Celia was in desperate need of a bed-warmer. Why she’d agreed to this backcountry trek in the dead of winter was now beyond her, as she was freezing, simply freezing, and the hotel’s only solution had been extra blankets and furs on her bed. Still, her feet and legs were cold.
Her maid was fast asleep in the small room adjoining her own, the door slightly ajar, and Friedrich was in his own room down the hall. His hand was always warm as it pressed her own, the heat of which she felt despite her gloves. She would give anything for that brief touch right now as she lay shivering in this bed.
In the dark, with the sound of the wind barely a whistle through the trees by her window, Celia’s thoughts wandered as far as her naïve mind allowed. She imagined her and Friedrich, under tonight’s moonlight but not bothered by the cold, standing just close enough for their chests to brush.
She imagined him softly kissing her cheek, daring to kiss her just beside the corner of her parted lips. This was the extent to which her mind could envision her desire for him, for his physical closeness.
Despite these visions of warmth, Celia was still cold. Still her naïveté urged her forth: perhaps Friedrich would have some furs to share – after all, it was so late, and she had disturbed the poor hotel manager quite enough this evening. Softly, she drew down the covers and set her feet on the soft fur at the side of the bed. The wind whistled through the trees a bit louder, now, and Celia used this to mask the sound of her light footsteps, first passing by her maid’s room and then pausing to allow her to shrug her sable furs on over her nightclothes.
Her bare feet pattered down the hall with no more noise than a mouse, and soon she was outside of Friedrich’s door, unsure of how to make herself known to him without rousing the entire hotel.
She tried the door, and naturally discovered it locked, so she tapped twice and waited, hoping she wouldn’t have to be much louder. She heard a mild groan, and saw a flicker of light from under the door. Some shuffling, and then he was slowly opening the door, an oil lamp in his hand. When it registered with him who was at his door, mild surprise flit across his face, as well as a look she couldn’t decipher. “I didn’t take you for a night owl, Miss Celia,” he said, his voice gravelly from sleep.
“I’m not,” she answered shyly, “It’s only that I’m absolutely freezing, and I thought…” she looked sheepishly at the floor, “I thought you could help,” she finished, and he felt heat start deep in his body and pulse through his limbs. He smiled what he’d thought was a benign and warm smile, but she faltered. She may not have recognized his lust for what it was, but she saw something all the same. Still, he silently ushered her in and set the lamp down on a nearby table, motioning for her to sit at a chair close to it, taking her in as she sat.
She had her hair plaited half about her head, the rest waving down around her shoulders in fine golden wisps. She looked far less put together than on any other occasion he’d seen her, and far more intriguing and beautiful. She shrugged the furs from her shoulders slightly as she settled into the chair, exposing her pale throat and hint of collarbone to the moonlight. By God, how he wanted to kiss that throat. He sat opposite her, on the bed, and smiled again. “Well Miss Celia, how may I be of help?”
She clutched the sables back up around her throat and his blood only pulsed downwards faster. “I was praying you would have a blanket to spare, or anything, really; my room is so drafty and yours seems awfully warm…” She broke his gaze and looked around him on the bed, looking for blankets he supposed. He decided that in such an extenuating circumstance as this, propriety could turn a blind eye for a moment, and he stood. “I have blankets aplenty, but you look chilled to the bone. Come, sit here with me and I will see to it that you don’t turn blue from cold.”
She looked up at him as she walked over, yet again unable to read the strange look on his face. He sat so close beside her that she could feel the heat radiating from his leg. It was oddly comfortable. She realized with a thrill she’d never felt that this was her first time alone with him. It was near impossible to decipher the emotions on his face when he gently placed a hand at the small of her back and began rubbing it in slow circles. She’d heard her father say before that good scotch “put a fire in a man’s belly” – well this touch of Friedrich’s was her scotch. She blushed deep pink and Friedrich chuckled, “You look near ablaze, liebe.”
It had slipped out before he’d realized what he was saying, so caught up was he in the sweet little curve of her lower back. “What was that?” she understood some of his native phrases, he knew, but this was new to her. He once again thought it best if he just followed his heart, and not his head, in this moment when she needed the tenderness. This trip had been his idea, after all.
“It means ‘love,’” he spoke softly, and gently touched her warm cheek, not forcing but asking her to turn her eyes to his. She obliged to his fingers, feather light on her skin, and looked up at him more steadily than he’d anticipated.
“It sounds wonderful,” she near sighed, and something in her voice made him long to kiss her. She also, he realized, wanted him to say it again. Bless her and her innocent pleasures.
“Mein liebe,” he whispered, and leaned in to kiss her.
Celia had never seen a man kiss a woman on the mouth. She’d heard, or pieced together, that husbands and wives showed affection this way, but had never been privy to it. Nor would she have wanted to be, before this. Before Friedrich. His kiss created a warmth in her that far exceeded her wishes, yet it was exactly what she’d wanted. Her inexperienced lips soon learned this easy dance of pleasure, and she felt elated, by everything: his hand now coming up her back to stroke her hair, his other caressing her cheek with tender carefulness. Gingerly, she brought her hands to his bare head, and felt his thick locks for the first time. It was lovely. She wondered what else she’d never felt of this man, and realized too with a shock that her sables had fallen from her shoulders, and they were both now pressing against each other in their nightclothes.
As her hands had come up to stroke his hair, her furs had fallen from her shoulders, and despite his closed eyes, Friedrich had noticed this as though he could see her soft white nightgown, the only thing between him and her body. His insides raged fire, and his excitement only worsened. He should send her back to bed. Her own bed. But he wanted to badly for her to stay. Impulse took over and he drew back, daring to look down at her semi-nude form. “Gott,” he breathed, “wie schön sie ist…”
“What was that?” Celia attempted to hide her hardened nipples from his view, but he took her hands and pulled her close against his chest.
“I said, ‘how beautiful she is,’ liebe, and you are beautiful – all of you.” He clutched her to him with more fervency than he’d thought, and she gasped as he knew she was feeling his erection press into her leg. He felt her head move downward against his chest, he supposed so she might locate what was hard and hot, pulsing against her now. He tried to draw back but found her tiny hands searching for what it was between them; now he took her hands and held them. “Celia, mein liebe, I don’t know that you’ll want to discover what that is.”
She looked up at him now, somewhat surprised. “Do you know? It pressed so hard against me, and so warm…”
He chuckled softly and guided her hand to the top of his night trousers. “It is just down from here, and it is my desire for you that makes it so hard –” he gasped as her hand plummeted lower, and, finding that desire, her eyes gaped wide. “This?” She whispered, “This can feel so?” Her hand explored over his trousers, unsure, but also steady as she pressed soft, then harder, up then down, and listened to the hitches in his breathing.
“Celia, please, you will go too far and I will…” either explode in my pants or have no choice but to bed you, he finished in his head.
But she had been captivated. What could result further than his gasps as her hand moved across that one area of interest? She wanted another kiss, and she was curious. Slowly, she untied his trousers and put her hand above their opening, feeling his soft hair and his body retract slightly under her fingers, then give in to her touch.
He relented, and put his hands on her hips, now fully intent as she was, and equally as curious. She tilted her head upwards and strained for his lips and as they met hers, her hand took hold of his bare cock, making him moan in pleasure into their kiss. Her body responded to his, and twisted closer in his arms. He wanted her, dear Lord, how he wanted her. But if she didn’t stop… “Celia,” he gasped, breathless as she had just been feeling the head of it, “Celia, shall I bed you tonight or shall I be satisfied with your touch?” He realized what he was asking may have been beyond her comprehension, and that yes she was a virgin, and yes so was he, but were they not to be married in scant weeks? And they loved each other, truly, who could say that nowadays? “It is your choice, but Celia you must know… I love you.”
Her hand stopped its slow strokes and paused to rest on his bare leg, which sent more shockwaves through both their bodies. She should be feeling shame at what she was doing, shame that she was with a man – her fiancé – alone, and that she ought to remain chaste until their wedding night –
“I love you too, Friedrich, oh I love you. With all my heart.” A tear spilled down the side of one cheek as she blinked up at him. “I want to go to bed with you, but I…”
“Yes?” He smiled warmly and wiped her tear away, and she found her courage in his comfort.
“I think I’d like to wait until we are wed – not just for the sanctity of the vows, but because it would seem more special, to realize an act of love after being bonded for life.”
“My dear, I love you and I fully respect you, in all ways: we will make love when we are wed, and I will kiss you goodnight and provide you with more furs for your own bed –”
“I did not say I would not still please you,” she reached from his leg to his still pulsing cock, with a decisive look in her eyes that made him stand even harder.
She was always surprising him, she and her eagerness. He thanked God that sexuality, though taboo as a subject amongst family, had never been a point of shame in Germany, and he had been able to pursue his own personal satisfaction as appropriate. Thus, he reached down to guide her hand with his own, pressing her thumb and fingers and starting the motion slowly. Breathlessly, “if you continue such as this, but increase the speed, I would be most obliged to you –” he left off with a sharp gasp as her fingers pressed ever so slightly harder while she stroked faster. He wanted to kiss her, but her look of intent concentration held him back. She was determined to give him this new pleasure of a woman’s touch – of Celia’s touch, one that he would crave and always love his whole life.
He fell back onto the bed and bit his lip for fear of waking the place as he came, and as he dropped his head back into the blankets, waves of pleasure sending spasms through his body and down his legs, he heard a small little gasp, and felt her hand withdraw. He looked up to find her holding her hand aloft as if she were… well, as if she were covered in his finish and was unsure what to do.
“Oh liebe, I should have told you,” he sat up and took a handkerchief from the nightstand, taking her soaked hand and wiping it clean. “When a man is fully satisfied, he produces this…” he looked at her cautiously, unsure of her response to his bodily fluid.
“So you enjoyed it, really?” Her face lit up and it was all he could do to pull her down with him onto the bed and kiss her.
“Very much so,” he told her between fervent kisses, which he began to trail down her neck and back up to her lips. “By God,” he whispered against her throat, “I could kiss you everywhere. My love, can you tell me how I may please you, and make you as happy as you have made me?”