It’s the first time I’ve been back since just after her father died and I’ve wished I could take the leave entitled to those whose family members are sick or struggling, but no one knows about us. She isn’t officially mine. She still feels like she is Ben’s, and she is. She just doesn’t know it.
I hold her tighter as the guilt gnaws its way at me. I could ease some of her pain if I told her he was alive and that he was less than five miles from where she stood. Instead I kiss her to keep the words from leaving my mouth.
“Do you want something to eat?” she says as we collapse down onto the sofa.
Blair drapes herself across it, a long leg slipping out from the robe. It’s inches of creamy, smooth skin and as much as I should be the gentleman and remember she’s in mourning and that Ben is alone, I can’t stop myself from running my hand up it.
Her intake of breath is sharp. She watches me through feline eyes, her body still and tense.
Franklyn has slipped away without being noticed. The chess game is on pause. The castle appears silent apart from us.
“Where is everyone?” My voice is deliberately low and quiet. I don’t want to upset the ghosts that some times feel ever-present around here.
“My mother is with my aunt. And we have no guests. Not at the moment. Not until after the funeral, apart from family.”
I could ask about Lachlan and whether he’s been since her father died. There’s been plenty of speculation in the press, but no comment from the Stewarts, all two of them. A dignified silence.
“So it’s just us?”
She makes a sound in agreement and I see something in her eyes I recognise: lust. It’s been there when she’s looked at Ben, sometimes when she’s looked at me, but not like now.
“I feel like you want to use me.”
Her hand soars to take hold of my tie. She pulls lightly on it. “Maybe I do. I feel like I should abandon everything that I enjoy for the sake of my father, but I’m not sure there are any rules to this.”
“I don’t think there are.”
She undoes my tie and starts to undo each button, taking her time to touch the skin that’s exposed with each one. There’s a slow hunger to her actions and I can tell that she’s losing herself and whatever has been consuming her.
When she’s done with my shirt she drops to her knees on the floor in front of me, neat fingers undoing my pants and freeing my cock that’s been hard since I first pulled her to me. She licks up the length and takes the tip in her mouth, running her tongue around the top and pressing where she knows she’ll get the reaction she wants. I let my head fall back against the sofa and watch her, the blonde fairy-queen, working magic I know I don’t deserve.
I don’t come in her mouth. It isn’t out of a desire for sainthood, just the need to fill her elsewhere and stake that claim. I pull her up to my lap and sit her down, her legs straddling me, my hand underneath her dressing gown and inside her pyjamas, pushing them down her legs to give me room, then my fingers pushing in her pussy and my other hand playing with her clit.
She never takes long like this. I’ve learned how to drag out her orgasm; take her to the edge and hold her there or to make her come quickly and again and again and again until she sobs for me to stop. Tonight I want her ready and needy enough to take my cock here in this room, surrounded by things that have a longer history than I’ll ever understand.
I replace my fingers with my cock as she starts to come, thrusting up into her and then holding her hips to steady her and set the pace myself. It looks like some Victorian erotic image, her white sleepwear covering every inch of her, the dressing gown having slipped off her shoulder and her tits straining at the silken top. What we’re doing is obvious; her face is flushed and she’s mewling as she drives towards another orgasm. It looks like a perfect scene.
She clutches my shoulders as she comes again, her body falling boneless. I hold her up, finishing almost violently inside of her and then she slumps to my chest, her breathing heavy and laboured.
“Feel better?”
I feel her nod, feel her warm breath against my skin.
“I wish Ben had been there too.”
And I understand what she means; it had been the perfect position for both of us to be inside her.
I hold her and don’t say anything, my chest tight and the room airless.
I won’t sleep tonight.
* * *
It’s only just turning light by the time I get to the cabin. Ben is already up, sitting by the fire reading some book he’s found. He looks up when I enter, but doesn’t stir, not at first.
I lose my coat because it’s warm inside. Ben watches me as I take it off, his eyes giving nothing away as to what he’s feeling or thinking.
“I can smell her perfume.” His words fracture the air. “You spent the night with her?”
