“I was not eager to see the place again, I must admit. My memories here…they aren’t good ones.”
Annabelle turns to face me. “But it doesn’t matter anymore.”
I am not inclined to agree with her. It seems like it still matters a great deal, given that we currently find ourselves in Trescott Abbey. But I am not going to press a subject that seems so sensitive.
And then she leans towards me and kisses me again. Her bare breasts press against me, her hands on my face—I am hard again, almost at once.
She reaches down and strokes me.
“Good,” she murmurs. “That’s very nice. Would you like me to ride you now?”
I nod, trying not to seem too eager.
I know my true ruin lies before me. But it seems like a smaller step now that so much has already transpired between us.
Perhaps I feel so little internal resistance because—by every standard I ever knew—I have already ruined myself. And I don’t feel very different.
I still want and burn and work and eat and talk to God as I didbefore.
At this point, I mostly want the wait to end.
And then a thought occurs to me. One that has never crossed my mind before.
“What if I get you with child?”
She takes her hand off me and I gasp at the absence of her fingers.
“You must withdraw, if you would like to be sure,” she says, her eyes on the coverlet. “But I have never gotten with child before. It may not be possible. So fear not.”
I furrow my brow.
“I am not certain I can withdraw. I have never—obviously—done such a thing before.”
“Then don’t,” she says. “As I said, I doubt any ill will come of you spending inside of me.”
I pause. I am not sure what to make of her casual demeanor.
“It would be a great inconvenience to you, if I got you with child,” I say tentatively.
“Yes,” she says brusquely. “But that is unlikely to occur.”
In truth, I do not understand. But I am the novice, and she is the master.
“We could use a letter,” she says. “I have one. But I suspect you are too large. It would burst.”
“Aletter?”
I have no idea of what she speaks.
“A French letter,” she explains. “It prevents a man’s seed from entering the woman.”
The solution certainly seems practical.
“Can we try it? The letter?”
She sighs in exasperation.
“If you insist. But, really, you have nothing to worry about.”
