Her words were astonishing. Phoebe could scarcely believe she had spoken them. But she also refused to take them back and amend her statement. The magic that was unfolding in this room beckoned Phoebe onward, and she felt like she could not turn away from it.
“All right,” the stranger murmured. “Do you feel it, then, between your legs? Or…” He hesitated, and Phoebe had the urge to respond.
“Or?”
“Or in your breasts?”
She blinked down at the floor of the privacy chamber she sat in, aghast but aroused by the proposition. Her breasts were indeed heavy, and her nipples were peaked and straining against her gown.
“Yes,” she exhaled. “B-both.”
“Both?”
“Both,” she reaffirmed.
Her curiosity was piqued, and despite her inexperience, her tongue somehow guided her through the whole interaction.
“And how does it feel? Not in terms of mentality, but physicality.”
“It feels…” She breathed in deeply. “It feels like my skin is burning from the inside out.”
“And does that feel good?”
“Somehow, yes.”
“Good. Very good.” His praise was a whisper, a mere breath that Phoebe wished to chase despite everything else. “It is perfectly normal for desire to arise when one hears, or reads, such things. The only question remains is, do you wish to do anything about it?”
“Do anything?” Phoebe echoed. “How do you mean?”
“As you said, you read such books for pleasure and in your own time. Even if they are so not open, they still contain intimate scenes, yes?”
“Yes,” Phoebe answered quietly.
“And do you do anything with how they make you feel?”
The question came low, sultry, but also inquisitive, as if the stranger truly wanted to know.
“No,” she whispered, scandalized to even think of such a thing; she had yearned for touch, but she had never dared to explore.
Yet this was a stranger, and she was masked, and the night felt bold and infinite, like the shadows would keep her confessions. Phoebe needed that. Darkness had held too much terror for her; now, it worked in her favor. It kept her secrets safe.
“A shame,” he noted lightly. “You are missing out. I know the ways of our society and how ladies are raised. Still, pleasure is a wonderful thing, and you ought to let yourself feel it.”
Her thoughts ran strangely wild. She had spent her life being shuttled from one righteous prison to another, except for the time she spent with her grandfather. Reflexively, her hand slid up to her pendant with his name on it.
Graeme.
“I—”
“It is all right if you do not want to continue speaking about your feelings,” the stranger assured her. “It was merely a curious question, not a push nor pressure.”
“And yet I liked it,” she whispered. “I only paused because…”
I am engaged. What we are doing, the way we are talking, feels inappropriate. If someone were to burst into this room right now, they might accuse me of infidelity.
A vision of Lord Birchwood’s face floated in Phoebe’s mind, and she gnashed her teeth at the thought of him.
He is an odious man. I despise him completely, yet I cannot allow this one indiscretion to ruin everything.
