Mamzelle Stops Straddling the Fence and Straddles Mr C

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"Tired?"

"Mmm..."

"Then sleep, love. I'll wake you."

She smiled, slid down further into the bed and pulled up the covers. She looks so lovely, Mr C thought, running his hand along her side, her thighs. He wanted her again. After waiting so long, how could he not want her every second? And pressed up against him like this, her skin still slightly pink, their mingled sweat coating her, he couldn't stop touching her. It had been everything he had dreamed of and more, so much more.

A few hours later...

"Mamzelle, wake up," Mr C said, kissing her neck, his arms around her. "Wakey, wakey, love. It's ten to twelve. I promised to wake you so we could greet the new year together." He loved the way she slept, that satisfied half-smile on her lips. He'd stayed up, watching her, experimenting. Every time he'd kissed her, touched her, no matter where, she had smiled, rolled towards him. Her ears, her shoulder, the curve of her hip, back of her knee, whether he kissed, licked, stroked or laid his hand flat on her, the warmth of his palm against her, she had turned, parted her legs. "Mamzelle, almost time."

"Mmmm, I'm up." She turned her head around to kiss him, but kept her body spooned into his. "And so are you, Mr C. Not quite finished yet?" She nudged him with her leg, spreading her legs slightly. He pressed into her slightly, then shifted so he could roll her onto her back, touch her, kiss her. "Shall we start the new year with a bang, imprint more memories, hmm, shall we? Oh god, yesssssss..."

Mr C, not bothering to answer her, had lowered his head, tracing the veins in her skin. He paused, hearing her "oh god", flipped around so he could kiss her mouth. As he slid into her, he whispered, "Happy new year, Mamzelle. First of many, love. Happy happy year."