‘Do you like…?’ He gestured to the bench she was sitting on.
She glanced down, almost surprised to see the bolt of golden fabric still on her knees. ‘Yes, I…’ She looked up and caught sight of his chest again and her words disappeared, as if the spring breeze had carried them away, leaving nothing behind but him.
She stood, her cushion and book tumbling to the ground unheeded. Petals brushed the back of her hand, their touch soft and delicate.
‘Emily.’ His voice was low and husky, pulling at something deep inside of her.
She took a step forward, her gaze locking with his, his dark brown eyes burning. She swallowed and took another step.
‘Emily,’ he said again, a plea or a warning, perhaps both.
‘Freddie,’ she answered, reaching out an arm to him, silently asking for him to show her what to do next. Should she run? Return home and never look back? Or should she stay and find out what it was like to brush her fingers over the hollow at the base of his neck?
‘I… we…’ Freddie began but his words petered out as he took several steps towards her.
They were close now, their gaze still locked, their breathing ragged.
She reached up and lightly touched the pulse at the base of his neck. It raced, an echo of her own thundering heart.
She ran her fingers down the centre of his chest, sliding to the side of his waist, his bare skin shockingly warm under her palms.
His eyes closed, his lips lightly parting.
She took a final step closer, her thighs sliding against his, the front of her dress brushing his chest, her palms sweeping across his lower back.
‘Emily,’ he breathed again, her name a prayer, an acceptance.
His long fingers grazed the curve of her neck, his thumb tracing the length of her jaw, sending shivers down her spine.
She whimpered in response, the sound like nothing she’d ever made before. She ran her hands up the length of his back, the ridges of his spine bumping under her skin. He groaned as her fingers curved over the nape of his neck and into his silky hair, the sound reverberating in her belly.
She tilted her head up towards him; his breath whispered across her forehead, her cheek. His eyes were open again, dark and full of a desperate yearning.
‘I want…’ she whispered, not sure what she wanted exactly, only knowing that it was Freddie who could end this desperate pressure building inside her.
He frowned, almost a look of pain crossing his face, but before she could ask, his lips brushed against hers, the softest of caresses, another question, this one as delicate as a petal. She answered by moving her lips against his, copying his movement, not knowing whether what she was doing was right or wrong but wanting to learn the rhythm of him.
His lips pressed firmer this time, the hint of his tongue against her mouth. She wanted more, to know what he tasted like, to hear him groan again but this time against her. His arm tightened, pulling her flush against him. His other hand cradled her face, his thumb sweeping against her jaw, his fingers nudging into her hair, the touch deliciously sensitive.
Her hands took on a life of their own, studying this new world as if mapping the territory of his skin were vital work that had to be donenow, that if it wasn’t, time would cease to exist. Every curve of his spine, every dip and hollow were traced as his tongue tangled with hers. She was not sure which one of them groaned and whimpered, probably both of them. But it was he who growled as her fingertips brushed along the edge of his waistband, his lips travelling down the length of her neck, nipping at the skin, causing her to pull him even tighter towards her.
She barely knew what happened between a man and a woman, but she knew that she did not want this moment to ever end. Freddie seemed to be experiencing the same building desperation as his kisses became bigger, his arm around her tighter, one palm cradling her head, holding her steady against him.
Later, she would wonder whether they would have gone on forever, but the precious moment ended in the cruellest of ways by her mother’s shrill voice. ‘Emily Rose Hawkins, stop that right now.’
Freddie dropped his hands as if she’d suddenly burst into flames and he was getting burned, the look of desire and reverence on his face changing instantly to horror, his eyes almost comically wide. Cold air rushed over her, chilling her body. He stepped backwards, almost tripping over a root before righting himself. It wouldn’t have mattered if he had managed to sprout wings and fly from the scene, the worst was already done.
Stillness settled over Emily, an almost preternatural calm, like the quiet moments before a raging storm. She kept her gaze on Freddie, not turning to where her mother must be standing. Instead, she searched his face for a trace of what he might be feeling. But he was no longer looking at her and she could not read the emotions that were flickering in his eyes.
Her legs trembled, as if unsure whether to keep still or to run. Still she could not turn and look at her mother; her rage would be incandescent, her fury explosive.
Emily’s presence here, in a space that did not belong to them, acting in a way that was not proper, was a huge betrayal by the daughter who had always been a disappointment. Emily could not even begin to guess at the horror of her punishment. Trembling moved through her body, until it was as if her whole body was vibrating, her heart racing violently.
The silence was unending, spilling continuously into the space around them.
Nobody moved.
A bubble of laughter formed in her stomach, pushing upwards, threatening her cheeks with a face-splitting smile. She clenched herhands into fists, holding her breath, desperately trying to stop it from emerging.
