This is a little detour from the Chapter Three of my story 'May the Good Lord Bless & Keep You', an account of how the Turners 'kissed and made up' during S3E8.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Heidi Thomas, Jennifer Worth, Neal Street Productions & the BBC. I just like to borrow them occasionally to give them a few more good times.

A/N: 'I'm a bold girl... sometimes.' OK, so this turned out to be a bit steamier than I'd first envisaged, but they seemed to be having fun so who was I to stop them...?

Apologies exchanged, understanding gained, Patrick Turner found his contrition being replaced by a new hope. He glanced down to where his hand was joined with Shelagh's, brushing his thumb over the curve of her wedding band, sensing her give an almost imperceptible shiver at the gesture.

"We're speaking now," he declared quietly, decisively.

Her shy smile deepened: "Let that be the thing that matters."

He felt a wave of love for her wash over him anew, as if cleansing him of the sins for which he had just sought forgiveness. He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a heartfelt and reverent kiss there, his eyes closed in benediction.

When he opened them again she was stood before him, her sewing cast aside. He looked up questioningly and she laid her other hand on his shoulder before leaning down to brush her lips against his cheek. As she straightened up he felt her breath whisper against his ear:

"I've missed you so much, Patrick." Her hand moved to rest in his hair, fondly combing it back.

At first the guilt returned and he thought that he should apologise once more. But then the realisation that he'd missed her too - had missed the closeness which they'd come to know in the early months of their marriage - overwhelmed him and he slipped his arms around her waist, drawing her closer and laying his cheek against the fabric of her dress.

"I've missed you as well, my love."

She hitched in a breath at the words, at the contact, and her fingers tightened in his hair. She reached round and grasped one of his hands then took a step back and gave his fingers a gentle squeeze.

"Patrick?" she said softly. "I think I'd quite like to turn in now."

He shot a quick glance at the mantle clock.

"It's not that late, my love. Do you not want to talk some more? I'm not too tired just yet."

"Neither am I..." she replied quietly. The look in her eyes conveyed her meaning far more directly than her diffident words had. It caused a jolt of desire to shoot through him. "Oh!"

"We can speak later," she suggested in a voice which sounded far calmer than she felt. The truth was that butterflies were beating inside her belly, the need to act on her feelings far more powerful in that moment than her wish to talk about them.

Sensing this was something she needed to do, Patrick stood and trustingly allowed her to lead him from the room and up the stairs. When he closed the door to their bedroom behind him she quickly stepped into his arms. She clasped her hands around his neck and buried her face in the crook of it. He could feel her trembling, could tell from the quickness of her breaths that she was still somewhat nervous. He held on to her tighter, his hands drawing small circles on her back, soothing her, reassuring her.

After another moment she drew back, a shy smile playing on her lips.

"Okay?" he asked gently.

She nodded and met his gaze directly. "I've never asked before... " She gestured to the bed and he raised his hand to cup her cheek.

"Tell me what you want," he encouraged. "I want to know what you need."

She grasped his hand and kissed his palm, her eyelids fluttering shut. "I need...," - she moved his hand down so it cupped her breast - "... this," she whispered. He blew out a breath and she reached for his other hand, placing it on her thigh. "I need your hands on me. All over me." Her eyes remained shielded from his view but he sensed her reach a decision. "And I want..." Her eyes blinked up at him and she hesitated at the intensity of his gaze.

"Tell me?" he breathed huskily, his voice now thick with lust. "Show me what you want me to do." He had come to know where to touch her, which spots pleased her the most. But he had learned it through trial and error, through interpreting her sighs and gasps. Never before had she actually asked him aloud for anything, and the idea thrilled him.

His thumb brushed languidly over her breast and he felt the peak of her nipple rise in response. The fingers of his other hand were travelling as he spoke, bunching up the fabric of her dress and creeping under the rising hemline.

"This?" he asked, hearing her breathing shorten as his hand inched higher. He repeated his tender demand: "Tell me. What do you want me to do?"

Shelagh felt her senses swimming at his touch; he already knew how to please her, and, while she loved it and loved him desperately for it, it wasn't what she'd been trying to ask.

With a great force of will she stilled the hand snaking up towards her inner thigh and took a step back. She registered the surprise on his face as his hands fell away.

"Shelagh, sweetheart?" he asked quizzically.

She moved back into his personal space then, pressing herself up against him, feeling his arousal pressing insistently against her hip.

"I want to be bold," she whispered. "I want to show you how much I've missed you."

Her fingers reached for his belt buckle and she heard his breath catch as he realised what she was about. She uncinched his belt slowly, her hands still somewhat shaky. Somehow she managed to draw the zipper of his trousers down in one smooth movement and she felt him spring free from their confines.

"I've really missed you," she whispered again breathily. With a boldness which surprised both of them, she cupped him through the cotton of his underwear and curled her fingers round him, slowly trailing down his length and back up again.

A tight, strangulated groan emerged from his throat and he stumbled forward, resting his hands heavily on her shoulders. Thrilled by this newfound power she had discovered over him, she repeated the motion and this time she felt herself turned and shoved back against the door as his mouth swooped down hungrily to plunder hers.

He gasped her name into her mouth as her fingers reflexively tightened around him, the hand still holding him now pinned against her thigh. She freed it and reached up to wind her arms around his neck, kissing him back feverishly, his passion igniting her own. His hands were braced against the door on either side of her head and his lips blazed a trail of fire down from her mouth to her neck, claiming her, marking her.

She had never known him this wild out of bed before, had never experienced the answering call of her own body to claim his. His fingers roughly tugged the cardigan from her shoulders before he urgently began to draw down the zip of her dress. With his hands sweeping it downwards, and with a wriggle of her hips, the garment fell from her body and pooled around her feet. His hands immediately began to travel back up, grasping her hips through the silkiness of her slip.

Her own hands were not idle. As his mouth found hers again and their tongues began a delicious, desperate duel, she manoeuvred him back a step, her fingers feeling their way down his body, finding and freeing the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt. Before she could finish the task she found herself being lifted off her feet and deposited roughly on the bed. She landed with a giggle, thrilled at the sight of him looming over her. His clothes were dishevelled and akimbo, his hair mussed where she had dragged her fingers through it and his eyes: his eyes were wide and wild, dark with desire.

"Patrick," she whispered as he discarded his jacket and clambered on to the bed, one knee either side of hers. He seemed to come back to himself slightly at the sound of his name, a wolfish grin appearing on his face:

"Shelagh, sweetheart, if that's how you're going to be bold then I'm afraid there will be consequences..."

She giggled again. Her hands stroked up his thighs and settled on his hips, her expression matching his.

"Such as?" she asked cheekily, daring him to demonstrate them.

He groaned and surged forward to capture her mouth again in another passionate kiss, pressing her back into the bed. His hands began to roam her body, touching her everywhere as requested. They skimmed over her breasts, smoothed over her stomach, stroked her hips against his. It was only when she felt his fingers begin to trail up inside the hemline of her slip that she gathered herself again.

"Patrick, wait. Stop!" she gasped.

He stilled immediately and pulled away, his breath panting. "What's wrong? Don't you want..."

"Yes! I want this. I want you," she interrupted quickly, keen to reassure him that he wasn't doing anything wrong. "But I want - no, I need - to show you..."

Using all her strength she pushed at his shoulders until he got the message and flopped over on to his back. She sat up, swiftly pulling her slip over her head and throwing it to one side, immediately unhooking her bra and doing likewise while her nerve still held. Before he could react she had also slipped her knickers off and straddled his legs, just as he had done to her moments before.

As her body was revealed to him, his eyes flicked hungrily up and down it and she saw his fingers twitching with the desire to travel the same path. He kept his hands by his sides though, witnessing this delicious creature take possession of his beautiful - but usually shy - wife, watching in wonder as she made her way up his body. When she was finally positioned over his hips she allowed herself to sink down, so that his clothed hardness met her naked softness. The noise which arose from his throat was one she had never heard from him before, a sensuous groan which went straight to her core. It added to the intense sensation she herself was experiencing, causing her to arch up in pleasure, her head thrown back.

'Too much' she thought through the fog of desire. She had to slow things down. She moved up so she was straddling his torso. Her hands reached up to settle on his shoulders, bracing herself and finding strength to continue down this new path she had embarked upon. His eyes moved longingly to her breasts and this time she gave him permission to move. "Please..?" she whispered when his gaze flicked back to hers, and it was all the invitation he needed.

He leaned forward and captured one nipple gently between his teeth, then laved it with his tongue. His hand cupped and caressed her other breast until he switched sides and then suckled each in turn. Her fingers tangled through his hair, holding him to her, his other hand stroking up and down her bare back. He was so good at this, she thought, and in this new position the pleasure was only intensified. But still she wanted more...

"Patrick?" she whispered urgently until he stopped his ministrations and met her gaze.

"You're still wearing far too many clothes." He looked down his body at his half open shirt and waistcoat, his rumpled trousers, and he chuckled. "Help me then," he suggested, wanting to see how she would react. He had undressed her in their bed numerous times, but this would be the first time the roles had been reversed. A newly-lit fire was blazing in his wife's eyes tonight and he wanted nothing more than to stoke it further, even if it consumed them both.

"If you want to have your wicked way with me, that is," he continued. "Is that what you had in mind, Mrs Turner? To have your way with me?" An eyebrow arched at her in challenge, his lips quirking in amusement.

It was a challenge she finally felt ready to meet head on. The delicious passion of their encounter was emboldening her, enabling her to at last express the parts of herself she'd largely kept hidden from him.

She adopted his playful tone and brushed a finger over his lips seductively. "We'll see, Dr Turner. I think it's high time you received a taste of your own medicine. Don't you?"

To emphasise her point she reached up and pulled out the hairpins holding her do in place, freeing her hair so that it cascaded down onto her shoulders. She knew full well the effect the gesture would have, knew how much he relished tangling his fingers through her hair and burying his face in it when they were in bed.

Sure enough, the smile faded from his face and he swallowed back the lump which had suddenly formed in his throat. His eyes were glittering and for the second time that evening she could see his love for her writ large on his features.

"Shelagh," he choked, "Oh, sweetheart. You are beautiful. So beautiful. I don't know what I've done to... "

Her eyes were suddenly stinging with tears as she silenced the words she knew he had been about to utter.

"Shhhh," she soothed, her fingers returning to caress his lips. "We both deserve to be happy. We just need to learn how."

She leaned forward, her mouth tracing the caress her fingers had just placed on his lips. It was as sweet and tender a kiss as she had ever shared with him, full of promise and commitment - for their future, for their family.

"Let me make you happy tonight," she whispered as she pulled back.

Her fingers reached for his tie and he watched, breath hitching, as she finished undoing it and slipped it free from his collar. The remainder of his shirt buttons were next and she kissed a trail down their path as his skin was exposed to her. She mimicked his attentions to her breasts, nipping and laving and sucking at his nipples as he writhed beneath her in pleasure, one hand threading through her hair.

Half-sitting up, he helped her to discard his shirt and waistcoat, her lips returning to his upper torso, her nails raking reverently through his chest hair, tickling and tormenting him. Next she moved up his body to mouth her desire across his shoulders, over his neck, along his jawline, under his ear. Her lips nibbled at his flesh, sending jolts of desire through him whenever she found exactly the right spot - of which there were many.

He held her loosely to him and lay back against the pillows, breathing heavily, as she scooted down his body again, giving himself over to the sweet torture of the hot, open-mouthed kisses with which she was scorching and soothing him. Her mouth trailed across his stomach, her tongue flicking out to taste him, her teeth nipping teasingly at his skin.

Her small hands smoothed over his hips and she skirted his obvious arousal to slowly draw his trousers down. Her lips followed their path, her kisses peppering down his thighs and past his knees until he was able to kick the garment off. He reached down to quickly remove his socks and then circled his arms round her shoulders again as she moved back up his body. Her journey took a different route this time, her breath soon hot on his inner thighs, her fingers tracing up towards where he was straining and yearning for her. She was driving him mad with desire, but still he let her lead, equally excited to see where she would take him.

No words were spoken but the air was alive with sound: her soft, breathy moans of newly-discovered delight; his sighs of pleasure; the susurration of their breathing - deepening, shortening, quickening, synchronising.

It was only as as her mouth moved up to trace the outline of his arousal through his underwear - her fingers reaching to free him from them - that he spoke aloud, gasping her name in alarm. He was close now, closer than he'd even realised, so close that he knew he wouldn't be able to hold out if she carried on with her present course of action.

He tightened his hand in her hair and gasped her name again to alert her. "Shelagh, stop!"

Her movements stilled and she looked up at him in confusion, her eyes still dazed with desire. His own look was near-delerious, his neck muscles strained, his breath panting.

"Sweetheart, you have to stop." His voice was gentle but his tone was desperate.

She nodded her agreement to his demand but it was clear she didn't understand the effect she was having on him, how near he was to losing control because of her.

"You want me, don't you?" he clarified. "You want this?" He grasped her hand and gently brushed it over the only fabric which remained between them.

Her eyes darkened and understanding dawned. "Yes, Patrick. I want all of you."

"Come here then," he beckoned, drawing her up his body and settling her astride his midriff once more. His hands reached down and stripped off his underpants, kicking them free with an urgent flourish. He half sat up, causing her to rock backwards, so that his hardness was momentarily nestled between the cleft of her buttocks. They both gasped at the intensity of the contact, and he quickly lifted her up, grasping her hips and positioning her over him.

"Ready?" he panted. She nodded and their eyes locked as he drew her hips down; he entered her slowly, savouring every millimetre, hearing his name fall from her lips in a long, drawn-out moan. The sensation of sinking onto him, of feeling him fill her completely from this angle, was like nothing Shelagh had ever known. Her head fell forward to rest on his shoulder and he groaned into her ear as she moved over him. She leaned in to kiss him deeply, sensuously, sighing her gratitude, her pleasure, into his mouth.

For a while she was content to move gently against him, letting his urgency wane but at the same time learning the feel of him anew. She wanted to discover which movements pleased him most, which made him moan against her skin. His lips busied themselves with her breasts as she leaned over him, cradling the back of his head, his hands trailing gently up and down her hips.

After several moments she gathered herself, resting her hands on his shoulders and leveraging herself up further. "So good..." she breathed, raking her nails down his arms. He groaned as she rocked herself more forcefully on him and his hands reached round to grip her buttocks. He moved them up and swiftly down again and she let out a wild cry, her back arching and her eyes snapping shut.

"Look at me!" he growled, repeating the movement, causing her to cry out again. "I want to see my bold girl."

"I'm here!" she gasped as he repeated the action for a third time, and she had to force herself to meet his glittering eyes. She locked herself in his searing gaze as he began to set a delicious new rhythm. His fingers kneaded her soft flesh, endearment after endearment pouring from his lips as he watched her.

Exhortations fell from her own as he began to rock his hips more firmly against her, speeding the sensations building inexorably inside her. She met him stroke for stroke, building towards the delicious release she knew was coming but not wanting him to stop. He was on the edge she could tell, but somehow he was holding on for her and oh, how she loved him for it. "There!" she encouraged, "Yes, there! Right there...! Oh!.. Patrick!" She lifted up from his hips, her back arching, a silent scream of ecstasy forming on her lips. Just seconds later she heard him grunt, felt him bury his face in her breasts as he finally pulsed and spilled himself inside her.

She collapsed against him in shivery exhaustion, her head resting against his neck, his face still flush against her chest. Both were panting, unable to form words, tremors still racing through their bodies like aftershocks. Her mouth was pressed to his flesh and she kissed him, tasting the salty tang of his sweat, sweet against her lips. He responded with an answering kiss between her breasts and she let out a soft laugh against his skin.

"What?" he murmured, lifting his head a fraction, his hands moving up to caress her lower back.

"You tickled me, that's all," she explained, finally moving her head away from his neck and pressing another gentle kiss to the side of his face. He looked up at her, a dazed, teasing smile playing on his lips.

"Is that all I did?" he asked, quirking his eyebrows and smoothing his hands round to her sides.

"No," she replied quietly, suddenly serious. "You made me feel beautiful. That was beautiful."

He gently lifted her off him and they both groaned at the loss of contact. He slid her down his body, nestling her on top of him again and rolling them over onto their sides, faces inches apart, limbs still entwined.

"It was incredible," he breathed. "You are incredible."

"I'm nothing of the sort," she demurred. She silenced his protest with a softly stolen kiss, whispering against his lips: "I'm just in love."

A blissful smile lit up her face as she added: "God has blessed me so much with our love, Patrick. I want you always to be certain of that."

He drew her closer into his embrace. "In that case, I'm the one who's been blessed," he breathed into her ear, nestling his head against her neck, utterly content to rest in her arms and wait for sleep to claim them.

FINIS

Reviews nervously welcomed!