Trem reached into the basket and brought out a parcel of strawberries, a loaf of bread, a slab of Stilton cheese, and a flask of ale.
“They’re in season,” he said, picking up one of the strawberries and extending it to her. She took a bite of the rich, plump fruit, the sweetness filling her mouth.
“Mmm,” she moaned, realizing that she was quite hungry.
After she finished the berry, she looked at him. His eyes were intent on her, blazing, and it made her core pulse. “Aren’t you going to have one?” she said, gesturing towards the strawberries.
“I’d prefer to taste it a different way,” he said, bending in to kiss her, and she luxuriated in the taste of his tongue mixed with that of the sweet berry. He began touching her chest, bringing her breasts over her chemise and bodice, and then reaching down and sucking on her nipples until they were hard peaks.
He was over her now and she realized that it was the first time since his injury he had taken that position.
“Your arm,” she said, her mouth struggling to form the words in the haze of pleasure. “Doesn’t it hurt?”
“It’s fine,” he said, panting. “I want to try something. Will you let me?”
She nodded, eager for anything that he might do. She had come to trust his experiments. Even when he tormented her, he brought her immense pleasure. In fact, it might be said that he brought her the most pleasure when he tormented her.
“Lie down. Look at the sky.”
Henrietta did as he commanded, opening her eyes to the pinkish-red sunset above. She felt him bring up the hem of her dress past her knees.
Then she felt his mouth at her core, his tongue teasing her clit and then opening her. She gasped at the sensation, feeling the now-familiar tension that led towards climax mounting in her belly. It was amazing to her how he always was able to surprise her, how their intimate life felt like a conversation, a back-and-forth of power and control.
She felt something else enter her, plump and soft but still firm, and she startled. “What is that?”
“How I like to eat my strawberries,” he replied, his voice low. At his words, she felt herself clench around the berry.
“Trem,” she said, in warning. She wasn’t at all sure what she was warning him about—just, perhaps, that she felt very, very aroused.
And then he started reaching for the strawberry with his lips and tongue, sucking and nibbling, sending her into a frenzy. Because she was no longer the primary object of his movements, the resulting incidental licks and nudges were all the more teasing, sending her higher without providing a particular momentum or direction. His tongue reached and she could feel the juice from the strawberry trickling from between her legs. She writhed against his mouth, trying to get more, but he kept his intentions on the berry, giving no quarter. Whenever she tried to buck against him, he secured her thighs and pelvis with his hands, controlling her movements, only letting her have what he allowed.
The sensations from his mouth in combination with the vibrant colors of the setting sun sent her into a kind of aesthetic and physical ecstasy. She surrendered to his control, his mouth, and the magnificent hues of the world above her.
“God, you’re so sweet,” he said, as he licked and sucked, and she moaned at the words, glad that they were alone in the woods and free of the inn, so she didn’t have to worry about who heard her.
Finally, the strawberry had disappeared, but she still hadn’t come. Instead she was quivering against him and the flannel blanket. He still held her tight, baring her open, and she heard her own voice begging him for more.
“Please, Trem.”
“What do you want?”
“You,” she said, desperate again for his touch, to be with him in the way that felt the most intimate to her.
Apparently, he needed no other encouragement. He unbuttoned the falls of his breeches and entered her. She cried out at the contact, immediately feeling her innermost muscles clench around him. She was desperate for release and the hard length of him promised the relief that she was seeking. And he gave her what she wanted, in slow, controlled thrusts, and she rose to meet him each time, each stroke a maddening, tantalizing step towards an even greater pleasure.
He kissed her, languidly, and she tasted the combination of strawberry and herself on his tongue. The taste was so wicked and forbidden, strange and lovely, that she came right then, her muscles spasming so hard that she would have forced him from her if he hadn’t borne down. Instead, her muscles flexed over him, hard and insistent, baiting him into his own release. A moment later, he came too, crying out into the hollow between her neck and shoulder.
Afterwards, they stayed as they had been, with him still inside of her, the intimacy of the moment unbroken.
“Come and look at the sky,” she finally said, and he grunted his assent. He withdrew and lay down beside her.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
He reached for her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers, and she swore to herself that, in this moment, she had never felt more at peace.
“My lord, my lady?” The voice threaded through the woods, bouncing off the trees.
It was Percy, of course.
