my skin with gentle warm kisses from his soft sensuous lips making me groan. The fine stubble on his chin against my tender flesh acted as a stimulant and I quivered with unexpected and anticipatory pleasure at what he would do to me next.

His hands then snaked around to my front and as one hand cupped my breast, the other rested on the swell of my belly. He murmured in my ear how beautiful I was, especially now that I was in the full bloom of expectant motherhood and I blushed at the compliment. Then he began to rub my stomach in a circular motion that was comforting and yet arousing at the same time. Meanwhile, he rubbed his erection against my backside, at first when I felt it I flinched, but he reassured me that he would not enter me until I was ready.

He stroked my belly and whispered, “I hope our child is a girl. Because if it is, I know she will be as pretty as her mother. She will have me wrapped around her little finger, I just know it, but it doesn’t matter. I will do anything, give anything, so that she will not start out her life the same way I did.” I heard him chuckle sardonically in the darkness and I blinked back the tears. The statement sounded so sincere and it made my heart ache for him and what he had to go through at the very beginning of his own life.

I turned my head back to face him and said, "Smith, I want you." He smiled lovingly at me, and then captured my mouth with his own. As his tongue entered my waiting mouth, he penetrated my body, filling me completely with his engorged manhood. We continued to kiss as he gently thrust himself in and out of me. I could tell that in spite of the building passion of his kisses, he was making a conscious effort not to hurt me.

I could tell that he was very close to his orgasm; he was thrusting faster and harder inside of me, but still giving a thought to remaining gentle so as not to cause me any harm or discomfort. He held me tighter, his hot breath fanning my cheek in short, hurried breaths.

“I tried, Sarah.”

“I know, Smith. It’s all right.” At least he tried to give me pleasure and even though he did not succeed in his goal to give me an orgasm, I was extremely grateful for the effort.

“But I wanted to please you, too. I wanted to show you how it could be between us...oh God, I can’t hold it off any more….” He groaned with the effort of trying to hold off his orgasm until I had had mine, but it was useless. He tightened his grip on me and cried out when his orgasm exploded and he burst deep inside of me.

I held him in my arms until he slept. I glanced at his sleeping face and noticed that the harsh lines engraved by a lifetime full of anger and resentment were softened when he was asleep. I could not help but wonder what he might have been like if his beginnings had been like mine—I always felt safe, loved and I knew I could depend on either Seraph or our mother to comfort me when I felt bad. However, Smith had been denied all of those things; his first memories were horrible, full of unrelenting pain, agony, and betrayal. A child in pain always looks towards his mother and father to hold his hand, comfort him and dry his tears but Smith had none of that. Unlike me, he had bypassed childhood and the awkward teenage years by beginning his existence as a fully-grown man, with all the needs and desires that came with it.

His abusers had been our own parents; the very ones who had created him were also the ones who had inflicted unimaginable torment when he was at his most helpless and unable to defend himself. The memory of what he told me caused my eyes to well up with tears yet again and I stifled them as best I could so as not to wake him from his much-needed slumber. I dozed off and it was still dark when I opened my eyes. It didn’t take me long to figure out what had awoken me for I felt my husband wind his arms around me, and I heard him chuckle to himself in the darkness as he reached between my legs and felt the dampness of the curls that were still warm and wet from our lovemaking. My back still faced him but it didn’t matter: within a matter of minutes I had reached my orgasm and Smith held me in his arms until I stopped writhing and jerking and it was over.