This is the second part of the Evolution of Sex. John and Eleanor are much freer with each other tonight, after a week has passed.
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It was a beautiful summer day, and I had thrown the parlor windows open. The organdy curtains floated serenely in the breeze. I had dressed my hair myself this morning, and the light wind tugged the a few curly wisps free of the simple twist.
It had been a week since my wedding night, and I was slowly becoming accustomed to sleeping in the same bed as someone else. John and I talked each night before we fell asleep. He hadn't tried to make love to me again, but now and then he would catch hold of my hand briefly, lay a hand on my neck, or kiss me gently. These small touches sent my insides fluttering with happiness and nerves.
I found myself thinking more and more about that night, especially during mindless tasks like the needlework I was currently engaged in. True, it had been painful, but the memory of the pain was slowly fading, replaced by the other memories of how it had felt to kiss him, the heat of his naked body pressed against mine. The feel of his cock, warm and solid and silky in my hand.
A surge of arousal shot through me suddenly, and I felt my nipples tighten against the fabric of my chemise. I glanced down at the pale blue silk that covered my chest, making sure that they weren't showing. I sighed and set down the embroidery. Tonight, I thought, perhaps we would try again.
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"How was your day?" I asked nonchalantly, watching John strip down to a pair of soft linen breeks. He hadn't slept in just his shirt again—resisting temptation I supposed. He also didn't allow servants to undress him, peculiar in a man of his station. He cast me a brief smile over his shoulder.
"Fine. I read. Quite a bit. Then Sandringham wanted to go out hunting, so we did. In short, uneventful as usual," he finished, climbing into the big bed beside me. He heaved a sigh and settled in. "How did you pass the day?"
"Oh, the usual. Needlework, reading, staring out the window. Mrs. Randall came to visit from Greenwood. She proceeded to advise me in the proper running of a household. I proceeded to tell her that Mrs. Hennessey is far more capable than me, and far too impatient to deal with my meddling."
John chuckled, laughing at my impudence and the redoubtable Mrs. Hennessey, our housekeeper. We
lapsed into a companionable silence.
Hesitantly, I inched a hand over and slipped it into his own. Surprised, he turned his head to look at me. I smiled slightly, and he tugged me toward him. I settled my head into the hollow between his shoulder and his neck, and his breath ruffled my hair.
"What's this, hmm?" he asked. He sounded amused, but I heard the underlying quiver in his voice and his arm tightened around my shoulders.
