the summer faded from view as we awoke to coyote song and the gentle hoot of an owl or two just before dawn. we had spent the evening in good company, tucked around my little enamel table with bowls of steaming potato soup, sourdough bread and apple cider. the boys talked about cornell and alcoholic beverages and various routes in the hudson valley. i’m not a particularly fine chef, but my guests were satisfied with the home-made meal sourced from the farm.

as night fell, a fire was conjured to life and we three — four — gathered around it. the evening was cool, but comfortably so. smoke drifted in and out between us and i assembled a s’more or two. i snuck in a kiss whenever i could get away with it, smooshing my mouth against his soft lower lip like an addict.

one guest departed around nine thirty, and i tidied up the kitchen as the leftovers were packed into the fridge for later. i lit the candles strategically placed throughout the bedroom — now was not the time for the usual prayers. now was the time for crowns and candle-light and soft skin and heavy sighs.

the next half hour was spent fervently astride or below his churning hips, stirring cries of pleasure and rounded moans from deep in my ribs. i don’t think his eyes ever left my face, though i found it hard to focus on anything around me. i peaked just as he did, on the electric ridge of his pointed, desperate thrusts. his orgasm rippled between us both as he spent his pent-up energy where it belonged. i held him close as we both came down off that high and i watched the candlelight flicker above us.

i surrendered then, i let go. i quietly settled into his arms, to his desire, to his gaze, to his touch. there was nowhere left for me to hide, not here. i saw him and he saw me, and not a stitch of fabric lay between us.