Does he need to examine my chest? But the injury is on my arm ...
The feeling between my legs intensifies as his fingers slide underneath the material and then lower down, drawing small circles on the fleshy tops of my breasts. His fingers brush one of my nipples, and I moan softly, arching my back as a jolt of pleasure infuses my body.
Dr Dryden glances quickly at the door as if to reassure himself it’s closed and leans in closer. ‘Do you like that, Florence?’ he murmurs. His icy fingers flick gently at my hard nipple, and white lightning strikes between my thighs.
‘Ohyes, please keep doing it, Master,’ I say and groan in shame. What is the matter with me? I’m obviously not in my right mind due to blood loss. Aunt Ivy would be horrified. But Aunt Ivy isn’t here,and it feels so good... I groan again as his hand reaches down to cup my breast.
‘Shall I stop?’ Dr Dryden enquires, fingers pausing.
I shake my head quickly. There’s an eyebrow arch of approval, and he quickly undoes the tie of my chemise. I sigh as he pulls it down to expose my white breasts and rosy-pink buds. He gazes in reverential silence, then begins gently kneading them in his glacial hands, pinching my stiff nipples between his fingers while I squirm in pleasure. Dr Dryden’s face is impassive as he touches me, but I sense his excitement, taut like a wire within him.
‘You’re a very beautiful girl, Florence,’ he says, his voice wavering slightly, as he continues to toy with my tender peaks. My face is burning that I’m half naked and writhing under his watchful gaze. But I’m hot and yearning for his touch, and I can’t seem to control myself.
He’s making me lose my mind.
Moisture drips from between my thighs and soaks the bedsheets. My arousal scents the air, and his nostrils flare. I know he wants me like I want him—I can sense it keenly.
Desperately seeking relief, I rip my chemise down the middle so I’m completely naked, but I don’t care. I grab one of his large elegant hands off my breast and move it lower, towards my sex, shivering in anticipation.
He gives a low chuckle and says, ‘Naughty girl,’ but doesn’t pull away. Yet his hand, the one I’m currently guiding between my legs, trembles slightly. His eyes drop to my neck again, and he licks his lips.
‘Damn you, Charlie,’ he says softly. It’s so quiet I almost miss it, but my hearing has become surprisingly sensitive.
He must be having second thoughts about interfering with his son’s governess, but it’s a bit late for that.
I drive his hand between my legs and moan as his fingers stroke my wetness while his other hand runs over my breasts, tugging lightly on my nipples.
‘Yes,yes,’ I groan and undulate my hips to gain more friction from his stroking fingers. There’s an insatiable pulsing need between my thighs—and only he can relieve it.
But Dr Dryden suddenly stops stroking me and cups my entire sex firmly, as if to steel himself not to dip his fingers between my damp folds.What is he doing?I fume.He needs to touch me properly.Frustrated, I open my thighs wide and rub against his hand wantonly, seeking my pleasure and not caring a jot about propriety.
‘My master,’ I moan. ‘Mylord.’
Suddenly, there’s a growl, a flash of white teeth, a whirl of a black jacket.
And I’m alone in the room, wild-eyed and unsatiated. I let out a mournful howl—loud enough to wake the dead.
Chapter 15
Damian | Edinburgh, present day
Florence and I walk up The Mound heading towards Ramsay Garden. It feels natural that we’re holding hands, after my attempts to warm hers up. But they’re still as frosty as ever despite my concerted efforts. I could tell Florence thought it was amusing, but I might do some research on that. What with the high pain threshold and bad circulation, her physiology is starting to interest me as much as her personality.
My degree is in dentistry, but I initially had plans to be a surgeon as I find human anatomy fascinating. I used to have a much moremorbidinterest in it. A knee-jerk reaction to what happened with Juliana, I suppose. I haven’t analysed it too deeply. But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting to take care of your loved ones …
‘This way, dreamy. It’s up the hill.’ Florence tugs on my hand, and I’m roused from my thoughts. As we start to climb higher, the historic Ramsay Garden apartments come into view. Their red-and-white exteriors, towers, and turretsstand out against the skyline. It’s pretty cool that Florence lives in one of them. Looking back, the Georgian buildings of New Town are spread out below; in front is the honey-coloured National Gallery, and next to it, the blackened Gothic spire of Scott Monument. The sound of distant bagpipes floats on the breeze.
‘How long have you lived up here?’ I ask conversationally.
‘About seven years,’ Florence replies.
That means she must’ve been living here since she was 20. Her date of birth was on her dental records, and she’s 27, two years younger than me. Regardless of that, her skin is smooth and clear without a wrinkle. Still it’s no indication of a woman’s age these days as she could be using Botox. I’m not judging.
I stop for a breather and to peer through the wrought-iron gate at the neatly maintained private back gardens.
‘Do you rent, or does one of your flatmates own the apartment?’ I enquire.
‘We own it between us,’ she says after a pause.
