She placed something on an end table with a small plunk and stepped forward again.
“I’m not exactly sure how to say this,” she whispered before he could ask what she was doing.
He peered through the darkness at her grave, determined face, worry etched into her brow.
Something was wrong. Very wrong. He sat up a little straighter. “You can tell me,” he assured her. “Has something happened?” A horrifying thought occurred to him. “Are the children all right?”
She shook her head. “No. The children are fine. At least as far as I know.”
“What is it about?” If not about them, why would she come to him in the middle of the night like this? “Is it the staff?” he asked. “Have any of them—”
“It’s not the staff,” she interrupted, an odd frustration edging her voice.
“If not the children or the staff…”
She gulped a large, audible breath. “I want you to have sexual intercourse with me. Again.”
Roger stared through the darkness as his mind attempted to make sense of the words. He couldn’t have heard right, could he?
“Beg pardon?” He pinched his own arm to verify that he was indeed awake.
“Sexual intercourse,” she repeated, swaying a little so the moonlight caught her chemise, and he could see the full outline of her shapely legs, up to the juncture of her thighs. He swallowed, pressing the pillow harder over his lap.
Mercy.
“It’s when you—” she started, oblivious to his clear, nearly uncontrollable desire.
“I know what the word means. You used it earlier this evening,” he reminded her, pinching the bridge of his nose as he attempted to regain some semblance of control of his person. “And how to do it. With you.”
“Yes. I recall. Hence, I added the ‘again’ to my request.” Shefolded her arms tightly across her chest. “You admitted that the last time was excellent,” she continued. “Thus, after considering our conversation earlier, I have a counterproposal for you regarding the subject.”
“Beg pardon?” His mind spun.
The woman drew in a deep breath. “I propose that while I’m here, while neither of us is married or betrothed, that we engage in that activity once again,” she told him, her manner breathtakingly calm.
He should say no. He should tell her that this was not appropriate behavior for a host, nor for a guest. He should tell her that nothing good could come of it, no matter how much his body screamed yes.
But his foolish mouth said nothing of the sort.
“Once or multiple times?” he asked instead.Merde. Madness. This entire conversation was madness. He needed to calm himself down and take control lest they did something they’d regret. That they’d enjoy but most certainly would still regret.
“Multiple times,” she responded without hesitation, her voice completely serious. “Unless you prefer merely once more. If so, I suppose I could stimulate myself when necessary. I do have the means and access to masturbatory assistance and am quite thusly accomplished.”
His mouth fell open. Both from the nonchalant way she said the words, but also from the images now plaguing his overly desirous mind.
“With your hand or with an implement or with both?” he asked, because any and all “control” was gone.
“Both.” She cleared her throat. “Do you recall the trunk you carried for me earlier?”
“It’s pretty difficult to forget.” He frowned as he searched for the thread of conversation. What did that have to do with—
“It contains the molds I use to render condoms,” she explained.
Roger could only blink. “Beg pardon?”
“Condoms? Prophylactics?” she repeated, as if he didn’t understand the word. She indicated the item she’d placed on the table. “There’s one in that jar.”
“You came prepared,” he murmured, glancing at it and then back to her. “And yes, I am familiar with the device.”
