I blew out all but the last candle. I set it by the window, and when I turned, the room was almost completely dark. I could hardly see the Lady’s form—Isabella’s form—in the low light. She lay on her side on the bed, the covers pulled up to her waist. Her back was bare, her spine a gently curving question.
How did we get here?
I sat on the other side of the bed for a moment and stared.
Of course, I knew the practical answer.
I’d kissed her in the parlor; she’d kissed me back.
I’d taken her hand and led her to this room; she’d followed.
I’d pulled the pins from her hair. I’d raised her skirts, and her stays, and all the underthings from her body. I’d slipped away the stockings. All the while she’d watched me with those doe eyes, unbelieving.
I did all of this slowly, so as not to spook her.
I led her to the bed and set her down on the edge, kneeling in front of her. She took my face in her hands. “Shall I undress you now?”
I smiled, feeling my cheeks expand into her palms like a sponge. It was not a feeling I wasn't used to.
“No.” I looked away. “I’m used to doing it myself.”
She frowned as I stood.
“Lie down,” I said. “I’ll only be a moment.”
And when I finished undressing I blew out all the candles save for this one.
I don’t know for certain why I did this. Most culls wanted the room as bright as day, sometimes demanding more candles brought in. They pay for my body, after all. How can they enjoy themselves if they can’t see the very thing they’ve bought?
But that night was different. My body was not bought. It was my own, and I could do, or not do, as I pleased. Perhaps it was easier to remember this with the lights out. Perhaps it was easier to imagine I was not a body at all, but something else entirely.
Still, as I sat on the bed, staring at her back, watching her ribs rise and fall, my body insisted on its own stake in all of this. I felt an ache in my belly, low down in the place where true desire is seated.
A moment later, Isabella rolled her shoulder back and looked at me. Her blue eyes sparkled in the low light. She reached for me and I caught glimpse of her breast—smooth, soft, warm—and my desire erupted inside me like a firecracker, expanding up into my chest and down into my crotch. I tingled all over for her, and judging by the look on her face, she felt the same.
“Come lie next to me,” she whispered.
I slipped under the covers, and she turned to face me.
“I can barely see you,” I said. It was a lie. I’d already seen what I needed to.
I didn’t let her finish. I knew I had to kiss her, now, before she could change her mind, or me, mine.
I kissed her softly at first, not the way I usually kissed culls. I kissed her with delicate intention. I knew that, despite my own growing desire, I could force nothing from her, but must draw it out.
I left little kisses on her mouth, on her cheeks, on her chin; left little kisses like bread crumbs, and she followed them. Each time I would leave her lips, she would pull me back with growing impatience, until finally, I found her mouth open and inviting.
This little game went on. I would break away, find a new place on her body to kiss. And she’d watch me. I’d kiss her finger tips, her breasts, her soft belly. She’d watch me with great wonder, ever still, then she’d bring me back to her mouth, again and again, surprising us both with her passion.
Eventually, even the last candle went out and the room was completely dark. By that time, it didn’t matter. We had already acquired a new way of seeing each other. Her hands roamed freely over me. She groped and probed and caressed. It was different than a man’s touch. She was not possessing me; she was exploring. And like any true explorer, she was often elated at what she found.
Her little gasps and moans aroused me further. I led her hand to my crotch. When she pulled her hand away, shy at what she’d found between my legs, I pressed her hand harder there.
“You can touch me,” I said.
I felt her fingers run in timid strokes over my cunny.
“It’s nothing like I thought,” she said.
“It’s so soft.”
“Yes.” I kissed her. “And warm.” Another kiss. “And wet.”
“This is what men lose all sense over?”
I rolled her onto her back and smiled down at her. “Not just men.”
She looked up, confused and gorgeous. I ran a hand from her breast bone down her belly to the mound of hair at her crotch. I ran my fingers over it in circles.
“May I…kiss you here?” I said. I trembled suddenly with the force of my own desire.
She must have sensed it. She took my face in her hands. “You would do this for me?”
I looked into her eyes, though they were only shadows now. “I would do this for us both.”
She pushed the covers away.
I spread her legs in the dark. I kissed her thighs, but only once or twice. I had worn out all patience, letting her kiss me like she did, letting her run her fingers over my sex so timidly. She was so close now, I could smell her. I kissed her cunt, not caring to be careful. She gasped, but rather than pulling away, she sunk her hips further into the mattress and grabbed hold of my head. I kissed and sucked and pushed and probed until my neck was sore and my own cunny was throbbing. She rocked against me, never letting loose my head of curls. She spread her legs further still, then locked her heels together over my shoulders. They were heavy on my back, but I was undeterred.
I searched for that precious small thing, her jewel. I needed to find it and to take it into my mouth. I spread her lips with my fingers, and slid my tongue up, up, up, until—she gasped.
I flicked my tongue again to be certain.
I took it into my mouth, and she shuttered. I let her free and she sighed. I licked her. I kissed her. I pressed into her with the weight of my whole body, until my face was slick with her pleasure. When I found the thing she liked—the rhythm, the pressure—I gave it to her, over and over, until she cried out and pushed me away.
I sat back onto my knees, out of breath, my own cunny swollen and throbbing.
“What have you done?” she said as she sat up.
“Have I hurt you?” I wiped at my mouth.
“No.” She pulled me close and kissed me. She ran her fingers over my damp cheeks and chin. “No, you have not hurt me.”
“You’ve freed me.” She kissed me again and again, sucking at my lips. “You’ve freed me.”
I took her hand in mine. “Now I need something from you.”
“What is it? Anything you want.”
“I need your touch. Do you understand?”
She became very serious. “Charlotte, I—“
“Please, don’t say no.” I couldn’t believe the sound of my own voice. I’d never begged for something like this. “I’ll die if you don’t touch me. Do you understand?”
“Of course. But you must show me.”
I paused. Yes, of course I would have to show her. All she knew was force and brutality. All she knew was ungraceful, violent grunting—the very opposite of what it could be.
I lay myself down next to her, thinking this would be the simplest way. I took her hand and guided it to my cunt. I was so aroused that even her timid touch sent shivers down the back of my thighs. I glided my hips up to match her rhythm. Impatient, I tugged at her arm.
“Do you want me to…inside?” Even in the dark, I saw her brows furrow. “Charlotte, I don’t want to hurt you.”
I touched her face. “You won’t hurt me. I want you to. I trust you.”
“You trust me to do this? But I don’t—“
I grabbed her hand. I brought it to my mouth. “Here,” I said. “Like this.”
I took her two fingers into my mouth and she moaned so loud, I knew I’d done right. Within moments, she had the rhythm, pushing and pulling her fingers in and out of my mouth, as she licked her own lips. Our eyes locked.
She was enjoying this; I was enjoying this. She was aroused; I was throbbing and damn near ready to burst.
In a completely darkened room, what had started as a fragile flame between us had suddenly erupted into an all consuming fire. I relished the sparks I saw in her eyes. Surely, if she could see me, she would see something like hellfire in mine.
She pulled her fingers from my mouth and kissed me, pressing her tongue far in, much further than before. A moment later, her hand was at my cunny again. She was no longer timid. She ran her hand down and dipped her fingers into me. I smiled, letting out a little laugh.
“Yes,” I said. “Now you’ve got it.”
Though she did start off in a slow, steady rhythm, it soon gave way to a meandering of sorts. I felt her fingers curl, ever so slightly. I felt her pull them out as she let herself roam over my sex, before dipping them back into me. She closed her eyes for a moment, her mouth slightly open, her expression blank. I could not stop myself from smiling. I’d seen enough men struck dumb by a little bit of cunny, but Isabella did not look dumb. She looked lovely.
She opened her eyes, saw me staring at her and stuttered. “I’m sorry. Am I doing it wrong?”
I was filled with a great affection for her. I touched her face. “No. Just keep it steady.”
I felt the difference immediately. I giggled again. “Yes. Like that. And harder.” She pushed into me with a force that surprised me.
“Even harder.” I ran my hand down to my own jewel. I ran my fingers over it in circles while she worked my cunny. The woman didn’t give up. She leaned over me, watching me with those sparks in her eyes. When she realized she wasn’t hurting me, when she realized that I liked it, she pushed harder and faster.
I liked the way she watched me. I liked the look in her eyes, the determination, the focus. If she were a man, I would straddle her right then and there, or ask her to bend me over the side of the bed and take me from behind.
But she was not a man, and maybe that’s why my arousal continued to grow and grow, to build and build, because in her eyes, I saw not the quick burning flame of a man’s desire that could be extinguished with a few skillful strokes, but a slow burning ember, once underestimated, that now threatened to catch the entire room—maybe even the entire world—on fire.
I needed more pressure. I needed more contact. I needed more her. I pushed her hand away.
“Wait,” I whispered. “I like it this way better.”
I turned over, so that my back was to her. I scooted myself right up against her, so that my ass was pressed against her crotch. I guided her hand to my cunny from behind. Within moments, she understood. Within moments she was inside me again, thrusting her long fingers in and out, and throwing the weight of her hips behind her hand. Each thrust shot through me like a bit of lightning. She was hitting me in the exact right spot. I fingered my own jewel as she curled around my back.
Until suddenly my back arched, and my hips bucked forward. Until suddenly a ridiculous sound came out of my throat—half-grunt, half-moan, all spontaneous pleasure. I trembled all over, and Isabella’s mouth was at my ear, panting. She pulled her fingers from me, then pulled me into a clumsy, all-encompassing embrace.
I laughed at myself and at her. I had not anticipated that she would catch on so quickly—so willingly.
“Are you sure I didn’t hurt you?” she whispered.
“Yes.” I stroked her arm. “Don’t you know? You’ve just made me come, you stupid cunt.”
She was quiet for a moment. My words hung in the air and I was horrified.
“I’m so sorry, my Lady.” I turned to face her. “I’ve misspoken. I didn’t mean it.”
She laughed and pulled me back into her arms. “Please, don’t call me, my Lady. Not here. Not now.”
“What am I to call you, then?”
“A friend,” she said.
I let myself relax into her embrace. I felt the urge to turn around, to be face to face, to snuggle my cheek against her chest and giggle, not like she was a friend at all, but like she was my beloved. But beloved is not what she called her self.
I let my fingers entwine with hers instead.
“It’s been a long time since I had a friend,” I said.
“I don’t know if I’ve ever had one.”
“Well, you do now.”
She kissed the back of my neck. “As do you.”