Kieran Kramer - When Harry Met Molly

“Har-eeeeee!” she shrieked.

And then he let himself go, as well. Into her mouth. And she welcomed his seed, her hands splayed around the base of his shaft as if she were holding on to the edge of the earth. Then she collapsed, rolled to the side, her arms thrown out.

“Oh,” she said, her voice trembling. “Oh.”

Harry sighed, sat up on his elbow, and pulled on her hand. “Come here,” he managed to whisper. She was like a rag doll, but she came and flopped onto his chest.

She’d depleted him as well, in more ways than one.

“That was as close as we could get,” he said, his chin resting on her hair. “Without…complications.”

She sighed and snuggled against him. “I—I don’t see how it could get better. I shrieked, Harry. Just like Hildur said.”

He lifted his head. “Exactly what did Hildur say?”

Molly giggled. “Never mind. It was girl talk.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. No real coupling he’d ever had had come near what he and Molly had shared tonight—the closeness and the intense, unfamiliar emotions he’d felt, as well as the exquisite pleasure.

“Just wait,” he whispered to her. Her breathing was evening out. Soon she’d be asleep. “There’s more. But all in good time.”

Although she would experience it with another man.

That was the part that was killing Harry, and the reason he made sure that when he eventually got up to extinguish the lamp, he crawled under a blanket on the other side of the tent.

When Harry woke up the next morning, he saw that Molly was still sound asleep, her mouth slack, one arm thrown up above her head.

He grabbed his wet clothes, turned away, and stepped out of the tent into the fresh morning air, allowing himself only the smallest of sentimental grins. Last night had been…amazing, yes. But he couldn’t think about Molly that way anymore. He must think of her as his entry in the contest instead. She must, too. Neither of them could afford to forget he had a one-in-five chance of getting legshackled to another woman.

Thankfully, she’d made it clear last night she agreed with him wholeheartedly—there could be no serious attachment between them.

It was time to win.

He eyed his wet breeches distastefully before pulling them on.

And just in time.

“Good morning!” Molly poked her head out of the tent and smiled broadly at him. Her long lustrous brown hair hung free, and she was once more back in her own gown.

It seemed her usual vigor had been restored by a good couple of hours of sleep…after.

He grinned. “Ready to head back? Prinny’s servants will clean up here.”

“All right. But…I—I need to fold some blankets first.”

“Oh.” He fumbled for an excuse to give her a few minutes alone. “I just remembered I need to inspect a tree down the trail. Why don’t I do that and come back…soon?”

“Thank you,” she said, looking relieved. “You’re very thoughtful.”

He smiled, gave her a little salute, and took off down the trail. Somehow Molly made him feel like a hero about the smallest things, which was quite nice. And different from the way Fiona and his other mistresses had complimented him. They’d always flattered him with a lofted brow, a pursed mouth. The old come-hither look.

Molly treated him more like a friend.

He’d never had a woman he’d seen up close and naked treat him like a friend. Was it lowering? An affront to his pride?

Or refreshing?

He stopped, took a moment to inhale the fresh morning air, washed clean by last night’s rain.

Refreshing, he decided.

In fact, for some reason he felt like a new man this morning, ready for anything. Sir Richard’s threats seemed far away. And so did his departure from this place and from Molly. He vowed to enjoy every minute of their last full day together.

Molly splashed water on her face from a bucket of water left by one of Prinny’s servants. And blushed. Harry had once again performed wonders on her last night.

He’d seen her completely naked, too. Up close!

She couldn’t believe it!

But she must not think of that. It was daylight now. The truth was plain—she and Harry had one more day together, and then they each must go to their other lives.

She would be practical. So she went back into the tent and folded the blankets, all the while trying to focus on the finale—not on Harry.

She would win tonight! Everyone would be amazed!

But she did wish she could see Harry naked again. And she wished he could do more things to her, and she to him.

Oh, dear. She would have to stop those thoughts for the rest of the day. She would think about the competition instead.

But hadn’t she already told herself that?

She shook her head, hoping to loosen Harry’s hold on her thoughts.

“All set then?” Harry was back.

“Yes,” she replied, and wondered what he was thinking.

He opened the tent flap for her, and she stepped out.

“We have a big day ahead of us,” he said, his face unreadable. “We must do our very best to win the finale.”

“I know.” She hesitated, but then just came out with it. “You won’t be thinking of me naked, will you, Harry? Because I really need to concentrate.”

“You can rest assured I won’t be thinking of you naked all day,” he said, with what she thought was admirable fighting spirit.

“Thank you. And I won’t be thinking of you naked, either.”

There was the tiniest of pauses.

“Let’s just focus on today,” he finally said. “And remember we’re a team. We want to win big. Think of how we both shall benefit.”

“Yes,” she said, with equal spirit. “A team.”

Harry stuck out his arm, and she took it. But not before she looked one last time at the campsite and committed the scene to memory.

Harry made sure the day went by in a flurry of recreational activities. A bit of shooting for the men, some lawn bowls for the women while they were gone, and charades in the afternoon. Molly went upstairs to take a nap after tea, and he made sure he’d be nowhere near, or he’d have been tempted to enter her room and repeat what they’d done last night in the tent.

All day he’d had to remind himself not to think about what had transpired in that tent, which of course meant the goings-on there—and Molly—were seldom far from his thoughts.

Now they had about an hour of sunlight left. Harry led the group over the hill to the side of the lake, where Finkle and his two footmen assistants had prepared a crude stage, a rustic dressing area, and a picnic supper to be enjoyed before the dramatic reading.

Each step of the way toward the site of the finale, Harry felt a pang of longing for Molly.

There was the tree on the trail where he’d pulled her hair off a twig and they’d been so happy in their own little leafy world.

And then the campsite Prinny had devised and visited, to his and Molly’s amazement. Although Harry thought the royal welcome paled in comparison to the memories created there after Prinny had left!

A few minutes later, there was the log at the lakeside where Harry and Molly had sat cozily together, discussed their families, and shared blackberry kisses.

And when they all filed by the grassy bank where he’d first introduced Molly to the more intimate delights a man and woman could share, Harry could hardly bear the emotions surging in his chest.

The next day, he and Molly would go their separate ways, and he would miss her. He would miss her very much, but he refused to examine the feeling too closely. He’d immediate responsibilities, after all, as host of this gathering, which was being watched very closely by the Prince Regent himself.

By necessity, Harry kept his churning thoughts to himself, although during the meal, he watched Molly as often as he could without staring. And he laughed. He laughed quite frequently. Lumley and Arrow were particularly witty that night, and the women were sparkling.

Especially Molly.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” she whispered in his ear. “Are you all right?”

“Never better,” he said, forcing himself to grin. She must be in the best of spirits for her performance. “And you?”

“Prepared to win.” Her tone was brisk, but then her gaze softened. “Thanks for the coaching, Harry. And for all your support this week.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said, his voice a bit gruff. In the old days, he could always disguise when he wanted a woman. But with Molly, it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide his feelings.

Their gazes locked—and then she ran off because Athena was threatening to pour lake water over her head if she didn’t leave the picnic blankets to ready herself for the entertainment immediately. Their gowns and reading materials awaited them behind the dressing area, which was composed of two blankets tacked onto overhanging tree branches, a small table, and a lantern.

“Good luck, ladies,” Lumley called out to all of them. “We gentlemen shall be waiting with bated breath!”

It was, indeed, time for the show. The footmen had already lit the torches. Two velvet curtains were rigged to open between two trees nearby, forming the makeshift stage. The men sprawled out on the linens, awaiting the fate of their mistresses by lighting cheroots and opening flasks of brandy.

According to the selection of straws, Bunny would go first, followed by Athena, Joan, Hildur, and Molly.