the table already prepared and just awaiting the tea itself, she had a naughty, enticing idea. She hiked her skirts up, reaching behind and under her padding to find the drawstring tying the two legs of her drawers together around her waist. It took some tugging, and a bit of cursing, to coax the garment out from under her padding, but eventually it came free, and she stepped out of it. Going around behind her desk, she opened a drawer and stuffed the garment into it. It would be impossible to put them back on after Sergio left, but somehow she would smuggle them back up to her room at a later date. And she’d have to make sure she didn’t fall down the stairs or any other such thing this evening. What a scandal it would be if the rest of the staff realized she was without undergarments!
The thought made her giggle, even as she once more faced the danger of what she was about. There was a part of her that truly wondered if she had been put under a spell, or was slowly losing her faculties. How could she risk everything she’d worked for, lied and cheated to get, for a man? For a swive, an afternoon fuck?
Then the image of Sergio invaded her head, and it suddenly seemed completely, undeniably worthwhile.
Her little clock struck the quarter, and her heart leapt into her throat. The lesson would be ending, Mrs. Moorecroft rushing her nieces away in case any words not involving the movements of the dance might, perchance, be exchanged. Sergio would exit through the servant’s door and, even now, should be on his way to her.
Jane put her hand over her heart in a vain attempt to quell its racing, heat rushing to her face, a shiver chasing down her spine to lodge between the lips of her cunt.
She should greet him as she always did—give him the chance to tell her, through words or actions, whether today would be like all the days they had spent together before, or like last Friday. Wondering whether he would revert to their prior, cordial relationship, revealing a lack of true interest in her had been the only dark stains marring her thoughts. She had tried to push them aside, but now, as the time of his arrival finally drew close, she struggled with doubt, with the potential pain of his rejection.
Busying herself with the tea, measuring the leaves and pouring the water did little to steady her, and her hands were shaking as she set the pot on its stand and sat in her usual seat. Unable to stop herself, she turned slightly so the door was fully in her line of sight. When the expected knock came, it took her a moment to catch her breath and call out, “Come in.”
Then he was there, striding in, shutting the door behind him, and all the questions, the doubts and fears melted away at the gleam in his eyes, the set of his delectable mouth.
But he didn’t come toward her. Instead he leaned back against the portal, his gaze sweeping her from head to toes and, like a touch, igniting sparks of arousal each place he looked.
“Sweet Jane.” Oh, how those low, velvety words stole her breath, made her ache. “Tell me you’ve missed me as I have missed you.”
“Yes. Oh yes.”
It never occurred to her to lie, to play the coquette. Not when he asked in that demanding way. And she was rewarded by the sound he made, deep in his chest, as though he couldn’t hold it back any more than she had been able to hold back her words.
His eyes closed for a moment, long, thick lashes sweeping his cheeks. How she wanted to kiss his lids, run her fingertip over those lashes, touch him intimately, tenderly, seek out and learn every inch of him. Then his eyes opened, and his gaze locked once more on hers. It had changed, seemed veiled, as though now he hid something from her, when before she would have sworn to the openness of what she saw reflected in his eyes.
“I cannot stay today, Jane.”
Unable to stop her little cry of dismay, she put her fingers over her lips, hoping to seal away any further evidence of the pain he was
The thought made her giggle, even as she once more faced the danger of what she was about. There was a part of her that truly wondered if she had been put under a spell, or was slowly losing her faculties. How could she risk everything she’d worked for, lied and cheated to get, for a man? For a swive, an afternoon fuck?
Then the image of Sergio invaded her head, and it suddenly seemed completely, undeniably worthwhile.
Her little clock struck the quarter, and her heart leapt into her throat. The lesson would be ending, Mrs. Moorecroft rushing her nieces away in case any words not involving the movements of the dance might, perchance, be exchanged. Sergio would exit through the servant’s door and, even now, should be on his way to her.
Jane put her hand over her heart in a vain attempt to quell its racing, heat rushing to her face, a shiver chasing down her spine to lodge between the lips of her cunt.
She should greet him as she always did—give him the chance to tell her, through words or actions, whether today would be like all the days they had spent together before, or like last Friday. Wondering whether he would revert to their prior, cordial relationship, revealing a lack of true interest in her had been the only dark stains marring her thoughts. She had tried to push them aside, but now, as the time of his arrival finally drew close, she struggled with doubt, with the potential pain of his rejection.
Busying herself with the tea, measuring the leaves and pouring the water did little to steady her, and her hands were shaking as she set the pot on its stand and sat in her usual seat. Unable to stop herself, she turned slightly so the door was fully in her line of sight. When the expected knock came, it took her a moment to catch her breath and call out, “Come in.”
Then he was there, striding in, shutting the door behind him, and all the questions, the doubts and fears melted away at the gleam in his eyes, the set of his delectable mouth.
But he didn’t come toward her. Instead he leaned back against the portal, his gaze sweeping her from head to toes and, like a touch, igniting sparks of arousal each place he looked.
“Sweet Jane.” Oh, how those low, velvety words stole her breath, made her ache. “Tell me you’ve missed me as I have missed you.”
“Yes. Oh yes.”
It never occurred to her to lie, to play the coquette. Not when he asked in that demanding way. And she was rewarded by the sound he made, deep in his chest, as though he couldn’t hold it back any more than she had been able to hold back her words.
His eyes closed for a moment, long, thick lashes sweeping his cheeks. How she wanted to kiss his lids, run her fingertip over those lashes, touch him intimately, tenderly, seek out and learn every inch of him. Then his eyes opened, and his gaze locked once more on hers. It had changed, seemed veiled, as though now he hid something from her, when before she would have sworn to the openness of what she saw reflected in his eyes.
“I cannot stay today, Jane.”
Unable to stop her little cry of dismay, she put her fingers over her lips, hoping to seal away any further evidence of the pain he was
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