by Mona Morstein

Author's warning: Mona Morstein adamantly states that any reader MUST be over 18 years old to read her stories and if someone DOES read her story they are agreeing to that point and ARE over 18. If you ARE over 18, ENJOY; if you are NOT, then
other authors have stories you can read and enjoy.


It wasn't the way Steed had imagined the day would end. He and Mrs. Peel had spent an enchanting morning riding on Hampstead Heath, the early summer sun and the blossoming multicolored flora adding a natural ebullience to the companionship they so easily fostered. After a luncheon at a bistro with marvelous trout almondine, Steed had dropped Mrs. Peel at her flat so he could attend to a little Ministry business. Later, elegantly attired in a fine three piece dark blue and scented with just the right amount of French cologne, Steed had picked her up at 8:00 p.m., pleased that her eyes rolled over his entire body whilst his pupils were mesmerized by her, attired in a shimmering black gown that fit her lithe yet feminine body stunningly. She had carried a mink stole she insouciantly flipped over her shoulders. They had driven to Admiral Allsop's party in Surrey, who was a friend to both of them. Steed had imagined they would spend a number of hours eating from the Admiral's excellent culinary buffet, hobnobbing with various well-bred snobs, and then retreat to one or the other's abode for a final, most enjoyable physical nightcap.

It should have been a perfect day.
But, it appeared Mrs. Peel had other plans.

Soon after eating together, Steed and Mrs. Peel had, as usual, split up and mingled separately, because although they were lovers here and there, they were not really by admitted definition a couple bonded to each other's side, and because they were independent people wishing to independently connect with others. They just happened to enjoy each other's company as well. It had been a comfortable arrangement that had wordlessly begun once they had started go to parties together several months ago.
It was less comfortable to Steed now, watching Mrs. Peel chatting gregariously with the Admiral's son Darren; "Daring Darren" he was called for his proclivities to race car driving, mountain climbing, parachuting, and the like. As tall as Steed, he was undeniably handsome with his short blond hair, angular face, deep blue eyes, and a wiry yet obviously muscular build. He was dressed in a brown suit with Cambridge tie, and was ten years younger than Steed. Steed noticed Mrs. Peel laugh at something Darren said, and it seemed Steed's food wasn't digesting well; his stomach was slightly nauseous. Perhaps he had over-eaten the spicy vegetable dip.
It was bad form to blatantly stare, but good agent form to covertly watch while engaged in a simple conversation with someone which required the least mental effort to maintain. Steed walked up to the loquacious, elderly Lady Florence Beddener, leaning on her cane, and whilst she regaled him with anecdotes of all her grand-children and described her garden flower by flower, Steed hmm'd and smiled at all the appropriate conversational places as he studied Mrs. Peel, sequestered by Darren in the far corner. His eyes narrowed when she smiled at his story, whatever egotistical anecdote it probably was, and brushed her hair back from her head.

Steed frowned at that. What was she doing wasting such an alluring gesture on Darren? It was then that Steed stopped and heard his own thoughts, realizing what he was doing, and pulled himself together with a short chuckle. So what if Mrs. Peel was enjoying some other man's company so much? It wasn't that important to him. Certainly, they had become lovers, but it wasn't as though they had made a commitment to each other, nor was it as if they were supposed to be monogamous. Monogamous! The very idea went against every playboy bone in Steed's body. They were fantastic colleagues, true, and sex with Mrs. Peel was… very fine… yes, very fine indeed… but, there were other fish in the sea.

Steed excused himself from Lady Beddener and shaking his head over his silly preoccupation with Mrs. Peel he casually strolled over to a well-endowed brunette he knew from a brief flurry of previous bedroom liaisons a year or so ago. In a fortunate mental flash he remembered her name was Elsie. Elsie was receptive to his interest in her and they started talking, the woman edging closer and closer to him. Steed felt positive that in a minute he would forget all about Mrs. Peel. As Elsie entwined her arm around his to lead him away from the party, Steed cast a smirk over to Mrs. Peel…but she wasn't there, and neither was ten years younger than him Darren.

Excusing himself from Elsie for a moment Steed left the room and strode down the hallway of the grand house not really knowing what he was doing or why.
A short "Steed" and he came to a sudden stop turning smoothly to his left, seeing Mrs. Peel carrying her mink wrap.
"Mrs. Peel," he said.
"I just wanted to say good-night. Darren and I are leaving; he lives just five minutes from me."
Steed answered, "Are you sure? You're not far from my flat either."

They stared at each other for a few long seconds, but neither said anything. Almost simultaneously, an "Emma?" came from the front door, and a "Steed?" came from the hallway near the drawing room. Reflexively, Steed turned briefly to Elsie, and Emma turned to Darren, both calling out "One moment, please."
"Jinx," Steed smiled when they turned back to each other.

Emma smiled back. Steed had a sudden feeling she was a brilliant star, a guiding light leading him somewhere he had never been before, and before he knew it he said, "Mrs. Peel…"
"Yes?" Emma asked, her eyes wide and welcoming. Neither appeared to notice the approaching Darren and Elsie.

Suddenly, Darren was upon them, wrapping his arm around Emma's waist, while Elsie draped a possessive hand on Steed's broad shoulder.
"Do have a good-night," Steed said.
"And you," she answered, breaking their eye contact as she turned and left with Darren.

Steed and Elsie stayed at the party another hour, until he could not, without being rude, ignore any longer her evident desire to return to her flat in town. The short drive back to London was filled with them catching up on each other's lives in the past year, although, in that smooth and cunning way he had, Steed shared almost nothing about himself without appearing to be curt or put-offish, but just fostered Elsie's monologue about herself. Once inside Elsie's slightly unkempt, but really quite tasteful flat, she poured him a brandy that was, at least, drinkable, sat him down on her large and thickly cushioned sofa, let him have another sip or two of the drink, and then set about removing Steed of his tie and belt. Steed responded like he had responded a thousand times before with innumerable women. He leaned into her, kissing her, caressing her large, round breasts through her dress with his hands. After several minutes of serious smooching, for some odd reason Steed didn't feel the heat and need begin to stir within him, so he tried more earnestly to coax his ardor into arising. In a quick practiced movement he unzipped her dress as he allowed her to remove his jacket and unbutton his waistcoat and shirt. With a bit of cooperation from Elsie, he lifted her gown over her head, dropped it to the floor next to his belt and tie, undid her bra and put his mouth to a nipple, sucking and biting, as Elsie rubbed his torso, scratched his back lightly, then caressed the nape of his neck.

His neck, that would do it. That was Steed's most intense non-genital erotic zone, which was usually guaranteed to set his blood to boiling when touched… but, nothing, Steed felt nothing. He was almost embarrassed to realize that he wasn't even hard. A very peculiar understanding came over Steed; he wasn't interested in having sex with Elsie.

He had never not been interested in sex since he first discovered it's enticing pleasures almost thirty years ago. It was inexplicable. Perhaps he was getting the flu.

Steed sat up and pulled himself away from Elsie, gently pushing her arms away from his body. He threw an awkward, quick smile her way.

"I'm sorry, love, but I…" He didn't know what to say. He what? He knew something more needed to be explained, and struggled to form an acceptable sentence. He didn't want to hurt Elsie; he just wanted to leave.
"What's the matter?" Elsie asked, in a truly open, concerned tone, devoid of judgment or affront. It was more than Steed felt he deserved and he was very appreciative. He picked up his belt from the floor and began threading it back through the loops on his trousers.
"I'm sorry, I have to go."
"It's that Mrs. Peel, isn't it?"
Steed looked at her, his brows knit together. "What?"
"You've taken a real fancy to her, haven't you?" Her voice was light, teasing. Steed didn't like what she said, but was glad at least she didn't seem upset.
Steed stood up holding onto his tie and jacket. "That's ridiculous. I've done no such thing."
"Have you ever done such a thing as stopping sex?"
No… but what had the one to do with the other… "Excuse me whilst I use your bathroom," Steed said, remembering where the room was.

Standing in front of the mirror, the door closed and locked, Steed, on a mere whim, looked at himself with the clear eye of honest appraisal and found nothing to, as yet, decry to the Fates. He stood naturally tall and straight, his broad shoulders obviously muscular and powerful. His chest and abdomen were defined and lean, without any fat hanging over anything. His hair, completely dark brown without any strands of gray, was thick and healthy. He, too, with his high cheekbones, unwrinkled face and cleft chin was a handsome man. He was still young, still looked young. Elsie, she was only thirty-three, just four years older than Mrs. Peel, and nine years younger than him. He could make love to Elsie if he wanted to, she wanted him… but, sighing, Steed knew he didn't want her.
Steed put on his jacket, buttoned his shirt and waistcoat, tied his tie immaculately, brushed his hair back into place and then returned to Elsie, who had put some jazz on the stereo, and was reclining at ease on the sofa covered in her bathrobe.

"Elsie," Steed said, "thanks… for understanding."
"Sure. A girl can't fight love, Steed. Who'd a thought it would happen to you, though? Lucky Mrs. Peel, eh? Must be some woman," Elsie put her lips into a fake mope.
"I wish you'd stop saying that. It has nothing to do with her."
"So you've just decided to become celibate? Right. Ta-ta, Steed. If it doesn't work out, you can always come knocking on my door." She waved good-bye to him.
Steed was frowning as he left her apartment.

Steed arrived home a little after 1:00 a.m. and let himself into his 5 Westminster Mews flat. It seemed unnaturally quiet in the dark space, and he plodded down the few steps to the main apartment area, poured himself another brandy of a much better variety and sat down on the long, squarish sofa that sat in the middle of the large room. If he had been an introspective man, Steed would have spent a good amount of time studying and analyzing himself and figuring out what had caused him to act so strangely at Elsie's.

Instead, he sat reviewing over and over in his head Mrs. Peel leaving the party with "Daring Darren," so absorbed in that mental picture that it took him a few seconds to hear a soft knocking on the door of his flat.

Steed stood and climbed the stairs, preparing himself for anything --friend or foe might be wondering if he was home. Taking a deep breath and tensing himself to react if necessary, Steed opened the door a crack and peered out.

"Hello, Steed," Mrs. Peel said, in her gown and stoal.
"Mrs. Peel?" Steed asked, admiring the fact that even so late at night Mrs. Peel still looked so charming and attractive. He opened up the door widely, honestly perplexed. "What are you doing here? Where's "Daring Darren?" She had honestly been the last person Steed had expected to see; but was the first person he wanted to.

Mrs. Peel shrugged. "Steed, a gentleman doesn't make a woman stand out in the hallway all night."
Steed bent his head in mock apology, and then swept his arm widely to the side. "Do come in, Mrs. Peel. May I take your wrap?"
She tossed it to him flippantly and then went down the stairs, looking around. "No Elsie?"

Steed hung up her stole, and then came back down, picking up his brandy as he stood by her side. "No. Where's Darren?"
"Aren't you going to offer me a drink?"
"My dear, please forgive my appalling manners. Will brandy be acceptable?"
"Yes, fine."

Steed poured a drink and handed it to Emma as she sat down at one end of the sofa, kicking off her high heels, and curling her feet up under her. Steed sat down at the other end of the sofa, angling his long legs towards her.
Smiling she said, "He's a very charming man, you know, Steed."
"Mmm," Steed murmured through a very large sip of alcohol.
"Very handsome, too. And very brave."
"Mrs. Peel," Steed drawled, pointing his thumb behind him, "the "Daring Darren" Fan Club is two streets over. Perhaps you'd like to become its President?"

Mrs. Peel ignored Steed. "We had a lovely chat all evening at the party. He's extremely witty and literate. And took quite a fancy to me, I dare say. After we left his father's home, we went back to his flat and continued our discussions, had a drink or two--"

Steed crossed his legs and pulled them back, turning away from her and rubbing his forehead. A sudden tension filled his brow. "--Look, really, I fail to see why--"
"And he's quite a good kisser, too, very sensual--"
"--You do realize that this holds less than no interest to me--"
"Steed, shut up for a moment. Please do give me half a brain."

Heavy silence descended in the room and then, with a noticeable sigh and a wave of his hand, Steed said, "I am sorry for interrupting, Mrs. Peel. By all means, finish this fascinating story."
"Right. Let's see, yes, 'and quite a good kisser, too, very sensual,' but the odd thing was… I just wasn't interested," she finished, sitting back against the sofa, rolling her brandy glass between her fingers. "Very odd."
Steed's eyes widened a bit and he turned his head back towards her. "You weren't interested?" he asked, softly.

Emma shook her head back and forth. "No. Strange. I just got up and left. Walked back to my apartment, but wasn't really tired and so drove around a bit and then came over here and parked. Not five minutes later you pulled into your garage spot by yourself. You lacked your normal vigor I perceived; sat on top of the seat of the Bentley for several long seconds before slowly climbing down, and then wandered, well, somewhat dejected into your building. I thought about it a bit and decided to come and visit."

They sat quietly on the couch for a few minutes, each in their own thoughts and then Steed said, "You know, it's funny, but I wasn't interested in Elsie, either. We went back to her flat, and I tried to… but I soon left as well." Steed let his eyes glaze over a bit. "Peculiar, that. Elsie really is a delightful, good-natured, and gloriously buxom woman.
"Just 'delightful' would have done, Steed," Emma responded. She added, after a pause, "Unusual coincidence, wouldn't you say?"

Again silence fell between them in the dark room, illuminated only by the one lamp Steed had turned on; yet, now, the silence didn't seem so unwieldy, now it contained a bit of soothing peace. Emma sat on the sofa, one leg under her, one bent up with her arms wrapped around it, her chin resting on her knee. Steed had once more fully stretched out his long legs, and with his hands in his pockets, began tapping a foot against the floor. He continued doing that as he turned his head to Mrs. Peel and said, "You know, the night is still young."
She smiled back warmly, "Yes, it is, isn't it?"

Steed scooted over to Mrs. Peel, bumping down the sofa, his hands still in his pockets, "'Stalwart Steed' at your service, madam. Kisses guaranteed to be extra sensual, and to hold your interest."
"Oh?" Emma asked, as she reached out and caressed the back of Steed's neck.
Her touch initiated a fire which swept through Steed's blood, heating him to a million degrees, and immediately making him so hard he gasped at the sudden uncomfortable pressure of his erection against the zipper of his trousers. Emma lightly played her fingers around his hairline, and Steed, unable to stem a moan, brought his lips to hers, as his hands cupped her face. When they connected Emma palpably shuddered, closed her eyes and hugged Steed closer to her, driving her tongue far into his mouth.

Steed returned the hug and after a long embrace where their hands began travelling up and down each other's back, he, in a deft movement, rolled them off the sofa and onto the Persian rug on the floor, pushing the coffee table away and controlling her fall with his body as he cradled her head and back in his strong arms, unzipping her gown in the downward motion. He deposited her so gently onto the floor that they were able to maintain their kissing throughout the whole procedure.

Steed knelt beside her, pulling her gown up and over her head as she lifted buttocks and back to aid his removal of her clothes. Emma pulled off his tie, his belt, undid his trouser button and unzipped him, firmly massaging his long, solid organ through his bulging underwear.

"Emma," Steed groaned. He flung off her bra and bending her knees up, removed her nylons and panties, immediately inserting two fingers inside her vagina, moving them in and out against the spot that gave her immense thrills, as his thumb found her clitoris and rubbed against it slowly. He sat besides her kissing her abdomen, her thighs, her pubic hair, his hand engulfing a breast.

"Steed, your clothes," Emma complained, in-between several vital moans as her hips thrust in concert with Steed's hand. She pulled his shirt out of his trousers, but was restricted from feeling his athletic and sturdy torso by his jacket and waistcoat. He was too far for her to reach the buttons. "Take your clothes off."
"Soon," he said, breathlessly, as he increased the speed of his hand in her vagina. Emma grabbed hold of Steed's shoulders, of his head, arching her back and spreading her legs wider and wider in her growing pleasure. Finally, as she bent to the side a little, one hand was able to reach down into Steed's briefs and begin pulling on his penis back and forth, spreading the copious semen spilling out from the head all around the shaft to smooth the friction of her actions.
"Steed, Steed, undress," she ordered, shaking. "Now. Undress."

With great difficulty, Steed removed his hand from inside Mrs. Peel, rubbing it all along her curly red pubic hair, her vulva, her inner thighs. Emma released her hold on Steed and after kissing her labia he sat up. With utmost rapidity he took off his shoes, socks, and all his clothes and then, as he made to descend his head once more to Emma's vagina, she said, "No," pushed him onto his back and kneeled over him so that she could take his erect penis in her mouth, rubbing her hands along his legs and scrotum, as he held onto her buttocks and thrust his tongue skillfully around and into her vagina.

It was jerky, yet exciting love-making; at random times one of them hit some spot or performed some technique making the other attain a heightened level of stimulation that made the recipient stop, unable to continue conferring equal bliss to the other, only to recover more determined to have the other experience the same growing delectation. It was a give and give of utmost sharing selflessness. It was only by chance that Emma came first, Steed discovering that using his tongue to enter her and then rub against her clitoris in a repeated fashion while kneading her round buttocks spread over him, drove her wild and brought her to a shuddering drawn out peak of release where she was forced to remove her mouth from Steed to prevent some injury to him. When her joyous cries ended, Emma dove rapidly onto Steed with an enthusiasm that brought Steed bucking off the floor into her until he gripped her hip in one hand and the leg of the sofa in the other and came in an orgasm that traveled down into his legs and up his spine.
When he was done, and his penis was flaccid, Mrs. Peel climbed off Steed and curled up next to him as he opened his arms to hold her. They lay together for a minute and then Steed returned to sucking on one of her breasts. Emma pulled his head up to hers and they kissed long and deeply. When they pulled apart, Steed murmured, "Interested?"

"Very," Emma answered, kissing his eyes, his forehead, and then a nipple, which she held lightly in-between her teeth. As Steed's breast grew rigid she raised her head, and asked, "You?"
"Very, very," he replied.
Emma smiled and then standing up she grabbed Steed's hand and pulled him to his feet. "Come on," she playfully ordered, directing them into Steed's bedroom. Steed eagerly followed. In his bedroom, she pulled back the cover, blanket and top sheet and pushed Steed onto the bed.

"There, down on your stomach. Put a pillow under your chest."
"My, we are in a dictatorial mood tonight, aren't we?" he asked laying on his side, his head resting on a hand as he looked up at Mrs. Peel.
"Yes. Head straight ahead, arms under the pillow."
Steed complied, saying, "Do be gentle. I'm delicate."

Mrs. Peel then climbed onto the bed, and sitting on his buttocks she began to massage his broad back tapering down to a narrow waist, and the rippling muscles of his purely masculine shoulders and neck.
"As delicate as a tank," she commented.
"Why, Mrs. Peel, you've hurt my feelings."
She leaned over his back, rubbing her hands through his hair, running her fingers lightly over the nape of his neck, kissing his shoulder, his ear, tickling his armpits.
"Does that hurt?" she whispered.
"No, no, keep going."

Emma continued her massage of Steed, taking time to deeply follow the contours of his muscles, kneading the top of his shoulders, working over his scars, making him shiver when she lightly ran her nails down his whole back. She combined those movements will less standard massage techniques, such as licking and kissing his warm skin, and pushing her hands underneath him to rub his nipples. Steed moaned in pleasure and a couple of times tried to turn over to reach for Mrs. Peel, but she just said, "Down you go" making her statement a fact with a hardy push that quickly squelched Steed's "But--". After awhile, Mrs. Peel slid down onto the back of his thighs and spent some time kneading his buttocks, brushing her fingers down to softly touch the bottom of his scrotum and linger on the exquisitely sensitive skin of his inner thighs. By this time, Steed's face was buried in the bed as he tightly wrapped his arms around the pillow.

Emma moved up his body and whispered in Steed's ear, "You're supposed to be relaxing, Steed."
A gentle lick of his ear followed by her carefully chewing on the lobe brought an inarticulate sound from Steed.
"Is it my turn to massage you, yet?" Steed croaked from the bed.
"Your turn," she answered.

They changed positions quickly, but not too fast that Emma wasn't able to notice and appreciate one obviously not relaxed area of Steed's body.
"Nice," she smiled, as she lay on her side, nodding at Steed's erect and lengthy manhood.
"Down," Steed said, pushing her prone onto the bed, mumbling, "Hmmpf. 'Nice,' she says. Not, 'Impressive', but 'Nice.'"
Whether Steed could hear Mrs. Peel giggle or not, neither commented on her doing so.

Steed sat down on Mrs. Peel's buttocks, and then began massaging her. For all his attitude of carefree playboy, and for all his history of being rather a ruthless agent, Steed always truly cared about pleasing women, especially Mrs. Peel, a woman who seemed to make him firm just by stepping into the room. Steed had, when he had worked in the Orient, taken the time to learn certain methods of massage and love-making that he enjoyed sharing with his lover.

Steed, his hands suspiciously more calloused than anyone believing his man about town guise would suspect, used them skillfully in a combination of deep kneading and soft caressing over Mrs. Peel's whole back. He took his time, reveling over the softness of her skin, the rounded muscles defining the long sides of her spine. He performed long languid sweeps over her whole back, up her neck, into her hair, scratching her scalp. He also leaned forward, kissing her, whispering in her ear how much he had enjoyed their love-making in the living room, how sweet she tasted to him, how her mouth had driven him crazy with need, how he wanted to make her cry out again and again in ecstasy. Mrs. Peel's only response was a throaty "Steed…" that said all he wanted to hear in that one word. He allowed his hands to travel under her, rubbing her nipples, her thin abdomen. He knew Mrs. Peel was ticklish on her flanks, and so skipped over them, not wanting anything to interfere with the heated arousal he was aiming to create in her.

After some time had passed, Steed also moved down onto Mrs. Peel's legs, using his hands to knead her buttocks; he kissed each one, and then delicately spreading her legs a bit further apart, moved his fingers in-between her legs to her vaginal cleft, already very moist. He rubbed her clitoris and then went in and out of her vagina several times, until Mrs. Peel was dripping wet.
"Emma," Steed whispered, "lift up and bend forward, please."

Without any hesitation, Mrs. Peel lifted her buttocks into the air, widely spreading her legs. Steed kneeled behind her and grabbing hold of his penis he arranged himself correctly and then with gentle little pushes smoothly entered the fully lubricated Mrs. Peel, who thrust herself up against him welcoming him in her as far as possible. A low bass groan crawled out of Emma's throat. Leaning slightly over, Steed didn't move for a moment, just allowed the tight, hot sensation of being in Mrs. Peel to flood his groin with the beginnings of ecstasy. After a few seconds, he began to thrust regularly into her, one hand finding the nub of Mrs. Peel's clitoris and stimulating that as he slowly drew his length in and out of her repeatedly. After a couple of minutes, just as Steed was settling into their love-making, wanting to enjoy the closeness and the feelings for as long as he could, he was happily surprised to hear a choking cry from Mrs. Peel and see her grip the sheets of the bed as she came in an intense trembling orgasm that Steed immediately began encouraging by diving deep into her and staying in, initiating tiny little pushes against her cervix, while maintaining his finger's movement against her clitoris. At that readjustment of Steed's thrusts, Emma cried out again, but much louder, and Steed felt her contracting around him as she drove backward against his pelvis.
When she was done, Steed, who had many more minutes of thrusting to go before he came, withdrew and slid up to her in the bed as she collapsed on her side to greet him.

He grinned and said, "Well, better you're early than me. After all, I can take it as flattery; whilst it would only be frustrating for you."
"But, I want you to come as well," Emma said, running her hand over Steed's rigid penis, which jumped at her touch.
Steed ran his hand down her body, and then back up to her cheek. "I can wait," he said.

At that, Emma leaned over and kissed him fervently for a long time. They spent many minutes kissing lips, faces, necks, and then just hugged as tightly as they could, their faces close together. Finally they separated and Steed's mouth found Emma's breast and he sucked and nibbled on it until a squeak of arousal fluttered from her. He looked at her expectantly as she pulled him on top of her, nodding, her legs bending up and spreading wide. Steed lifted up and entered her, closing his eyes momentarily at the bliss of once more being inside her wonderfully sexy body.

"Emma…" he said, bending down to kiss her, "you always feel… so good."
Her answer was to wrap her legs around his back, and scratch his back so lightly she felt all the hairs on his skin stand on end. Steed began thrusting, slowly at first, wanting to make sure Emma was indeed right with him, and when her hips movements soon matched his in force and need, Steed sped up.
In and out he went, their bodies pulling apart just far enough and then crashing back together in their fervid dance of joining. As Steed felt his orgasm nearing he tilted his head forward over Emma, dripping beads of sweat on her as she continued to kiss him and grip his buttocks. Then, not too much later, Emma too finally just wrapped her arms around his back. They remained that way, unable to do anything else but focus on the growing sensations splendidly building in their genitals in their togetherness.

Neither noticed the awkwardness of their breaths or the odd bits of sound they each added to their rhythm as they neared the peak, until they were both so urgent their cries filled the room. Then they were there, simultaneously shaking, thrusting, yelling, tensing, lost in the grand moment, as waves of ultimate fulfillment coursed throughout their bodies.

When it was over and they both lay together in each others arms, Steed saw Emma smile at him with the softest eyes he had ever seen, and she brushed a lock of hair back from his forehead. That filled him as warmly as the orgasm had. As Steed lay by her side, his arms wrapped around her, her head on his chest, he felt at perfect peace. It wasn't love, like Elsie had said, certainly not, it was just that Emma fit so well into his work, into his play, into his arms, into his life. They just fit together marvelously… that was all.

Emma spoke first. "I think," she said, letting her palm roam around his strong torso, "I'll just go home with you from now on."
Steed's heart raced at those words, and the broadest grin that he had ever flashed in his life opened up his whole face. Some little devil of a thought suddenly appeared in his head --of course, what else is love but being a marvelous fit?…
"Mrs. Peel, I shall keep you to that," Steed fairly purred.
"And you, and all your Elsies?" she asked, looking at him with slightly anxious eyes.
"All my Elsies who? Never heard of 'em," he replied, as he kissed the top of his head.

After a quick retreat to the bathroom to clean up, they return to the bed and moved a bit here and there to settle down for sleep, pulling the top sheet and blanket over them. Mrs. Peel curled delightfully against Steed's shoulder, pecking his cheek, running her hand through his hair, whispering "Good-night, my Steed," affectionately as she draped her arm and leg over him. He held her in his arms, running his hand over her back, sniffing her lavender scented hair, feeling comforted by her weight on him. He watched her eyes close and saw how beautiful she looked as she slept; her genius, her fire, her flair --such remarkable aspects of her that he respected to no end lay hidden in the angelic innocence of her sleeping face. Emma was truly a unique and amazing woman. And she was here in his bed, beside him. It didn't seem so bad at all to become monogamous… with her.

Steed continued rubbing her back thinking, Oh, yes, we fit so marvelously together. Then, his mind roaming free in his fatigue he silently mused, Maybe it was true, maybe he really did love her… And then another, much more awesome notion surfaced, Maybe… just maybe, Emma loved him… It was too over-whelming to continue wondering about all that and attempt to get any sleep at all, so he let the fanciful thoughts fade away.

Steed drifted off into a restful sleep, consoled by the realization that it had turned out to be a truly perfect day after all.

The End

©  Mona Morstein 2000
No aspect of this story may be used elsewhere without the expressed prior written consent of the author. These stories may not be altered in any way or sold; all copyright information must appear with this work at all times. Please read disclaimers and warnings on top of each story. Feel free to send constructive comments to the author.. :o)  

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