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Evenings in Silk

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Gertrude Robinson loves no one, but Gertrude Robinson trusts Emma Harvey. With her secrets, which are the most precious thing someone in her position can have. With her doubts, which are the most dangerous one. With her body sometimes, which is less important, but she only has one.

Emma enjoys all of it. And she won't lose it.

She's not sure of her own feelings. She's not sure how much she likes Gertrude. She is not pretty in the conventional sense. She is too sharp for this. But she's elegant and clever and haughty. She can look at someone who wastes her time with all the contempt of the earth. So when she looks at Emma like she's worth something, it makes her feel good about herself. And when she stops looking at her, with something that resembles fond shyness, like she's worth everything... Emma gets drunk on this.

Not enough to stop her from doing things of which Gertrude would disapprove, though.

Maybe that makes it even better: deceiving her, evading her piercing gaze, the most exciting part of their weird courtship. Emma plays a role when she's with Gertrude: the faithful assistant, always here for her, that can't ever think about leaving. And even if it's true that she wants more of Gertrude's affection, she can use her own wants as a weapon, to seem reliable and faithful.

Emma knows that sometimes Gertrude wonders about her, about the reasons for her actions. Gertrude can understand curiosity very well, but she can also forgive it easily. And it's so obvious, it hides quite well what bubbles under it, the feeling of control about knowing the weakness of everything with even a small amount of power. It's needed, to survive. It's important. It's Emma's very personal secret.

Gertrude doesn't have any big, blatant weakness, but she has so many very small ones.

It’s when she's tired, and tense, and she’s still working when it’s so late already. Emma is massaging her shoulders and neck, and it's a net of relief running through all Gertrude’s nerves. Her body remembers it's made not only of determination and sinews but 80% water. She becomes smoother, while still running wild, and as Emma starts to tenderly bite her neck, wetness seeps between her legs too.

Gertrude won't let herself be touched for too long without reciprocating. It's probably out of pride, but it still feels delightful when she turns her head. Her long fingers grab Emma's hair, run through it, not enough to hurt, but firmly. Emma wouldn't hate if it hurt.

"You know you don't have to do this," Gertrude says.

She's categorical and it's the closest she will ever get to shyness. Emma knows very well that she doesn't have to. She also knows Gertrude doesn't have to, but it's a secret. She certainly won't remind her of it now.

"I want to," Emma answers.

They kiss, hot and messy, on the office chair. The first time, they fucked right here, because Emma was too afraid Gertrude would change her mind. But now, she knows she has nothing to fear.

Not this, anyway.

The cot is cheap, and grates at the worst moments, but it's still very much more comfortable than a chair. Emma loves undressing Gertrude. It's like removing layers and layers of masks and disguises. Practical, plain clothes whose main interest is to look far better on the floor. Gertrude is practical, that's true, but once naked she's anything but plain, elegant and sharp, the few discrete scars making her even more attractive. She also far less self-assured, like she was not sure she's as good at sex than at saving the world.

For Emma, she's certainly good at both.

She undresses too. Her clothes are a bit nicer than Gertrude's, softer on the skin. She waves them to caress Gertrude's arms and belly, just a bit of light teasing. She thinks about tying her up. Oh, Gertrude would hate that, so Emma has to do with binding her with more soft silky touches, making her want, making any kind of going back impossible.

She wants Gertrude to welcome her when they roll together on the cot, to grab onto her. But then Emma just slides a bit down, starts to lick her perfect breasts, making the most obscene noises. She loves this so much, tasting the salty skin, feeling these nipples harden under her power, watching every one of Gertrude's reactions to pleasure, as their bodies embrace, rub against each other. Emma's cunt is dripping already, against Gertrude's thigh. She makes no effort to hide it. Neither to make something about it. She won't touch Gertrude's cunt at all either, she will make her boil slowly.

Oh, how good it is to wait and to make someone wait.

How much better it is when all patience is run out, when Gertrude turns her out and they stop any pretense of slow tenderness. When their fingers grab into each other's cunts, leading each other to a shaking orgasm, leaving them exhausted on the cot.

It's not only lust, because otherwise, Emma would lose every interest in Gertrude's body after she has gotten what she needs. She wouldn't keep looking, fascinated at the parts of her body that slowly lose the red tint of pleasure.

At these moments, Gertrude can't refuse anything to Emma. It's not clear how long that’s been happening. Emma didn’t notice immediately. But when Emma asks, Gertrude will always tell her most precious secrets, about the secrets of the Institute, about the weaknesses of her childhood, about Agnes Montague's soul.

She will do anything for Emma, too. Things she would never do in other situations. Not that Emma will abuse it, of course. She only knows the details because she experimented, she needed to know how deep it went.

The sad thing is, she will never know how much of this Gertrude would have shared, if they weren't playing this game. Emma likes to think it's not none of it.

"It was wonderful," she whispers in Gertrude’s ear, while stroking her hair. Why would she take something else for now? Maybe, if worse comes to pass, she could make Gertrude forget about things. She's not sure she wants to try this, though, afraid to wake up in her a primal objection. "We will do it again."

And of course, now, they will.