Dim light from a torch in the corridor spilled into the small darkened room as the door crept open. She lay half covered and so pale as to barely be distinguishable amidst the white sheets. She mumbled in her sleep and shifted while the sheets were drawn away from her with great care not to wake her. She had been curled on her side but now took a deep breath and released it as she shifted onto her back. A thin triangle of light from the corridor stretched across the room and up across her bed to touch the fullness of her breasts.

He stood by her bed, quiet, motionless, longing. He turned to light the candle on the single table in the small cell. His silent steps crossed to close the door with only the faintest click of the latch, and then his stealth brought him back to her side again. The candlelight filled the room but softly, especially where it graced the slow rise and fall of her curves in even breathing.

His hand reached out and hovered over her but then he drew it back for he was about to get too far ahead of himself. He undressed quietly and quickly. By some miracle, for which he was grateful, she still slept.

He agonized to touch her as he settled his weight slowly onto the bed. He leaned over her, propping on one locked arm and turned enough to let the light curl back his shadow from her face. He thought her serene softness, dressed in sunset gold hair, was that of an angel.

He didn't want to do it, but knew he had to. He slipped his hand firmly over her mouth and held her to the bed as her eyes fluttered open then went wide. She started to struggle against him and he lay across her, his face very close, but hidden in shadow and the curtain of his hair.

When her muffled voice faded from futility, she finally heard his shushing and though rudely awakened, her mind began to clear enough to recognize his voice.

"I am sorry that I missed our appointment at the studio today, little one." He wasn't sure she was yet calm enough to hear his sincerity but she relaxed beneath him and he slowly removed his hand from her face. His fingers brushed at the wisps of hair floating across her shoulder.

"Master Gireau?" her voice was soft and hoarse from sleep.

"Yes, my Sarah. I hope you do not mind a late appointment since I was called away today and missed your visit."

She shook her head and squinted, trying to see his face in the shadow. He reached up and tucked his hair behind one ear so she could at least get a glimpse of him.

Sarah smiled. "I would have tried again tomorrow."

Gireau nodded as he shifted the full length of his body onto the bed with her. He pressed one knee between hers to part her legs then brought the other in as well. He looked down along her body as he positioned himself. She assisted, drawing up her knees to hug against his hips. Her hands floated up to his chest. Her sculptor's fingers flexed, kneading him, making him look up at her face again with his soft moan.

He thrilled at the look of pleasurable discomfort that crossed her face and the sensations of his entry that took her breath. Her lips parted in the gasp. He wanted to taste them, to explore her mouth with his, but he could not take his eyes from her. As he began to stroke, she writhed beneath him from her own need. Her hips began to work with him, drawing back as he partially left her and lifting as he plunged back into her depth again.

Her eyes closed as she threw her head back, forcing it into the mattress and arching her chest up such that he could curl to at least take in her nipple. His mouth was hungry for the taste of her soft swells as their hips worked more feverishly toward satisfaction.

Deep in the night, the candlelight flickered from beneath Sarah's door in the Cellar. Hushed whispers and moans filtered out into the empty corridor as well, but if any heard, none disturbed the artist and his apprentice at their delicate work.