Regret Not a Moment

by Nicole McGehee

  The sight of her long legs clad in nothing but her stockings and shoes almost made him lose control of himself, but he knew not to hurry her. Still kneeling before her, he hugged her to him, laying his head against her stomach as he ran a hand lightly over her thighs and buttocks. Oh, how she wanted him to touch her… there… between her legs where her body cried out for relief from the exquisite tension. Her desire was so great that she actually reached for his hand and brought it up to her. An act so bold as to be almost unthinkable!

  But John was delighted that her desire overcame her shyness and, tentatively and oh so gently, slipped a finger inside her as he massaged her on the outside with his thumb. She was unable to stand any longer. Her knees simply buckled, sending her into his arms. It was so erotic to be naked against him while he was still fully dressed. Somehow it seemed he knew that, because he simply laid her down carefully where she was and, spreading her legs, inserted his tongue where his finger had been earlier. She could not believe he was doing such a thing! She knew about the act of procreation, but had no idea that people did… this. At first she recoiled, but the pleasure was too great and it was beyond her control to stop it. Then it happened for the first time. That strange, dizzy feeling as sweet release flooded her. And while she was still so wet and open to him, he undressed and, unable to contain himself any longer, entered her. The pain was not so great. The pleasure was greater as they began to move together in an instinctive, ancient rhythm that was perfectly… right. And, in a few seconds, she felt that sweeping pleasure rise in her again. That tension that made her limbs stiffen, her muscles strain around him. She enfolded him in her. Drew him deeper and deeper, as he moved more forcefully with each stroke. Then she felt him shudder. He moaned as he thrust into her and the motion drove her over the peak until she, too, was moaning with the sheer ecstasy of it.

  Later that evening, when she had had more time to study his body, she marveled at the beauty of him—the long muscles rippling in his arms, legs, and shoulders. His small waist and flat stomach, with its line of dark hair leading downward. The sight of him aroused her to the extent that she wanted him again, although he was lying sleepily in front of the fire, spent from their love. So she had done to him what he had done to her earlier. He had been surprised, perhaps even shocked, that she would take him into her mouth in that way. At first she had not known exactly what to do, but with subtle movements he had indicated his pleasure, and when he was hard again, she had wrapped her legs around him and drawn him into her. And there had been no pain this time.

  “I love you, Devon. You excite me beyond my wildest dreams,” he told her afterward.

  She thought of Loretta no more.

  Now, as she watched him talking to their friends, she had a desire for him that was so strong that she felt herself grow moist. Suddenly it seemed as though the spacious suite was too small, too hot, and she could barely restrain herself from ushering their guests out. Feeling her stare, John looked up and caught her eye. For a second they stood riveted, locked in each others gaze.

  Somehow, John and Devon managed politely to hasten their good-byes. As soon as the door closed behind their last guest, they turned the lock, and without even bothering to lead Devon to the bed, John began to undress. Devon’s impatience matched his, and breathless with desire, she almost tore the buttons from her lavender silk traveling suit as she hurried to remove the jacket. Naked now, John knelt and pulled Devon’s skirt over her ankles. She began to unfasten her underthings, but he stopped her, unable to wait any longer. Shoving her loose silk panties to one side, he bent his knees and slid his erect member into the warm space between her legs, pleased to find that she was as ready as he. Using the door as a brace for her, he lifted her slightly as she encircled his back tightly with her legs. Moving together in dazzling unison, flesh upon flesh, explosive with waiting and wanting, the contact drove them over the edge. Both of them lost control almost at once as their knees buckled with sweet release.

  “You look ecstatic, Devon,” Grace said. It was a warm, sunny day and the two women were lunching at a sidewalk cafe. The sisters drew many appreciative stares as they spoke across the tiny table in confidential tones. Grace had managed to capture the unmistakable high style of the Parisienne, from the figure-hugging severity of her white pique Chanel suit to the coquettish tilt of her veiled straw hat. Accessories were the key to Grace’s look, and today her choices were a striking pair of harlequin-patterned white-and-black kid gloves along with matching shoes. These small but important deviations from her white ensemble added an intriguing flair to her chic. Devon, softer in her look, evoked visions of romance in the men who beheld her. Her dress was also white, but the material was a soft and billowy cotton organdy that flowed provocatively with each step and enticed with hints of transparency. With it she wore a large white picture hat with streamers of pale blue chiffon.

  “I am ecstatic,” said Devon with a happy sigh. She cut into her grilled steak before continuing. “Do you know that today is our third anniversary?”

  “What?”

  “John and I have been married exactly three weeks today. Oh, Gracie, I wish you could have been at the wedding. It was so beautiful!”

  “Me too, but I knew I’d be seeing you here and you’d tell me all about it. By the way, does John mind spending his honeymoon with his in-laws?”

  “Don’t be silly, Grace. Besides, we’re not spending our honeymoon with you. We’re at the Ritz.”

  “Still… I’m stealing you away from him today,” said Grace.

  “He’s probably relieved he doesn’t have to go shopping with me,” Devon said with a knowing half smile. “Anyhow, he and Philip get on so well together. And he loves the boys.”

  “Good, then I won’t feel guilty,” said Grace. “By the way, where will you live when you get back to the States?”

  “Mostly at Willowbrook, I should think. After all, if we want to raise racehorses, we have to be there. At least at first. You know, this is delicious, Grace, how do they do the potatoes like that?”

  “I’m not sure. No one at the American embassy has ever been able to duplicate them.” Grace laughed. “But what about John’s work? Won’t he mind living at Willowbrook?”

  “I suppose not, since he bought it,” said Devon casually.

  “Perhaps he bought it as a country home, not full-time living quarters,” Grace speculated. “You really haven’t discussed it?”

  “Not at length.”

  “Would you mind living in New York?”

  “Certainly! You know I love Virginia. It’s my home. Of course, we’ll go up to New York for weeks at a time. We have a lot of friends there and I’ve made some wonderful new ones since meeting John. I’m sure John can look after his business that way.”

  “Won’t John want to live in New York?”

  “Well, I know we’ll return to New York after our honeymoon. But we’ll stay only a few weeks. I’m dying to tell Sydney Howell-Jones—you remember her, that wonderful strawberry blonde who’s always so amusing—all about the honeymoon. But then we’ll go home, I imagine.”

  “You know, Devon, your home is where John is,” said Grace seriously.

  “Of course I know that! But from the very first day I met John, I told him I would never want to spend all my time in New York. He’s never brought it up, but I’m sure that’s why he bought Willowbrook.”

  “I’m not so sure,” said Grace skeptically. “I have the impression he wants to spend most of his time in New York.”

  “Grace, I’m certain it won’t be a problem,” said Devon with a dismissive wave of her hand.

  “How is it that you two have never had this discussion?” Grace asked curiously.

  “Well, as I said, he’s always known my opinion on the subject and… I don’t know… a conflict has never come up. We’ve just always gone back and forth when we needed to.”

  “That was before. You were planning a wedding and there were plenty of reasons for you to go to New York.
Are you going to be as willing to go just because John wants to?”

  “Of course… within reason.”

  “Devon, I think you’ve lived too long as an only child,” said Grace bluntly, as she signaled to the waiter to bring them coffee.

  “What do you mean by that?” asked Devon, offended. “Are you saying I’m spoiled?”

  “Not exactly… I mean, Mother and Father never denied us anything, but I think they were careful to teach us to value what we have. I’m not talking about that kind of spoiled. I just mean that you seem very set in your ways. I’m not sure you always consider what John might want. You call Virginia ‘home.’ It’s true that it’s where you were brought up and where our parents live, but you don’t live with our parents. John’s home is New York. When you marry, it is customary to live in your husband’s home.”

  “I know that!” said Devon in an exasperated tone. “But Willowbrook is his home too,” she insisted.

  “He bought it for you. And I’m sure he intends to spend time there. But it may not be as much as you like.”

  “Oh, Gracie, you worry too much!” Devon said with a small laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Now, you know that’s not true. In fact, I almost never worry. I just couldn’t help noticing from your conversations with John that you hadn’t quite addressed the question of where you would live. I can tell you two have different ideas of how it will work.”

  “We love each other too much to fight over something like that,” said Devon, smiling at the thought of her husband.

  “I hope so” was all Grace said.

  Paris had always been Devon’s favorite city and she enjoyed showing John all the obscure little places she had discovered when roaming about on previous visits. John had been to Paris only once before and it had been a brief, guided affair, not at all like his discoveries with Devon. They had spent the last three weeks exploring the city, yet she still showed him something new every day.

  “This patisserie has the best lemon tarts in Paris,” said Devon, leading him into a tiny shop hidden along one of the winding cobblestone streets that characterize the Left Bank.

  “Now how exactly do you know that?” John teased as they waited for the woman behind the counter to wrap up four of the small yellow confections.

  Devon looked at him in mock incredulity. “Why, I’ve tasted them all, of course.”

  “You don’t expect me to believe that, do you? Not when you’re so slim,” he said, putting his hands around her waist. Indeed, they almost encircled her, she was so slender. His pride in her, and his love, sometimes seemed so full that it overwhelmed him. John was amazed at the things she had discovered in her wanderings around Paris and it seemed as though each new place she showed him revealed something wonderful about her.

  “Believe it or nor, I’ve tried them all. And all the chocolate truffles and almond croissants and tartes Tatin—all of them!” she said, biting into the lemony cream and buttery crust as soon as they were outside the shop.

  “Hold on a minute! I thought we were saving those for tea.” John laughingly took the package from her and hid it behind his back before she could extract a second tart.

  “How do you expect me to wait until then? It’s only ten-thirty in the morning. Besides,” said Devon, as she pretended to lunge for the package behind his back, “I’m eating for two now.” Devon plopped down on a bench under a tree and pretended fascination with a nearby fountain as John stood dumbfounded before her, digesting the news. Devon looked up at him and playfully pulled him down beside her. She was bubbling over with excitement and was waiting for John to get over the shock so that he could join her celebratory mood.

  John was silent for a few seconds, then he said, “Devon, are you sure?”

  “Well, not absolutely, but I’m several days late,” she said. “Of course, it could just be all the excitement, the travel… all of that.” Devon had dropped her joking tone. She was serious now. She hoped so much that she was pregnant, but she did not want to be disappointed if she was not. That was probably what he was feeling, too, she thought. That was why he was so restrained.

  “But haven’t you been using the—”

  “Yes, but I didn’t get it until the day before we left New York to come here. Remember? You wanted me to see a specialist instead of Dr. Hickock.” Devon was puzzled. Didn’t he believe she was pregnant?

  “Yes, but before that I was very careful to—”

  “Obviously not careful enough, I suppose,” Devon laughed. “Besides,” she said in an intimate tone, snuggling closer to him, “you may recall that your incredible love for me prevented you from always showing the proper… um… control.” She whispered in his ear, “Especially on our wedding night.”

  John said nothing, but reached for her, enfolding her in his arms.

  She put her head on his shoulder. “You’re happy, darling, aren’t you?” she murmured into his chest.

  “Of course…” he said, but his tone was not convincing.

  Abruptly Devon pulled away from him so she could see his face. “You’re not pleased!” she cried, astonished.

  “It’s not that, Devon,” he said hastily. “It’s just that I was hoping for a little time to ourselves. I didn’t want to start a family quite yet. Do you know what I mean?” He grasped her shoulders, imploring her with his eyes to understand him. He loved her completely and fully, but marriage had been a major change in his life. When he had first realized his love for Devon, he had not been certain that he was ready to undertake the commitment and responsibilities inherent in marriage. He had overcome those misgivings and was now wondrously happy he had done so, but a child was a different matter… an encumbrance of sorts.

  Devon thought she understood. “Darling, a child will only add to our love. It won’t come between us,” she said, thinking of how much she loved her goddaughter. Her love for her own daughter—or son—would be even deeper.

  “It’s not so much coming between us that I worry about,” said John, sitting beside her. “It’s just that we’ve talked so much about the things we’d like to do together. Getting Willowbrook back on its feet. Traveling.”

  “Why can’t we do that with a child? When I was a child we all traveled with our parents. Alice took care of us a lot of the time, but we were with them. I don’t think we acted as encumbrances,” said Devon reasonably.

  “I’m not so much worried about logistics as I am about…” He didn’t know how to finish. The responsibility? He didn’t want to say that. It sounded… immature somehow. “I suppose I enjoy our freedom. I can’t think of myself as a parent yet,” he finished lamely.

  “I wonder if anyone does until the time comes,” said Devon, turning away from John to settle back on the bench. She stared straight ahead, trying to envision what life would be like with a child. She could imagine only joy, not the problems John was so vaguely articulating.

  “Maybe if we had more time…” said John pensively.

  “Maybe? What do you mean by that?” asked Devon, turning her head sharply to look at him once again. “Don’t you want children? You’ve always said you did.”

  “I meant in the future, after a few years,” John explained. He was not even sure why the idea disturbed him so. His parents had left him largely in the care of a nurse when he was small, a tutor when he was older, and boarding school when he was an adolescent. All his friends had grown up similarly. Parents spent time with their children and enjoyed them, but mostly saw the best sides of them. The pleasures of children without the pitfalls. What was so frightening about that? John asked himself. Was he afraid of growing older? Afraid he would not be a good father? He was not certain. He felt only that he was not ready for fatherhood.

  “Well, we haven’t much of a choice,” said Devon. She felt like crying, but she restrained herself. She didn’t want to become more upset than she already was. How was it possible that her overwhelming joy was not shared by her husband? She felt betrayed and irreparably hurt.
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br />   With remorse, John realized the blow he had dealt her. “Darling, I’m sorry. I’m being a brute. Of course, once the child is born, we’ll laugh at all my misgivings. I’ll love it. And… it’s done now…” he said, trying to keep the regret from his voice.

  “Oh, John, you say that as though it were something bad!” cried Devon. “How can you be that way?”

  He put his arm around her and hugged her to him, but she pulled away. “Its not something bad. Its just that I’m not used to the idea.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” she stood up. She felt as though all her happiness had turned to ashes. It wasn’t just his attitude toward the child that troubled her. It was a deeper fear that she sensed in him… something she couldn’t quite define. And it seemed as though her love for him, so full and complete, had suffered a damaging blow. She studied his face, so handsome, so exciting to her with its vivid blue eyes. But the face did not seem to be the face of her beloved. Suddenly, it was just a handsome face. Coldness gripped her, making her afraid. She did not want to stop loving John.

  John, sensing something of her mood, also grew afraid. “Devon, you’re looking at me so queerly,” he whispered, pulling her back down next to him. She said nothing, only continued to look at him. She was looking at him as though she did not know him, he thought. He could almost feel her love—which always seemed to enfold him—slipping away. At the thought, the beautiful Parisian scene around him seemed transformed into a harsh, alien landscape. He could not allow her love to die, he thought in panic. She must love him!

  He reached for both her hands and squeezed them reassuringly between his own. “Devon, I’m just going through a few jitters.” He gave a nervous laugh. “Why, I’ll be the happiest and proudest father you ever saw!” he said with false joviality. He wanted to believe the words. Perhaps when he saw the child…