Sunkissed

As his eyes looked into hers, studying her like only a father could, he stumbled across what Sophia had tried so very hard to hide from him. He found her fear. And at that moment, every piece of armor Sophia had carefully assembled around herself suddenly collapsed.

"I'm scared, Papa," she whispered.

"Why?" he whispered back.

"I don't want to mess up," she said, her words barely above the edge of hearing. "I want tonight to go right."

"You can't guarantee it will, darling," Papa gently warned her. "You can't guarantee anything in this world. The best you can do is to follow your heart."

"I am," Sophia declared. "I swear to you I am."

"Then all will be right," he assured her. "I followed my heart when I wedded your mother, you know. And maybe that brought me sorrow, but ... it also brought me you. And you've made every hardship I've ever suffered worthwhile. Your mother would be so proud of you, Sophia. So very, very proud. If only she could've just seen you. She was so excited to meet you. But she'll meet you someday, won't she?"

Papa brushed a tear from Sophia's cheek that she did not know she had wept.

Sophia traced a finger under her eyes. "Is the mascara running?" she asked.

"Not yet. It will if you keep crying."

Sophia stretched her jaw and drew a strong breath through her nose to fight back her tears.

"Sometimes you have to be bold in life," Papa added. "To just do what you feel is right, without fear. And with a little luck, things'll go just how you want them to." He patted her cheek. "Now go on, darling. Be bold."

- - -

The sun was dipping below the horizon as Sophia made her way to Joseph's home, clutching her ironbound suitcase in her hand. His home was one of many flats in a massive, nine-storey building in the mid-city's residential quarter. As was all those around it, it was constructed of crimson firebricks, the best marriage of functionality and parsimony the city's Lord was willing to splurge on. The building housed residents -- both families and bachelors -- of widely varying classes and wealth. Clean water was available to all from only a short walk away, courtesy of the city's towering aqueducts and numerous reservoirs. Of the ten floors of the building, each were of different arrangements. Higher floors housed more individual flats. The further you had to climb the stairs to a floor, the smaller the flats were, and the cheaper their rent. The higher the floor, the lower the class. Joseph's flat was on the fifth.

After climbing the outdoor stairway to the fifth floor, Sophia strode down the hall that split the north and south flats, until she came to Joseph's door, the furthest to the east. She brandished the key from her pocket and inserted it into the door's warded lock. The key was Joseph's only spare. It probably would've been wiser to give it to one of his brothers or his father, but despite the fact Sophia had never once spent the night there, Joseph chose to give it to her. A beckoning gesture, maybe, or maybe it was something more innocent, as if to say: if you need it, my home is yours. Regardless, she had never needed to use it. Until now.

Inside, Joseph's flat was of modest space, with a half-kitchen, a living area, a privy, and a single bedroom, all with modest, fur rugs dotted across the concrete floor. The kitchen and living area both made up one room. The kitchen was complete with a small table that could seat two, a series of several cupboards, a single corner countertop, and a hearth with a chimney that rose upwards at an angle, venting its smoke through the wall and out into the city. The living area was nothing more than a settee, a lounge chair, and a low table. The privy was simply a chamber pot behind a door. In Joseph's bedroom was a desk with a chair, a stand for his sword, and a large trunk that sat at the foot of his bed, which was adorned with sheets, blankets, and pillows all of white, warm wool. Throughout the flat, its windows were large enough to allow in a good amount of natural light from the sun, as was to be expected. They were barred with rusted iron grates designed to discourage one from dumping a chamber pot's excrement onto an unsuspecting pedestrian below. The string-and-cherrywood blinds that hung over each window were not there when Joseph had moved in. His mother had fashioned them, and Sophia had helped her do it.

Joseph's home was not one of wealth -- a sharp contrast from Sophia's -- but it was a humble dwelling, and Sophia held no ill will towards it. Truthfully ... she liked it.

The evening twilight bled through the windows as Sophia stood in the kitchen. The sun would be gone soon. She'd need light. The fire of her own home's hearth was kept lit at all times, being tended to by the servants, but Joseph had no such privilege, and as such, he always kept the tools to light candles on-hand, and Sophia knew where he kept them. She slid out the leftmost drawer in his kitchen and took the tinderbox from within. With it in hand, Sophia made her way to Joseph's bedroom. She set her suitcase atop his trunk at the foot of his bed and strode to his dresser, on which four tall, unspent candles stood. She opened the tinderbox and began striking its flint and fire striker over the charcloth. Sophia had lit a fire only a few times before, and it took quite a few strikes to get an ember burning in the box. When she did finally manage it, she took the burning cloth and held it to each candle. After each wick was burning, Sophia went again to the kitchen and placed the tinderbox in its drawer before promptly returning to Joseph's bedroom. She removed her shoes and set them in the corner, and she clasped her hands together as she sat on the edge of the bed, intent on patiently waiting to hear the flat's entry door open. She still hadn't any idea what she'd say to Joseph when he found her, but she was here, and that was a good start.

As Sophia sat there and waited, she unconsciously took her bottom lip further and further between her teeth. She did not like the quiet. The quiet was when her worrisome mind was at its worst, and the silence of Joseph's empty flat was a deathly one. As the minutes ticked by, the corners of Sophia's mind curled inwards on itself, and the monsters she'd buried in shallow graves began rising from them. They were monsters that she had come to know far too well. Doubt. Fear. And the strongest of them all: Shame. When Sophia finally heard the flat's entry door open and a series of footsteps plod against the floor towards the bedroom, the monsters already had her. She was already lost.

Joseph deserved better than her.

Joseph came through the bedroom door with a lit oil lantern in hand. He stood now in commoner's clothes, without his gambeson. Surprise colored his face when he saw her. "Sophia?" he asked as he affixed his sword in its stand by the door. He set his lantern atop his desk and snuffed out its flame. "What're you doing here?"

Sophia turned her head towards him. "I've chained you," she whispered before swallowing a thick, audible gulp. Her throat felt swollen. "I've shackled you to me like a slave. God forgive me."

Joseph strode her way until he stood over her, brows furrowed in confusion. "What're you talking about?"

Sophia rose to her feet and locked her eyes with his. "I've cursed you," she mused, sorrow darkening her voice. "I made you smitten with a girl who gives you nothing in return, to suffer through—"

—Joseph put his hand over Sophia's mouth. "Stop," he said to her, weakly shaking his head. There was a look of hurt in his eyes, as though he couldn't believe the words she spoke. "Sophia, I'm going to tell you something, and I want you to listen well," he said, his voice clear and unwavering. He moved his hand from her mouth to her cheek. "You are no curse, and I've not suffered. Only the opposite. These years we've had together, I wouldn't trade them for anything. There's no one I'd rather have spent them with. You are the love of my life, and I wish for nothing more than to be the same for you, but—"

"—You are," Sophia declared.

Joseph smiled at that, but it softened when he continued his thought. "But you shouldn't be here if you don't want to be."

"I wanted to do this two years ago," Sophia whispered. "I've yearned for you for so long, Joseph," she said. "But ... I'm stricken with shame."

Joseph narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "Shame of what?"

Sophia pulled her dress over her head and tossed it to the floor, stripping to her lingerie brassiere and panties, both colored midnight-black by expensive, exotic dyes. She'd purchased the lingerie two years ago with the intent to immediately wear it on that first night she made love with Joseph ... but that night never came. Yet here she finally stood, baring herself to him, revealing most of her flesh to his eyes ... but she'd not revealed herself to him in the way she'd fantasized of doing it. Instead, she did exactly what she feared earlier that evening that she'd do: she lost her courage. She let shame sink her.

"I'm hideous," she muttered, hanging her head and looking to the floor. "My flesh is scourged by the sun."

Joseph grabbed Sophia's chin and made her face upwards again, where his eyes awaited her. "You think I'm bothered by the color of your skin?" he asked, and again he shook his head. "To my eyes, you are the most beautiful girl in the land." Then, as Sophia watched, another smile came to him, a gentle smirk that curled along his lip. "And d'you want to know something?"

Sophia swallowed another thick gulp.

"I like your color."

Sophia took Joseph in her arms and pushed herself into him, standing on the tip of her toes as she pressed her lips onto his. Her right hand took a fistful of the thick curls of his hair as her left went to the back of his neck. She took her lips from Joseph's only to quickly return them, and then again, and again. Joseph mimicked her. That smooth, rhythmic dancing of their lips always came naturally to Sophia, and it took no effort to girlishly grace and caress Joseph's lips with her own just how she wanted to, in just the right way.

As their lips met again and again, Sophia grew bolder, and she soon made another decision. She opened her mouth and brought her tongue into the fray of their kiss, and Joseph promptly welcomed it with his own. When her tongue first touched his, a tingling flushed through her, a rush of warmth that both soothed and stimulated her. She brushed Joseph's wet tongue with her own in each and every joining of their lips, and as simply as that, they were deep-kissing for the first time. It was ... easy. Easy and relieving. Sophia sighed, and her body -- which she only then realized had nervously stiffened -- gently slackened against Joseph's. His large, towering frame was a comfort like she'd never known, soft but strong, loving but unyielding. With her body pressed against his, she was floating on a cloud. Her worries were silenced. There was no doubt, no fear, no shame ... only love. Just when Sophia began to wish that Joseph was holding her, his strong arms wrapped around the bare small of her back and hugged her tightly. Sophia swooned as her knees buckled. Her legs felt like they'd soon give out from under her. She wanted to say something before that happened.

Sophia broke their kiss. "I don't want to be sweethearts anymore," she said as she gazed into Joseph's eyes. "I want to be lovers."

Joseph leaned towards her for another kiss, but it was a brief and gentle one, and when he reared back, he said to her, "Then that's what we'll be."

They leaned together in unison and kissed again, and once more their tongues met and mingled. Joseph's hands on Sophia's back slid downwards, past her panties, where they soon found the bare cheeks of her bum. His fingers curled into her tight flesh, squeezing her gently, and that same rush of tingling warmth washed through her once more. She pulled back and broke their kiss again, but this time she kept her face close to his, their lips only inches apart.

"Do I make you lustful?" she asked him in a timid whisper, looking to him with curious eyes.

"Very," he answered meekly.

His confidence had ebbed, and his expression was now a sheepish one. That surprised Sophia to see ... but only briefly. He had never done this either, after all. Just as Sophia had never bedded a boy, Joseph had never bedded a girl. They were the only sweethearts either of them had ever been with. Joseph did not know a woman's flesh. Not yet. And that look in his eyes ... he wanted Sophia to guide him. She wasn't sure if she knew how. But she would try.

Sophia took Joseph's hand and walked him to his bed. She seated him on its edge and climbed over him and straddled his lap, facing him, putting his eyes at level with her black brassiere, which she then reached behind herself to unhook. When she slipped the straps off her shoulders, the brassiere finally fell from her, baring her perky breasts to the air. Joseph's eyes immediately caught on them, and his gaze fixated on her dark nipples. Bashful, Sophia shyly held her arm under her breasts, propping them up and giving them more heft. She watched Joseph's eyes as they studied her, eager -- and nervous -- to see his reaction.

"They're ... petite," Sophia muttered.

"They're perfect," Joseph said. And he ... he meant it. Joseph's eyes held no disgust, no disdain, not even disappointment. They held awe. They held lust.

"You ... you can hold them," Sophia told him. Her pause was not from reluctance, but from uncertainty. If Joseph enjoyed the sight of them ... then surely he'd enjoy holding them?

Joseph hesitated only briefly. With his eyes still locked to her chest, he took his hands to her bosom and gently closed them around her breasts. The soft flesh had much more give than her arse, and Sophia gasped as he firmly squeezed them, pressing his fingers deep into her breasts as he kneaded them. The fondling felt far more intense than Sophia had thought it would. Her breasts had never been this sensitive, not even when she was having her blood. She began feeling extremely hot under her flesh. Joseph was making her body burn, in the best sort of way.

"I ... I want to do more than touch them," Joseph whispered.

"You can do anything you want," Sophia whispered back. In her burning lust, she wasn't even sure what exactly Joseph spoke of, but she wanted it, whatever it was. She wanted him to enjoy her body. She'd oft fantasized of this moment, and in those fantasies, Joseph gave her the brunt of his passion.

Joseph shifted his right hand away from her breast as he brought his mouth to it, and Sophia gasped again when he closed his lips around the circle of her nipple. She felt his tongue brush over her nub in firm, warm licks, occasionally flicking and lashing at it. A shiver of pleasure arched Sophia's back, pushing her breast into Joseph. He answered by hollowing his cheeks and sucking inwards, drawing her supple flesh further into his mouth. Hot breath from his nose swept over her chest in strong bursts, and as Sophia panted from her open mouth with breath no less lustful, she grabbed at Joseph just as she'd done while they kissed, with one hand clenching through his thick hair and the other resting against the nape of his neck.

When Joseph finally removed his lips from her, Sophia's breast shined with his saliva. But his mouth did not stay astray from her flesh for long, and he swiftly turned his head and snatched her other breast into his lips. Again Sophia felt his tongue brush against her as he suckled her once more, slathering her with his tongue just as thoroughly as he did the moment before. When he accompanied the stroking of his tongue with a rhythmic squeezing of her breasts in each of his hands, pleasure stole Sophia's breath from her lungs.

Joseph pulled his mouth from Sophia's teat and rested his forehead against her breastbone, sighing a deep breath. Sophia could feel the beads of sweat on his hot brow. Then, wordlessly, Joseph moved his groping hands to the small of Sophia's back and held her close as he shifted towards the center of his bed. He gently laid Sophia onto her back and eased her head onto his pillow, and though it took some effort -- courtesy of Sophia's slight unwillingness to release him -- Joseph shed himself of her hands and turned his attention to his shirt. He kneeled below Sophia's open legs as he popped out his shirt's buttons, and when the last one was free, he tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. His chest was lightly furred with short, brown hair, and his muscles were visible against the surface of his flesh, including six discernable squares on his abdomen, courtesy of hundreds of hours of sparring with his sword. Just as his brow, the flesh of his chest shined with beads of sweat. Sophia nibbled her bottom lip as she admired the sight of him. If Joseph thought his lust for Sophia was any stronger than her lust for him, then she knew he was wrong.

Joseph reached for Sophia and curled his fingers under the waistband of her black panties. "Can I?" he asked, his eyes watching hers.

"Yes," Sophia said, nodding her head. She had never been more certain of anything.

Sophia had once thought she'd dread this moment when Joseph finally saw the most private of her flesh. But now, with his hands pulling down her panties, there was no dread, there was nothing of the sort. She wanted his gaze between her legs. She wanted to see that same look of awe in his eyes that she'd seen from him just minutes earlier. No, she wanted more than that. She didn't just want Joseph to see her there, she wanted him to touch her there. If he would touch her between her legs anything like he did her breasts, then it was something Sophia wanted to happen sooner and not later.

When Sophia's panties were off her feet, Joseph flicked them away, and he put his hands to her inner thighs and gently parted them. The mons of Sophia's sex was smooth and bald, made hairless by the waxing. With her thighs close together, her cunt was a slim slit tucked between puffy outer folds, but as Joseph spread her legs, her flower bloomed, and her outer folds parted. The lips of her pussy were the same dark shade as her nipples, and -- like the rest of her -- they were petite. They did not protrude from her cleft. She was visibly wet, and her moisture glimmered in the soft candlelight.

Joseph shifted his knees further down the bed and lowered his head to Sophia's crotch, bringing his mouth near her sex, and Sophia took the tip of her forefinger between her teeth when his hot breath first tickled her. Joseph brought his hand to her pussy and parted her folds with two fingers, revealing the pink of her inner flesh. Sophia's spread flower shined with abundant moisture, soaked sodden from top to bottom. Her clitoris was a pink, engorged button tucked under its long hood, and below it, at the bottom of her gash, her tunnel bubbled with her great lust. Her tunnel was still faithfully guarded by her maidenhead, a thin, worn membrane of flesh that encircled her hole.

Sophia breathed a girlish moan when Joseph finally closed his lips onto her and ran his tongue deep within her. He experimented at first, tonguing in and around her wet lips and wetter inner folds, filling his mouth with her liquid lust. When he realized what pleasured Sophia most -- no doubt from paying mind to the volume and frequency of her whimpers -- Joseph focused his efforts, and he ran his tongue from her tunnel to her button and all the way to her clitoral hood in long, deep strokes of warm pressure, firm enough to lift her soft, wet folds with every lick, and with every lick, Joseph took his lips from Sophia's flower only to swiftly smooch her again, kissing and tonguing her cunt with smooth, rhythmic strokes. His hot tongue basked Sophia in pleasure like she'd never felt, and it built a strange pressure in her loins that she could only liken to the string of a lute being tightened further and further, till it began to threaten to burst.