Chapter 10: I Want it All (or not at all)
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"Lift your chemise. Let me see you, pet."
She feels her heart beat between her legs, her mouth dry as she begins to pant. Eyes focused on the ceiling, she reaches down, taking handfuls of the thin shift that covers her and raising it. Inch by inch, her skin is unveiled to him, breath rushing faster as the thoughts in her mind shout so loud over each other, she unable to even understand them anymore.
Using Robert as leverage, she uses the locked ankles crossed behind him to raise her hips from the bed, pulling her shift higher until it bunches up low around her belly. Her thighs tremble, and she feels slightly nauseous with anxiety.
"You're beautiful, pet. Do you know that?"
She rolls her head in a daze, her hair scratching against the duvet.
"Shall I tell you?
Her eyes slide shut as she licks her lips, fingers still holding tightly to the fabric around her hips. Robert unhooks her legs from around him, spreading them as he lets them hang over his arms.
"Shall I describe your glistening cunt?" She feels his chapped lips on her inner thigh, tongue warm against her skin.
"Flush and pink and wanting."
A whimper escapes her, and fear runs loose within, but excitement does too, coming together in a tumultuous kind of binding.
"Are you frightened," he asks into her skin, mouth moving down ever so slowly.
"No," she whines, wholly unbelievable, even to her own ears.
He chuckles, a huff of air so close to her center it causes her to unconsciously press her legs together, only to find Robert's biceps between them. He smoothes a hand low across her belly, the heel adding pressure before gently kneading the area, stimulating something within.
She sucks in a breath, holding it as she tries to wrap her mind around the strange things her body can make her feel. Things she didn't even know existed.
But before she can even get too far in her thoughts she feels his mouth there, sucking on her gently then releasing her with a pop.
She sucks in another breath, this one released quickly with a tiny cry of shock. And then he's somehow even deeper, his wet tongue gliding around and inside and it's absolutely obscene and wrong and perfect. She's not even aware of her hand clutching at his hair until she must give a rather sharp tug, making him grunt inside her.
"Robert," she cries. She thinks she might hear herself say it multiple times but she can't really be sure, her senses all seeming to be burning much too hot for them to work properly. His tongue takes a long lick up, just below the still massaging heel of his hand, and he finds that point, yet again, the one that makes her feel like her skin is on fire while her consciousness is floating.
Foolishly, she peers down the soft plane of her body, just in time to see his wet lips take her between them and suck hard. Her eyes shut tight, head bouncing back into the bed. "Oh, god!"
Then his tongue begins dancing over her devilishly when she feels his finger slip inside, quickly joined by another. He presses down hard on her hip to keep her still, almost painful, but she can barely recognize it as she squirms against him, heels digging into him and body trying to simultaneously both devour and escape his torturous touch.
Then his mouth is gone and his body is hovering over her, all while his fingers circle and pull and fill and play down between them. "You taste marvelous, pet," he pants into her face, forehead dropping atop hers. "Like the most decadent dessert."
"No, I- I- Robert. Please."
"Beg me. Beg me to make you cum, Anna."
She's too overwhelmed to try and understand his words, mouth open wide in a silent cry while her body bows tight, chest pressing up into Robert's, vaguely feeling a sting on her neck as he bites the delicate skin there.
When she comes back down, the first thing she's aware of is her emotions, chest and mind absolutely overflowing with them. With a gasp she buries the heel of her palms into her eyes, holding back the burning tears, trying to regain control over herself.
The next thing she's aware of is the throbbing, sated feeling washing throughout her, making her body feel heavy and lethargic.
Robert nuzzles the side of her face, leaving sweet, open-mouthed kisses on her temple, her cheek, her jaw, her ear. "How are you now, pet," he questions quietly, caressing between her legs with barely there touches.
"La petite mort," is the only response she gives with a sigh.
It takes him a second, holding still against her before he snorts, laughter coming out deep and infectious, making her smile. "Always the governess. Yes, I suppose it is a death of sorts. Though this one is worth it, perhaps."
She cocks her head, trying to appear serious. "Perhaps."
Eyes turning dark, yet with a playful gleam he seems unable to hide, he takes hold of her jaw, long fingers holding her firmly there. "You're quite the little wench when you wish to be."
"You don't like it," she asks, biting her lip as she toys with the fabric of her shift.
He raises his brows, smile coming easy yet sly. "On the contrary," he starts, finger reaching to free her lip before tracing the sensitive skin all around, "I quite enjoy your smart mouth."
His eyes burn for her, low, like embers but ready to catch fire at any moment.
"Why do hate Mr. Marriott?"
The question catches him off guard, mind obviously somewhere very different. But he's so deviously shrewd, that times such as now, with his head full of a passionate need, and body longing for release, are the only times when she has him on an even playing field.
He looks down at her, silent and with an expression of utter dismay. She can also be cunning, and she wonders if he's realizing how much he's underestimated her.
"I've told you," he says quietly, words laced with an anger he tries to hide.
"Not really. Not about Marriott. Not about the deed-"
He clenches his jaw, turning away from her before pushing himself off the bed with an irritated huff. "Jesus, Anna."
She pulls her shift down as she sits up, watching him with a wariness as he stares down into the now cold fireplace. "What more do you want?"
Thinking for a moment, she considers apologizing, asking him to come back to bed, but this is too important. If he expects her to help him, she refuses to do it without knowing why.
"Everything," she answers, soft yet steady. "I want to know everything."
He looks at her over his shoulder with a strange mix of fear and bewilderment before turning around completely. "Who are you Anna Smith," he asks slowly - accusingly.
She frowns, confused by his reaction.
He strides back to her, leaning over so they're on eye level. His are curious as well as dangerous, and she has the sudden urge to crawl away from him. "You're very determined to play in the dark corners of my mind, little schoolgirl."
She raises her chin, back straight as she returns his stare. "It's only fair. You did try to play with mine. Or do you stand by your earlier assessment of my being stupid as well as unattractive?"
He gives a mean huff of laughter, and her belly is absolutely quaking as the rest of her trembles, but she holds still with determination. She didn't wish to provoke him to such hostilities, but she refuses to be a mindless puppet, merely because he's made her feel things no one else has. If he wishes to tell all about how sinful and wanton she is, then he can do just that.
"Perhaps you were right," he says, standing, looking down on her with disappointment. "Perhaps we should end this."
She does her best not to show any emotion, eyes locked with his for an uncomfortable amount of time, the air thick with a virulent bitterness and heady arousal.
She expects him to slam the door, but somehow the soft click behind him is worse. She sits alone and cold, staring into the darkness of her room, trying to understand what just happened.
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She keeps an eye out for him the next day, both wishing to avoid him at any cost as well as march up to his room and demand they finish their conversation.
And despite not at all trying to keep herself or the children out of site, she never sees him. She sees Marriott's party leave for a hunt, sees them return and prepare for dinner, but never once does she see him.
After whispering her good nights to John and Mary, she makes her way down the dark hall, her candle held aloft to light her way.
She broods along her walk, wondering if he's left completely. Would he do that? Leave without saying a word? She releases a soft laugh in the quiet darkness. Why wouldn't he? They've only known each other for a handful of days, despite their intimacy. And they owed each other nothing.
Turning the corner, her jaw drops as she comes to a stand still, nearly walking right into a pair of bodies. Her heart seizes in her chest, her breath leaving her as she jolts at the cry from the servants.
"Oh ma'am, I'm so sorry! So sorry!"
After her panic has calmed, she finally understands what exactly she's walked in on. Tom the footman and Martha the servant, huddled against each other, trying desperately to right their clothes in the darkened alcove.
With only her candle to provide light, it's difficult to see, but she's certain they're blushing as they scramble to right themselves during their incessant apologies.
"The nursery is just down the hall," she whispers curtly, "what on earth are you thinking?"
She tries not to chide herself about the fact that just the other day she'd done similar, and in the children's school room no less.
"Please, ma'am," Martha begs when she comes up to her, head bowed and face grave. "Please don't say anything. Mrs. Flynn will dismiss me for sure."
After easing their worries and accepting their undying gratitude, as well as promises to never try this sort of thing out in the open or near the children again, she watches as they move fast to disappear into the darkness.
