“What are you doing?” he says, alarm rising in his voice.
“Showing you that I am right.”
I remove my petticoats and drawers and leave them on the floor. I could never remove my gown and undergarments without help—but I don’t need to. Once more I did not wear a crinoline.
“You mistreat me, Annabelle.”
“I told you not to trust me.”
“Can I trust you now?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
I move towards him. I wonder if he will refuse my touch.
But he doesn’t.
I crawl onto his lap, straddling him. Up close, I can see the desire that burns behind his outrage and indignation.
“I am about to be a laughingstock,” he says. “A disgrace. My name will be ruined. My father will be furious. He will disown me”
“Perhaps,” I say. “Most likely. But isn’t it worth it? To have this?”
He is hard beneath me.
“It shouldn’t be,” he says.
I reach underneath my skirts and undo the placket of his trousers. I am rewarded with a sharp intake of breath.
And then I direct him inside of me.
“Annabelle,” he gasps.
“Isn’t this all that you care about, Alfred? Getting to feel me on your cock?”
I have my hands on his shoulders. Our eyes are locked. He looks completely at my mercy—and terrified.
“It shouldn’t be,” he repeats.
I rise up so his cock slides along my channel.
“But it is. None of your honor, your scruples, your years of good conduct, mean anything beside this, do they? You’d ruin yourself a thousand times for me, wouldn’t you?”
He drops his head on the back of the sofa, breaking our eye contact.
For a moment, I wonder if I have overplayed my hand.
And then he thrusts back into me.
“You feel too good,” he says, “for me to deny it.”
“You will do anything I ask, won’t you?”
I rise up again and he moans.
“What do youwant?”
I ride him in long leisurely strokes.
