Dinner was an assortment of shellfish in garlic butter sauce, served over linguini; a tossed salad of mixed spring greens, violets, and pansies with a light dressing of oil; steamed asparagus drizzled with orange butter; and, for my birthday cake, an impossibly rich New York style cheesecake he made with added sour cream and dark chocolate and allowed to age for several days in the refrigerator. White zinfandel accompanied the food.

A balmy spring breeze pushes at the kitchen curtains.

His head rests on his arms. He's been lying there slumped at the table for a while now. It doesn't look like a very comfortable position to fall asleep in.

"Come to bed," I say. "You look like you could use a rest."

He nods, and we head off.

When we sit on the futon, I start working his suit and other clothes off. He doesn't object. The tie presents an interesting challenge, but ultimately, it's much easier to undo a Windsor knot than it is to tie one. The tie is silk. "I love the way this feels against my skin," I murmur, rubbing the tie against my cheek as I take it off. "You should wear these more often, to give me an excuse to take them off. Or give yourself an excuse to do something with the tie once it's off."

He doesn't bat an eye.

"My word. You must be tired, to ignore an opening like that." I run my hands along his shoulders as I unfasten his shirt. "Knots. You're in knots... Let me help. Please." When I dig in my fingers, the tension in his muscles feels like stone. He is a study in alabaster.

I bite a shoulder gently, then dig in, wrapping my teeth around the knot to loosen it, and he groans.

"My love, how much are you holding in there?"

His only response is a sad smile.

"Like Atlas, with the weight of an entire world on your shoulders. No wonder your shoulders are all tied up."

"Only when I let myself brood."

"Then don't brood," I reply. "Silly. There. Problem solved." I kiss his mouth, long and hard, taking his face between my hands, and in a few moments am gratified to hear him let out an odd little gasp, almost a sigh. It's a lovely gasp. I could get used to hearing it.

"Thinking about what I mustn't have does tend to make me brood somewhat, eromene," he says, and leans forward to kiss my neck where the chain of my birthday necklace brushes my flesh. His lips are light, no more forceful than thought. They feel like a soft wind.

"No. I did just tell you not to brood, didn't I? Stop brooding. Stop even thinking." I lean into him, unbalancing him and knocking his naked body back down onto the pillows, where I pin him between my forearms as I bend over him. "Do you know what I want most for my birthday present? Your happiness." His lips need kissing. I kiss them. "I want you to be blissfully, radiantly happy. I want you to be positively drunk on happiness." He has such beautiful eyes. The lids tremble when I put my lips to them. "I want you to be so happy that you forget how to be sad. I want you to be so happy that you can't think. I want your ecstasy. Let me give it to you. Let go. Just this once." I reach down and rub my hand up against the hardness between his legs. "Let go."

He moans. It sounds like music.

"I think you finally want the rest of me," I whisper into his ear.

"Yes." More gasps. I love his gasping.

It's made me hungry, although I don't seem to be hungry for food, exactly.

"Oh, yes. Yes, you do." He seems almost like a delicacy now, one that I ought to sample; I lick and nibble along his neck, until I feel his pelvis twitch and roll under my hand. His cock is so hard. "Don't worry, my love. My Erastes. My beautiful one. I'll be gentle deflowering you."

I can't tell if that's a laugh or a choking cough. Maybe it's a little of both.

I think fast about what the most convenient way would be to place him if I want him to be able to move his hips when I have sex with him and decide a straight horizontal line would probably be the most practical for my purposes. "So," I murmur casually as I fasten his cuffed wrists to the middle eyebolt at the head of the futon, "is this your first time on the bottom?"

"No."

Well. I wasn't expecting that. How interesting. I raise an eyebrow.

"I was curious."

"How did it turn out?"

"Not very well. Curiosity by itself doesn't seem to make for very good love play, at least not for me; and since I don't usually incline that way, anyway... well. It was a valuable experience for the both of us, in its own way."

"Oh, my love. That's not right. You deserve happier memories. I'll do my best to make it up to you."

There, that's the ankles taken care of. I rise and begin to run my fingertips lightly down his chest, massaging meridians and pressure points with my fingers when I find them. With any luck, this will also help unknot some of his muscles. His breath catches when I take a nipple between my teeth and start flicking at it and around it with my tongue. So sensitive. It's a sweet, lovely sound when he gasps and sighs like that, so I keep doing it in the hopes of hearing it again.

He strains underneath me; I roll onto him and let him ride up against my crotch. My pantyhose is soaking wet now, and very much in the way, but I want to drag this out a little longer. I'm not ready to let him go yet.

When I brush against his face, on the way to giving him my breast to pleasure, he rubs his cheek against my blouse.

"Heavens. You do like that velvet blouse, don't you?"

"It's... very nice velvet. And you do look very good in it..."

A throaty laugh bubbles from somewhere out of me. I make sure he has plenty of contact with the velvet of my blouse as I suggest other places for him to kiss, and I crush myself against his chest when I swoop down once more to steal his tongue from his mouth and tease it with mine. His face, when I wring more and yet more pleasure out of him, fills me with awe. He looks for all the world like a chained god. Prometheus, on the mountaintop, must have looked something like this.

I lower my head to strike my hair against his chest.

He groans.

"Oh, you liked that? Let's do it again, shall we?" I toss my head down again and trail it in swirls after it falls on him. "Unfortunately, I can't keep it up for very long without getting dizzy, but I think I can manage a few more times."

I make sure to writhe against him, grinding my genitals upon his, every time I lash him with my hair.

I'm tired of waiting.

The skirt can stay - I like the way the chiffon layers and satin liner feel when they rub up against my skin - but the hose has to go. The very act of removing pantyhose involves a certain amount of friction, and I nearly come just from that, but something tells me he'd find it more arousing to have me climax around him, so I manage to hold myself off until I mount him.

His erection is like marble.

Pleasuring my clitoris with my hand, I ride his cock until I scream, which doesn't take long. I had no idea I would find my own need to be so urgent. How does he manage to keep his passion contained for so long when he plays me? He must have inhuman patience. Practice makes perfect, perhaps. I hope I get more practice in the near future. He did mention wanting to let me rehearse things with him.

This is something I'm going to discuss with him at greater length, later.

I lean down and gently, firmly, grasp his face in my hand. His mouth wants more kissing.

When I lean back to gently hold and stroke his testicles with one of my hands, he moans and bucks up hard against me. That's a nice reaction. I decide to prolong it for a while before going back to scratching his body's nerve endings with my fingernails.

He arches, crying out my name as he tosses his head. "S'ero," he rasps, "s'ero..."

I lean back down to ravage his mouth with mine. He's still straining underneath me. Oh, such sweetness. "Is this an improvement over the last time, my love?"

He lets out a faint laugh. "Yes."

"Good." His lips are so very warm and alive. I want to draw all that warmth and life into me and let it fill me. Dear God. "Before you come, I have a request."

"Yes?"

"Tell me you love me. In English. I want to hear you say it in English. Audibly. And look at me, now. Look at me when you say it."

His eyes fly open. We gaze into each other, falling, drowning.

"I love you," he whispers, his breath trembling.

"Again. Louder."

"I love you. I love you, eromene. I love you..." And then he is crying it out, over and over, and his body shakes and he spends himself, calling my name, calling out his need.

I remember to unhook and unbuckle him before we collapse against each other.

"I love you, too," I murmur, and kiss sweat from his body. "My God, how I love you."

Just before we both succumb to sleep, I feel him smile against my shoulder, and hear him murmur, "My beautiful rose, you have grown some interesting thorns."

"Roses generally do. Do you like my thorns?"

"They seem to suit you."