“Wait,” he said. He leaned over her and got the candle and repositioned himself so he was below her on the bed very close to her glistening sex. He could see and smell the evidence of her desire. The glistening of her wetness, the odor of her sweet musk.
She took her hand away and started to close her legs.
“Please dinnae stop,” he said.
“I didn’t expect you to get so close,” she whispered but kept her legs open.
He smiled. “Iama doctor.”
“Yes,” she said and smiled.
“And yer flower is, like ye, beautiful.”
“My flower,” she breathed.
“Ye have petals,” he said and reached out and very lightly touched her swollen labia and then withdrew his hand.
She shuddered. “Yes, and this is my bud.” And she touched what he would have called her glans clitoris.
“Aye.”
His eyes were on her hand as she dipped her middle finger into her introitus and withdrew it, coated in dew. “It is my bud that gives me pleasure.” She touched it now with her middle finger. “There are other places where I can press and rub and it makes me wet but if I am to spend,” she increased the speed of her finger’s movements, “this is the place where I must touch myself.”
“Please dinnae stop.”
“I ... won’t.”
He wanted to touch her but he also wanted to see what she did to make herself spend so he gripped her tiny ankle and watched.
Her breathing became more and more ragged and he lifted his eyes from her flower to her face and found her eyes on him.
“Alasdair, when I tell you, will you look at my face?”
“Whatever ye want, Arabella.”
So she gazed at him as he gazed at her flower, which had not been taken from her, that she would always have and that would always be part of her.
He watched what she did and he thought he would be able to replicate the movement of her finger and when she said, “Alasdair,” he looked up and saw a concentration in her eyes, a furrowing of her brows. He thought it might be a signal of her impending release. And he was right. She shook and her hand stilled and she shook some more and she gasped. And her look changed and became something so peaceful that he thought she might fall asleep in that moment.
He carefully put the candle back beside the bed and lay down next to her and held her. But he was wrong about her drowsiness. She reached out and grasped his hard member.
“Please,” she said.
“Now?”
She did not answer but turned her face to him, looking at him with half-lidded eyes, and rubbed her hand up and down on his shaft. And then, quite naturally, he found himself on his knees between her legs again. And this time, she let go of his cock and he guided himself into her and she held on to his haunches and pulled him into her and raised her own pelvis up off the bed to meet him.
And having spent just minutes ago, he was able to thrust slowly, to enjoy the sweetness of her warmth, her wetness, her closeness, the pleasure of having her naked body rubbing against his.
And he could see her. Her hair spread out on the pillow. Her lips. Her breasts. Her eyes, hazed by either lust or sleep.
Lust, he decided as she then began to arch her body and clutch at his upper arms and his back. She was making the sounds she had made when he had suckled at her breast. Those wordless groans that came from such a deep place within her.
She was raising her hips to him in a faster rhythm now, wordlessly urging him to stroke into her more and more quickly now.
He plunged in again and withdrew.
“Uhhh,” she said. “Alasdair.”
