I looked down at his hand hovering over my half-exposed cleavage. The look in his eyes was so far from a beatific grace that I smiled wickedly. Undoing the button myself, I shrugged my shoulder out of the blouse with a laugh. "Better?"

He neither looked in my eyes nor at my breasts. Instead, he made a big production of looking at the bullet hole. He laid his hand over my shoulder as he had in the church. I flinched, thinking it should hurt, but the pain didn't come. Instead, my body flushed with warmth. It was as though his mere touch could heal me. But, that, I told myself firmly, was impossible; it would take a miracle.

"Whatever you're doing, don't stop," I said with a contented sigh. I felt myself losing consciousness.

I must have fallen asleep because when I woke up, Michael was lying beside me, an arm thrown protectively around my waist. His chest pressed lightly against my breasts, and, with every breath, I was conscious of my half-opened blouse. Our bellies touched. My chin rested against his collarbone. Sometime during my nap, my skirt had twisted up around my thighs. My legs were entwined around his. Beneath the thin, scratchy barrier of my nylons I could feel the warm softness of his denim jeans. I slid my legs along the shape of his calves. My crotch inched closer to his.

"Are you awake?" His voice was loud in my ear and held no trace of grogginess. I could feel a blush burn the tips of my ears.

"Ummm." I started to pull away, but his arm tightened around my waist. A soft kiss brushed my forehead. That was all the encouragement I needed.

I grabbed the short hairs at the back of his neck and pulled his face to mine. I expected hot and hungry, but our lips met cool and gentle. My legs squeezed his thighs urgently. I pulled his hair roughly. "Michael ..."

He seemed determined to drive me insane with slow softness. His lips moved deliberately down my neck to the hollow of my throat. His kisses were so feather-light they tickled. I squirmed against his touch, trying to force his lips to press harder and to move farther down. Through clenched teeth, I said, "Don't stop there."

Clutching his belt buckle, I pulled at him until he finally consented to roll over on me. I wrapped my legs around him, pressing into the bulge in his pants. I felt strangely grateful to feel that there. Angels, I knew, were supposed to be sexless. Desperate to feel his weight on me, I clawed at his back. Even though I felt the material of his tee shirt rip, my hands felt oddly empty, as though I were clutching at air.

"Wait," he murmured into my chest.

Strangely grateful, I let him pull away. "Michael, what's wrong?"

"I want to go slow. This is my first time.".

I scooted out from under him so fast, I nearly kicked him in the groin. "You're a ... vir ..." I stumbled over the word, the concept, and then settled on, "... a really good Catholic?"

"I ..." He dropped his gaze bashfully and shook his head. "I've just been really busy."

Too busy to have sex? I tried really hard not to laugh, but I could feel a giggle rising in my throat. I put my hand over my mouth to hold it back; I didn't want to embarrass him any further. It wasn't really all that unusual for man Michael's age to be a virgin.

These days preachers constantly rallied against the sins of the flesh, and the harsh penalties for being involved in prostitution were not worth the risk for most people. With the inaccessibility of birth control and abortions, the lack of treatment for STDs, the social stigma of being or having a child out of wedlock – well, honestly, I was in the minority. Many people took vows to abstain until marriage; many people kept them.

Undoing the last button, I let my blouse fall off my shoulders. A cold wetness slid down my arm, reminding me that I should feel something more than the ache between my legs. I did, but it was a hunger that burned me. I wanted, I needed to know more about Michael as a man.

I touched Michael's chin, stroking the prickles of his stubble. I pressed both of my palms to his face. I let my hands trail down his body, touching, testing. A little laugh which I hoped sounded kind slipped out. I moved closer to him, snuggling back into our embrace. "If you've been too busy for sex, big guy, then maybe you deserve a nice, long vacation."

I kissed his forehead, softly, as he had kissed mine. "We can go slow," I said, even as I pulled at his shirt. My legs knocked against his desperately. "Or maybe we could just do it twice."

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