The only spoon she could find was a huge one that Cook used for, well, cooking, but it would do. The servants had clearly had trifle for dinner too, but luckily there was a good half-bowl left. She greedily dug her spoon straight in.
My god, it was good. She’d always thought the M&S raspberry trifle was the best, but the addition of a layer of ginger cake instead of lady fingers was pure genius. She didn’t miss the jelly at all, preferring the thick layer of sweet yet sharp jam-like raspberry coulis there instead.
She was just a spoon in when she heard the quiet sound of feet on the stone flagstones and looked up, too drunk to be afraid. There in front of her was the subject of her trifle-related fantasies, looking rumpled with hair flying in all directions and his shirt untucked into his knee-britches.
Max stopped, swaying slightly. ‘Miss Bainbridge,’ hecroaked, sounding like he too had been fast asleep only moments ago. ‘Trifle.’
She giggled and put on her Lady Best impression. ‘Why, Lord Stanhope. Have you come to trifle with me?’
He sighed. ‘I should have known you’d be here, Etta. You’ve invaded every corner of my thoughts and now here you are, invading the delicious, delicious trifle, too.’
Etta laughed as he made a grab for the spoon and hopped away. ‘No, it’s mine, all mine! Bad man! No trifle for you! … Oh!’ She had overloaded her spoon and, firm as it was, some trifle had fallen off.
They both looked down at Etta’s nightdress. A cold dollop of cream and custard had landed on her left nipple, which had immediately peaked beneath the thin fabric.
His eyes widened. ‘You really should clean that up.’
‘Why don’t you clean it up for me?’ she replied saucily.
To both of their surprise, Max lowered his mouth to her nightdress-covered breast and sucked off the custard. He pulled back suddenly, eyes dark with lust and longing.
Etta looked at him appraisingly, then, without breaking eye contact, brought the spoon to her right breast.
‘Etta. I’m not sure I can control myself if you …’
‘Then don’t.’
She slowly and deliberately dropped custard on her nipple. His eyes darkened even further and she knew she had him.
He stepped forward again, looked her in the eyes one last time, then kissed her. ‘You’d better not get custard on my shirt, Miss Bainbridge.’
She leaned backwards across the table as he sucked on her second nipple. Instinctively, her legs opened to accommodate his and she felt his hardness against her core. She writhed as hereturned to her first breast, needing more. The wet fabric pressed against her body as she felt his tongue and fingers moving across her hard nipples.
He pulled back to adjust himself, looking down at her in the moonlight. She felt completely open to him, dizzy not just with wine but with lust, and yes – yes, love. It coursed through her – rivers and rivers of love.
‘Oh, Etta,’ he whispered tenderly. ‘What shall I do with you?’
It was a rhetorical question, but one she knew how to answer. The spoon lay abandoned next to her and she fumbled for it before sitting up.
She raised her skirts to her knees, feeling braver and more beautiful than she ever had before, then went to smear the last of the trifle … who knew where?
His mouth quirked into a wicked grin. ‘I’ll take that, thank you very much.’
He took the spoon from her and gave her a quick kiss, pushing her back onto the table, then disappeared. She felt hands on her ankle, and then her knees, and then up the insides of her thighs. Then she felt the cold touch of metal, cream and custard on the most intimate part of her.
Then, finally, his tongue, sliding up her body, and again, pushing inside, exploring her. Oh my, but Max was good at this.
He started slowly, judging her body by her sounds and movements. She soon lost herself to the feeling of his tongue, his fingers until her orgasm swept over her. She felt it all the way to her toes.
Max came up to kiss her neck, his hand gripping himself through his trousers as he desperately tried to keep it together.
‘More. Max, more.’
‘I can’t. Not here. Not on this table.’
He went to lift her up, but she protested and wriggled free. He began to groan, frustrated and desperate, but she held up the empty spoon and tapped him on the nose.
‘You’ll be needing those arms to carry that trifle bowl.’
