Not Her First Time
Flicka von Hannover
It was the best year
of my life.
Flicka wafted through the next week like a dream.
Out in the world, she wasPrinzessinFriederike Augusta, a ridiculously wealthy young woman with massive responsibilities to her charities and pressure from attending one of the most elite music conservatories in the world.
In his bedroom, she washis,and she didn’t have to think about all that.
In their apartment, he allowed her all the time she needed to work, but he was always there.
When he walked by, he let one of his fingers drift down her spine or caressed her cheek with the backs of his knuckles.
At school, while driving, and at events, Dieter behaved just like he had always been: aloof, strong, and watching the area around her for danger.
At home, Dieter was just like he had always been, too. He studied hard at his antique desk in the corner and grinned at her piano theatrics when he thought she wasn’t looking.
He still rubbed her feet while they watched the BBC sports recap every night.
But some things were different.
The next morning, when she was making coffee for them like she always did, Dieter stood behind her and dragged his fingertips under the cotton of her nightshirt, touching her thighs.
She’d gone shock-still, waiting.
His minty breath brushed the back of her neck, and the warmth of his body seeped through her jammie shirt.
His voice was deeper as he said, “I never noticed how good you smell.”
Should Flicka joke about shampoo and regularly showering? Knowing all the basic personal hygiene practices?
His fingers drifted higher, over her hips and the sides of her panties, and she forgot her smartass comment.
His hands flattened over her stomach and side. “And how soft your skin is.”
He stepped closer to her, his chest brushing the backs of her shoulders.
Flicka leaned back, laying her head on his shoulder.
His hands moved up, and his lips touched her neck.
Flicka breathed. Was this it? Was her first time going to be in the morning? She’d always thought her first time would be at night after dinner and something romantic and something else. She wasn’t sure what those things were because she had never done this before, but people shagged in the morning, too, right?
Dieter turned her around and kissed her, his hands still on her waist under her shirt. He kissed her until she was dizzy. He kissed her until she sighed. He kissed her until she moaned against his lips on her throat.
When she did that, his hands tightened on her skin, and he turned her around and pressed her chest and face down on the chilly marble countertop of their small kitchen. The smooth stone chilled her cheek.
He flipped her tee shirt up and ran his hands over her ass and thighs.
Flicka closed her eyes and clutched the counter.
The calluses on his hands were rough on her skin as he stroked her flesh, slowly tugging her panties down her legs and pushing her thighs apart.
Rustling rippled the air, and Dieter’s hands changed position on her hips as his shoulders lowered behind her.
