That man knocked on her door at dawn when the gray skies still hovered overhead. He stood clutching a coin. A stunning youth with platinum hair humid from the sweat of excitement, and green, scintillating eyes wide with fear of his first encounter with a woman. He held his trembling palm out to assure her he would pay. His beauty sent Rebekah’s heart into a flutter.

He was no older than thirteen.

She led him into the warmth of candles and incense and slipped off his loose robe, the vest under it, the prayer shawl from around his waist, all the time careful to keep her hands off his bared skin. She would prolong his excitement—her own too—enjoy this boy, so different from Jacob the Fatherless, who had robbed her of her innocence. This princely boy would be resilient to her touch, ready to be advised, grateful for the guidance of a woman of twenty-five.

She stepped back, her gaze caressing his elegant features, his every trembling muscle, his beardless face, the innocent outline of his lips. When, at last, she stepped close, his skin, even under the tips of her numb fingers, felt vibrant with anticipation. She kissed his emerald eyes shut to allow him respite from the heat between her breasts that his stare could not turn away from.

His voice shook. “Let me see your mark.”

She whispered, “It’s a wedding brand. Don’t gaze at it too long, it will burn your eyes.”

Her tongue slid over his body, feeling the hardness between his thighs, the beat of the arteries behind his knees. The moisture on him, the wetness in his mouth tasted sweet. She rose on her toes and hid his face between her breasts.

Imitating her, his tongue drew circles on her chest, her swollen nipples, around the brand that burned with desire.

She grabbed a shock of his silver curls and forced his head back, locking her eyes with his. “Part your lips,” she whispered, taking his luscious mouth in hers. Her hands cupped his buttocks, embracing him, crushing him against her, her tongue probing his mouth.

A spurt of semen wet her belly.

He sprang back full of apologies.

She smeared his seed on her brand. “Your first lesson is never to apologize for spilling yourself.”

She allowed him time to rest, fanning the flies away while he fell into a deep sleep. Then she lay down next to the cold hearth where the metal floor was warm from their bodies and offered herself to him, hoping to regain her dignity.

She opened herself to him with such innocent surrender the boy experienced a courage he did not know he had, and, as if he were an experienced man, thrust his hardness at her while she moaned with pain as if it were her first time.

Before he left, she knew he was no longer a green boy, nor she a spurned woman.

At the door, he whispered, “I’ve worshiped your wedding brand all night. It hasn’t burned my eyes.”