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I can see his broad back as he walks across the room, crossed with scars. He has given up so much for us, paid in pain and dreams and sorrow. He turns and smiles as his eyes play across my naked flesh, and reaches one strong hand out to caress my thigh, his skin pale against my brown flesh. I can feel the heat in my core as I rise unthinkingly, unresistantly, without control. His hair falls across his eyes as his mouth lowers to my breast, tongue playing across the outer rim of my nipple. He knows my body from long hours spent in hay barns and pantries and other secret places, the risk of the encounter heightening our passions. The fingers of his hand are moving against my panties now, and I reach with hunger and greed to him, sliding my fingers over his smoothly muscled torso. My hands are clumsy with lust as I struggle with the belt buckle and his breath comes hard against my neck as he kisses and nibbles gently just under my jawline, causing me to shudder. He strips away my underwear as I ruck his pants down about his knees and we come together in a frantic rush, a joining made no less urgent or exciting by its many repetitions.
Afterward we lay together, his arm across my chest and I look again at those scars that form a terrible and still joyous reminder of his love for me, and I think back to the day on the plantation when he first saw me being brought in with the other new slaves.
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