He’s torturing me, because he knows that we are in a public place. His hands rise along my thighs and just stop under the hem of the slip, lightly touching the lace of my stockings. He knows that I would invite him to continue.
“Hello, wife,” he whispers between one kiss and another.
I burn up, as if all the blood in my body has risen to my face. I never thought that two simple words could be this erotic.
“Do you know what we started?” He whispers.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say, short of breath.
“I couldn’t agree more.” He grasps my hand firmly and precedes me through the crowd, heading towards the exit.
We burst into Denby Hall, overwhelmed by uncontrollable passion, barely capable of climbing the stairs without parting from one another, ando Ashford takes me in his arms.
“Ashford,” I try and stop him as he runs his mouth down my neckline. “Your mother! Delphina’s here!”
“Delphina is full of Valium,” he replies, continuing to kiss me. “There’s a hundred and fifty rooms. No one will ever hear us.”
Without further hesitation, I let him pull my slip up to my waist, while I pull his shirt out of his trousers. Once we arrive at the doors of our apartments, Ashford looks at me with a naughty spark in his eyes and asks: “My place or yours?”
70
Ashford’s Version
She’s lying there, on her left side, and I’m right behind, hugging her. I sink my face into her hair to kiss her neck. Her skin has a unique scent I would recognise anywhere: it’s sweet, sugary, warm and enveloping. I inhale greedily and kiss her again. If I think about last night, nothing that happened seems real to me. Yet, it’s all true. When we came back home last night, we didn’t seem to be ourselves.
But it’s nothing like those hungover mornings in which you wake up with a pasty mouth, the aftertaste of vodka still on your palate, a stranger in your bed and, looking at yourself naked, you think: ‘Oh, fuck!’.
No, we were sober and, just to make sure, we told each other so more than once. We ended up in each other’s arms as conscious and consenting adults.
And it was incredible. We didn’t fall asleep until dawn. Jemma wouldn’t let me sleep, and neither would I let her. It was like breaking free from all our feelings, on the stairs, on the floor, and in bed.
Even after these few hours of sleep, which were more like a sort of trance for me, I feel that my desire is still burning and I’m ready to set hers on fire as well.
She rolls onto her back and we are now face to face, my lips almost touching hers.
“Good morning,” she whispers in a slightly hoarse voice.
“Hello, wife,” I let out the two magic words that triggered last night’s explosion.
We remain silent, stealing caresses which aren’t innocent enough for this early in the morning; in every part of my body that Jemma’s fingers touch, I feel the exact same sensations I felt last night. I had never thought this might happen, but… I want her again and again.
“I’d stay here all day, and another night,” she sighs, delighted.
“We can and we will. Your wish is a command. You’re not the Duchess of Burlingham for nothing. You can stay in bed as long as you want.”
“I’d like to stay in bed all day. With the Duke of Burlingham,” she whispers, sliding over me in order to keep our bodies in contact as much as possible, and I hold her there.
“May I offer you a delicious breakfast in bed, Jemma?” I ask her, nodding towards a cart the servants have left in the antechamber.
She answers with an unenthusiastic grimace. “I don’t know. I’m not a fan of having breakfast in bed.”
I look at her in amazement. “What? I don’t know anyone who doesn’t like having breakfast in bed!”
“You do it when you’re ill. Like, you eat in bed when you’re in hospital.”
I grab her by the hips and put her back on the mattress, keeping her down with my weight. “Let me bring you breakfast in bed, and we’ll see if I can change your mind about that hospital thing.”
She looks at me both curious and amused, as I push the cart laden with all kinds of delicious food to the bed.
