Page 2 of The Language of Love

“Did you see anyone on your way up?” she asked as he carefully paced out her directions.

“No.” He barked his shin on something hard and gave a muffled yelp.

“Shhh.”

Henry frowned into the darkness. “It’s not like I wanted to hit my leg.”

“Where are you?” she hissed.

“I’m at the foot of your bed, I think.”

He heard the rustling of bedding, and then a warm, soft hand touched his. “Remove your clothes.”

“Wh-what?” It was his turn to stammer.

“We can hardly do it if you are clothed.” She paused and then added, “You have done this before, I hope?”

Her mocking tone made his face scald. “Of course, I have.”

“Well, take them off.”

“All of them?” he asked, still hesitating. He hadn’t anything off when he’d done it before, and he’d done it plenty. Albeit with other servants and not a noble lady.

“Henry…” she whispered, her soft voice making every hair on his body stand up. “Don’t you want to feel my bare skin on yours?”

“Gunph.” The inarticulate sound slipped from his mouth before he could catch it. His cock, which had already been leaking, went off like a fountain in his breeches.

Henry groaned and clutched the footboard of the bed while his climax boiled from his aching bollocks.

“Shhhhhhh!”

He was in no condition to argue.

“What are you doing, Henry?”

Henry somehow doubted she’d appreciate the answer to that question, so he gritted his teeth and willed away the mind-numbing pleasure as his fingers fumbled with the catches and buttons of his placket, toeing off his boots with leaden, clumsy feet. It was embarrassing and unfortunate, but it was so dark that she would never know what happened.

Hopefully.

By the time Henry tossed his shirt onto the floor, he’d nearly regained control of his extremities. His cock, ever willing, was almost up to full mast again.

“Henry, if you don’t get in here now, you’ll need—”

He climbed up onto the bed, and Julia gave a startled grunt. Henry patted the bedding. “Where are you? I can’t—”

Her ear-splitting scream was all the more shocking for the leaden quiet that suffused the darkness.

Henry gave a mortifying yelp and flung himself backward, like a shrimp scooting away from a predator. He was so close to the foot of the bed that he toppled off the end and landed flat on his back.

Julia screamed again and this time he had no breath left in his lungs to either squawk or demand what the hell was wrong.

The door flew open and the light from the corridor—which had seemed crepuscular when he’d made his way up—now blazed like the sun at midday.

“What is going on in here?” his cousin’s voice bellowed.

Henry was vaguely aware of Julia’s weeping, cloth-shrouded figure darting from the bed toward the door. “I woke up to find him on t-t-top of me, Charles! And he’s n-naked!”

By that point, Henry was actually grateful that he couldn’t speak.