The Music Concert
They lay in the music chamber, engrossed in the ending notes of the concert. Vincent was on the blanket, leaning against the wall. Catherine leaned against him, lying between his legs. His arms wrapped around her midriff; her arms draped over his. Throughout the concert, her hands stroked his upper arms periodically to the music. Although the move was largely unconscious on her part, another part of her noticed the muscled form of the arms, the rise and fall of the biceps. Another part of her noticed the strength conveyed by his muscles, and the security she felt wrapped up by those arms. The luxury of an evening spent listening to music was sweet. They savored the time together, with little talk to interrupt the serenity of the music and the moments. The clatter and commotion of people leaving had long cleared when Vincent whispered in her ear.“It’s growing colder. We should head back.” “Not yet,” was the sleepy reply. “We have more time yet.” She couldn’t see the slight smile Vincent gave her. He closed his eyes.Catherine in my arms, he thought. Was there any better feeling? If he were a musician, he would compose a song with that title: Catherine in MyArms. He had felt every stroke of her hands on his arms. No, not felt, luxuriated in her touch. Such sweet torture. On one hand, he loved her touch, and what it meant that she wanted and felt comfortable to do it. On the other, it was a testament to his self-control that he could keep his desire in check. It was his dream that one day that self-control could be loosened, and that they might act on the passion that simmered between them.Until that time, he would bear what he must to have these moments with her. He bent his head to kiss the top of her head, now sweetly slumped in sleep. He would wake her soon to walk her back. But he needed a little more time. Just a few more moments of Catherine in his arms.
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