Lingering

My new man is patient and kind.
Ten years my senior, he's been widowed for two.  
He said it took a year of mourning to begin loving again.  
“When I began though, I began in earnest,” he said and smiled.  
“I understand,” I said. “I’m 43 and each day is a gift.  
 
And so, the fact that two consenting adults were in my bed later that night did not surprise me at all.
 
We were, however, hesitant. He’d known death and still wore his wedding ring to honor her. How should I proceed without him thinking me a slut?
 
Then I felt a warmth covering me.  
His hand hovered over my pubic mound  
capturing my heat.
Then he eased lightly down and  
rested his fingers there.  
 
He lingered a long time and we were still.  
 
I thought it was wonderful.  
 
So often there had been no lingering there, but only the rush to satisfy temporal lusts.  
This man treated me as a treasure.  
 
With each passing minute, I knew his desires were growing and where this blessed stillness would lead.