Susan Johnson - Again and Again

After dinner, while the men drank port, the ladies retired to the drawing room for tea and Jane was fulsome in her praises of Simon. “I feel awful,” she added, after characterizing Simon’s virtues at length, “for slandering Simon so this morning. Since you knew of him in the past, you must have thought me quite mad.”

“Not at all. Simon’s charm and grace, are, as you mentioned this morning, enormous. That’s not to say, he doesn’t have a foible or two.”

Jane offered Caroline a conspiratorial smile. “As do all men.”

“Undoubtedly. But I want to thank you for inviting me tonight,” Caroline remarked, preferring not to discuss men’s foibles should the subject of husbands and her dead husband come up. “I enjoyed myself immensely.”

“Please, dine with us whenever you wish. I apologize for my tardiness in extending the invitation.”

“There’s no need to apologize. A governess isn’t a member of the family, after all. The children are very bright, by the way. You must come and sit in the schoolroom sometime and listen to their recitations.”

“I will, of course. Tell me more of your friend in Brussels. She seemed so fascinating.”

Understanding Jane had little interest in her children’s schooling, Caroline immediately complied. “Did I tell you about her visit to the sultan’s harem in Constantinople?”

“Ohhhh… how very exciting!”

Caroline went on to describe in detail Flora’s various excursions into the harem.

“My word,” Jane said, breathless with wonder as Caroline finished. “Even her name is exotic… and her life: Constantinople, the tragedy of her husband’s death, the harem, palace coups.” She sighed. “It makes the provincial moors of Yorkshire seem tame in contrast.”

“Your life would have held considerable charm for Flora. She often spoke of growing up at her grandmother’s estate in the French countryside.”

“She died so young,” Jane murmured.

“She’d been in fragile health for some time. And the circumstances that brought her to Brussels took their toll.”

“Her husband’s brutal family in Portugal you mean.”

“Yes. When they refused her refuge, she was forced to make her own way in the world. Nevertheless, she was never disheartened. She sustained her belief in silver linings till the end.”

“Who did?” Simon asked, coming into the room carrying a decanter.

“Flora.”

“Ah, your friend from Brussels. We thought you ladies might like some port.”

“It’s the reserve stock.” Ian followed Simon into the drawing room. “And damned good.”

His red face gave evidence of his imbibing. Simon, in contrast, looked sober.

A short time later as Jane and Ian were debating which glasses best suited the reserve port, Simon took the opportunity to pour some of the liquor into a glass for Caroline. Walking over, he handed it to her with a smile. “They could be talking about the next coming and I wouldn’t care.”

“You’re showing well,” she said, lightly, gazing up at him.

“I’ve good reason to.”

She grinned. “Are you counting the minutes?”

“The seconds, darling…”

A shiver raced up her spine at his heated look. “Simon, please… don’t,” she whispered.

“They’re busy. I could kiss you and they wouldn’t notice.”

As he began to lean forward, she pressed back against the chair. “Don’t you dare!”

Her breasts swelled above the décolletage of her gown as her spine went rigid, and Simon clenched his fists against the impulse to reach out and stroke the mounded flesh. “It’s been a long evening,” he murmured. “Right now, I’m just about ready to dare anything.”

Skittish, fevered, she sharply inhaled and her nipples strained against the silk of her gown. “Please. Simon…”

She meant to abjure, but it sounded as though she were asking and her enticing nipples were close enough to touch. Lust spiked through his senses; he quickly stepped back. “Let me know if you like the port,” he said in a conversational tone, every syllable taut with constraint.

Then he walked away before he lost control.

As Ian became more inebriated, he expounded on a great variety of subjects with a decreasing clarity of thought.

Simon barely spoke. Restless, edgy, he watched the clock, his hosts, and waited.

Caroline was waiting too, although she would have preferred feeling less needy. Desperately wanting sex with Simon placed her on a very long list of females. An annoyingly long list. And while Ian droned on and on, she attempted to regain her sanity-or at least, some measure of control over the desire burning through her body.

To little purpose, apparently, because when Simon surreptitiously winked at her in the midst of one of Ian’s long, meandering monologues, every carnal nerve in her body leaped in response.

Finally, as Ian began describing his new hunting dog for the third time, Jane said, “Ian, that’s enough. Come now, before the servants have to carry you to bed.”

“Can walk jus’ fine,” he retorted, rising from his chair and promptly pitching forward.

Lunging to his feet, Simon caught him before he hit the floor.

“I’ll call for help,” Jane said, calmly, as though this occurrence wasn’t new. “Can you hold him upright a few moments more, Simon?”

“Why don’t I carry him upstairs?” Simon offered. Anything to put an end to this torturous evening.

“Nonsense. Ian for heaven’s sake, sit or stand.”

Brushing Simon away, Ian fell back into his chair.

Jane smiled. “He does so like his port.”

Caroline and Simon responded in some desultory fashion to Jane’s comments while they waited, although neither could have recalled the conversation with their minds otherwise occupied.

And after what seemed a very long time to two people on the verge of carnal combustion, three servants entered the room to carry Ian away. By this time, he was softly snoring, a casualty to Portugal’s best port.

Following her husband, Jane turned to wave from the doorway. “I’ll see you both in the morning.”

And a second later, Caroline and Simon were alone.

They came to their feet “Finally,” Simon said.

“May I attack you now?”

He opened his arms.

She ran to him and he held her close.

“It was torture,” he whispered.

“Absolute torment” She gazed up at him. “I want you upstairs. I want you upstairs, now.?‘

“I may not want to wait”

“You have to.”

“Because?”

“I’m the boss.”

“Are you now?” he said in a velvety breath.

“Now and always.”

He grinned. “You’re obviously drunk.”

She shook her head, her breasts moved against him with a delectable friction and he suddenly didn’t care who was what to whom. Sweeping her up into his arms, he gazed at her through half-lowered lashes. “If you want to go upstairs, we’ll go upstairs.”

“You have to be quiet.”

He was already moving toward the door. “I’m always quiet. You’re the screamer.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to be better.”

“Now I know you’re drunk.”

Not wishing to have their tryst curtailed, she was discreetly silent on the passage up two flights of stairs to the third floor. As was Simon who wasn’t about to jeopardize their time together. As he moved cautiously down the nursery floor corridor, he listened for any unusual sounds. Everyone should be sleeping at this time of night.

The moment he entered her room, Caro rained a flurry of kisses on his face. “Finally,” she whispered. “Now put me down, because I’m in a vast, vast hurry.”

The instant he set her on her feet, she reached for his trouser buttons. “Wait a second-the door,” he murmured, holding her at arm’s length, trying to shut the door while she struggled to reach him.

Held back with Simon’s stiff-armed grip, she wiggled her fingers just short of their goal. “Hurry, darling, hurry… no one will come in.”

He glanced back from pulling a chair under the latch. “You seemed more concerned last night.”

“But no one came in, so there,” she replied. “Just undo the bare minimum, darling-really, the absolute minimum-hurry.”

She was clearly willing to say anything in her current mood, but one of them at least had to be rational. Only when the door was secured did he relinquish his grip on her shoulder. “So, now, do you want something?” he teased, turning back with a grin.

“As if you don’t,” she said, pettishly. “Now, hurry,” she added, waving him after her, kicking off her slippers as she moved toward the bed. “We’ll sleep on the floor.”

“I wasn’t planning on sleeping.”

“Well, that’s fortunate, because you won’t be.” Pulling the quilt from the bed, she spread it on the floor and began taking down her braids.

“Are you giving orders tonight?”

“I thought I would for a change.” Under his interested gaze, she loosened her hair with a few combing sweeps of her fingers and lifting her skirts and petticoats, lay down on the quilt. Raising her hips enough to shove a remnant of azure velvet out of her way, she drew up her legs, opened her thighs and offered Simon a sultry smile. “Come, Your Grace, I won’t make you to do anything you haven’t done before.”

“I think I like your shyness best,” he murmured, sardonically, taking in her wanton pose with a connoisseur’s appreciation.

“Just so long as you like it at close range, Your Grace, I would be grateful.”

“How grateful?”

“As grateful as you wish, naturally,” she purred. “But do hurry, darling, or I may come without you.”

He immediately complied because it had been an extremely long evening for him as well and Caro was very apt to do what she said. Swiftly unbuttoning his trousers, he knelt between her outspread legs and moved into her welcoming embrace and body, fully clothed.