Everything was more or less ready, except for herself.

She ran a rose-scented bubble bath, a little too hot, piled her hair on top of her head with two picks and eased into the water with a contented sigh. The hot water sank deep fingers of heat into her, loosened her muscles. Charity tipped her head back against the rim of the bathtub and closed her eyes, inhaling the scented steam and thinking of nothing at all, completely happy.

When she opened her eyes, the bubbles had dissipated and she could see herself in the water. She took in a deep breath and watched her breasts rise. Her breasts. Nick had made love to her breasts so intently, so single-mindedly, you’d think they were a source of pleasure for him, too. If she concentrated, she could feel his mouth right now, tugging gently at her nipple.

At the thought, she could actually see her nipples swell and turn deep pink.

Every inch of her skin was sensitized by Nick. She tried to think of a part of her body he hadn’t touched, but couldn’t, unless you count internal organs. Toes, the backs of her knees, elbows, belly button, the skin behind her ears. Memories, images flooded her mind and she felt a now-familiar tingle between her thighs. That tingle would be connected to thoughts of Nick until the end of time.

Her body. It amazed her that it could harbor these sensations. Where had her body been all these years? With hindsight, she realized that all her life, she’d essentially thought of her body as a carrying case for her head. It required rest, good nutrition, and regular exercise, but that was about it.

Who knew that there was this amazing world inside her, a world of unimagined pleasure? And it was Nick’s for the asking.

She had so many images in her head. Nick’s face as he thrust in and out of her slowly. He’d sometimes push himself up on his arms, biceps bulging, big veins standing out, and look down between them. She’d look too, watching as his big penis pulled slowly out, wet with her juices, thick and ropy. She could feel him every inch of the way, leaving emptiness when he withdrew. He’d pull out until they could see the big plum-colored head which turned a deep red while they were making love and wait until her eyes met his and she whimpered. Then and only then would he push back into her.

Once, Charity had curled her nails into his hard buttocks and lifted herself in frustration because he was taking it so slowly.

Her nails didn’t even dent his skin. No matter how hard she dug into him, she knew she wasn’t hurting him, couldn’t hurt him. He was amazingly hard, all over. He said he took martial arts lessons to destress and they had created a remarkable male body.

The lips of her vagina were clasped around the big head but the rest of her was so empty….

Enough Nick, she’d whispered and the small half smile he’d worn disappeared. His eyes turned a deep hot blue and he’d whispered back yes, enough, and had slammed into her so hard it took her breath away. He’d begun making love in earnest, hard, long, deep strokes that made her old bed creak, so fast she thought she’d burn up with the friction….

With a cry, Charity climaxed in the water—hard, fast contractions that went on and on, almost as long as they did while Nick was making love to her.

She lost herself, as she always did, heat flowing throughout her body, a small sun of it concentrated between her thighs. When she came to, she unclenched her fists and relaxed her muscles again. She had a deep flush on her chest, down to her breasts. The effect of the hot water but also the climax.

Amazing.

It wasn’t the first time she’d climaxed on her own, of course. After all, she hadn’t had a lover for many years. But it was certainly the first time she’d climaxed without touching herself. And it wasn’t her usual tight, almost painful self-induced orgasm that was over almost before it began and left her feeling depleted, restless, and lonely. No, it was one of those majestic, pulsing orgasms that left her feeling like the queen of the world. A very relaxed queen of the world.

Amazing. Nick was with her even when he wasn’t. He was in her heart, now, never to depart.

On that happy thought, her happy body climbed out of the bathtub and she began preparations worthy of a geisha. Scented moisturizer everywhere, rubbed in deeply until her very cells were fragrant. Pedicure, manicure, masque.

She pinned her hair up again, more carefully this time, letting a few tendrils fall artfully on her shoulders and began making up. Light makeup because the instant Nick began kissing her, it would all disappear immediately. No mascara. Who wanted to be the Raccoon Bride?

She slid the nightgown over her head with all the care and solemnity of a medieval knight donning armor, then slid her arms into the negligee.

She had a pair of mules, a gift from a friend, and wondered whether it would be overkill, then decided that overkill was just fine for a wedding night. Her first and only wedding night. This night would never come again. Any extravagance was justified.

She twirled in front of the mirror, delighted with what she saw. She was flushed pink, eyes bright. For tonight, she was beautiful, as all brides must be on their wedding day.

It was five and completely dark by the time she finished her preparations. The table was set, the dishes ready to be nuked, and she set about the house slowly, ceremoniously lighting all the candles in her bedroom and in the living room.

She made a little wish with each candle. For so many things. For a long, happy life with Nick. For healthy children and the grace and wisdom to teach them to grow up to be honorable human beings. For the courage to face life’s vicissitudes. And at the last candle, she wished for serenity for Aunt Vera.

There. Everything was perfect. The house glowed. She glowed. Now all she had to do was wait. It was so hard to be patient, though. She’d sit down, then jump back up as if the chair had lifted up to eject her.

After an hour of pacing, she finally sat down with a glass of white wine to calm her nerves. She sipped slowly, enjoying the cool fruity liquid as it slid down her throat. A second glass would be welcome, but she didn’t want Nick to come home to a soused bride.

Another hour went by. The fire in the hearth needed feeding. She knelt to put twigs and a small log in the embers, and heard a car on her street.

Heart pounding, she jumped up and rushed to the door but the car passed on by. It wasn’t Nick. Disappointment pounded through her body.

Her heart had started pounding at the thought of Nick coming up the walk and she had to wait for it to slow down. It was so hard to be patient! So hard to be alone.

Wow.

She had to sit down for that thought. Not being able to entertain herself, being dependent on someone else for her emotional equilibrium, was entirely new. An only child, she was accustomed from birth to being on her own. Solitude had never weighed on her. If anything, she enjoyed being on her own, never thinking of it as loneliness.

If Charity had had to describe herself to someone who didn’t know her, one of the first attributes she’d mention would be her emotional and intellectual self-sufficiency.

One week of Nick and that was all blown out of the water. New lover, new life, new her.

She gave a brief glance at her bookshelves, completely indifferent to what was on them. There were two new books by favorite authors, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel any spark of excitement. There were CDs galore along one wall but the thought of listening to anything alone, without being in Nick’s arms, was almost painful to contemplate.

No books, no music, no movies could begin to compare with Nick. In a week, he’d become her touchstone. Her reason for living. It was a scary and exhilarating thought. Scary because she realized she was now dependent on someone else. Exhilarating because Nick loved her and she’d never be alone again.