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“Come here,” she invited.
Cradled in between her knees, he rested his head on her bosom.
“Here, let me take these,” and took off his spectacles to place them on the side table.
From her core, his hand had wandered to her back and now caressed a delectable nether cheek.
His voluminous crotch found itself snuggled in her centre, and his imagination saw himself freeing it to try and fit where she said he would. He dared not, though. After asking to see her…parts, he had used up any right for further explorations.
“Thank you,” he ventured as her fingers rolled in his hair.
; “For what?”
“Letting me see your flower.”
She breathed a small grin. “I’d never thought about it like that,” her voice smiling.
“What would you call it?” His hand had abandoned her back and climbed up her bodice.
“I don’t really know.” That palm covered one breast over the bodice. “What about you?”
“Cock, I suppose.” The thumb glided over the tight nipple eliciting an approving sound from her.
“Hm, makes sense,” she replied. He lowered her bodice. Blue eyes darted to him. “What are you doing?”
A noise on the stairs outside alerted them of Mrs Marsh. Quickly they put themselves to rights and caught their books when the knock came. The housekeeper come in to ask them if they needed anything before she retired.
In the morning, they sat in the study to continue their work. The lecture would be that week, and they needed to write the final version of the paper.
Harriet slept like the angels. Not surprising after what Samuel did to her. When he issued his request in that tentative, soft voice of his, a mixture of eagerness and shyness invaded her. The will to grant him the opportunity to see a woman for the first time warred with the notions of modesty and decency ingrained in her from childhood.
But her memory argued that being a good girl and an exemplary wife had got her nowhere. The thought propelled her to grant his wish. Together with the frisson of being the first woman with whom he would experience it. Not for a millisecond did she imagine it would end as it did. The minute he had placed his long hands on her feet, the world tilted on its axes and transformed her from prissy governess to wanton widow in a question of seconds. The way he thoroughly explored the new element at hand threw her in a pit of need and greed. From which she did not rise until the final satisfaction he afforded her with so much generosity. As he lay on her bosom, she had this urge to ‘invite’ him in, reciprocate the joy he had given her. Just as she had been about to do so, the housekeeper’s steps on the stairs prompted her to scramble from her lying position into her usual modesty.
Something made her raise her gaze to him. Like the previous evening, there was a stillness about him that drew her attention. Blue eyes clashed with green behind spectacles. The stillness came from the tension wrapping him like cords. His hands gripped his open book, short puffs leaving his nostrils and angry red washing his skin.
“I need a moment,” he said and jumped from his chair to exit without giving her the chance to answer.
Like that day when they started the paper, he excused himself due to his unmanageable arousal. The study door clicked politely, but she heard his rushed steps up the stairs.
Without thinking or questioning what she was doing, she stood up and climbed to the second floor.
At this hour, Mrs Marsh must be in the kitchen preparing luncheon.
Harriet halted before his door, put her hand up to knock, and stopped. The surprise element might be better. He had done so much for her in this regard, she wanted to do the same for him.
Silently, she opened the guest chambers.
And froze.
Samuel was unbuttoning the last button on his breeches when the flap fell down, evincing a considerable bulge marking his undergarment. The pristine shirt bunched around tapered waist. He removed the underclothes to display the most magnificent member at which she had ever had the pleasure of staring. Erect to its full capacity, erupting from a cradle of ginger hair, it stood proud with a furious red, bulbous glans emerging from the retreated prepuce, wet with extreme arousal. Tight testicles snuggled between his long, sparsely hairy thighs. She wished she could see all of him completely naked in his lean, elegant glory.
One hand flicked on the wood, closing them inside the sheltered place. The noise drew his attention.
He turned, palms splayed on his sides, disclosing his state to her, there was no cockiness in it, nor false modesty, simply the statement of a fact.
“That is so weird,” he said hoarse. “I can’t be in the same room as you without going hard to the point of explosion, like a lunatic.” One hand hang on his hip, the other rubbed his nape, stretching his body for her appreciation, that male part of him bobbing with the movement.
