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For a few moments, silence filled the small, black space inside the crate. Utter, complete silence.
‘What,’ I asked very slowly and deliberately, ‘did you say?’
‘I said “spread your legs”.’ He sounded surprised that I hadn’t understood, and slightly irked that I hadn’t immediately done as he commanded. ‘Go on, it’s not that difficult. The left leg to the left, the right leg to the right.’
‘I know what “spread your legs” means!’
‘Well, then there’s no problem, is there? Hurry up, Mr Linton, we haven’t got all night.’
Now, let me clarify: I didn’t know all too much about what went on between men and women behind locked doors. My aunt had never been very specific on the subject of sexual congress, and the one time I had asked her, she nearly bit my head off and told me ladies did not talk about such lowly matters. But I did, at least, know enough to realize that spreading your legs was not something you did for a man, especially if this man was not married to you, not interested in you, and was stuck with you in a crate full of wood wool inside a steel warship on the way to God only knows where!
And he was so close… so terribly close! If he came even closer to me now, pressed to the very centre of my body, I did not know what would happen. I was afraid a lot might happen. I was even more afraid that nothing would happen at all.
‘Mr Linton? I am waiting.’
Slowly, tortuously slowly, I slid my legs apart. I could feel his hard thighs pressing against the insides of mine, forcing their way into the opening until they rested solidly there, in my midst.
‘That feels better,’ Mr Ambrose said contentedly. ‘Now we should be able to get going.’
Switch off your imagination, Lilly! Switch off your imagination now!
A moment later, I heard a dull thud as his shoulders collided with the lid of the crate with the force of a rampaging bull. Again and again, he struck out, upward and forward, making the crate rock violently, and needless to say, myself along with it.
There followed a few moments of panting and hammering in the dark. Finally, his attacks ceased, and he collapsed on top of me, breathing hard.
‘This is quite vexing, Mr Linton. I cannot get the infernal thing to budge.’
I had trouble finding my voice to answer him. My mind was in a hot, foggy place very far away.
‘Err… thing? Thing? What thing, Sir?’
‘The lid of course, Mr Linton. Stay focused.’
His hard muscles digging into me… his laboured breathing right above me, only inches away…
‘Focused… Focused, of course, Sir!’
‘What is the matter with you? You’re sweating, and shivering all over. Are you ill?’
His hips bucking into me… his breath hot on my overheated skin…
‘N-no, Sir. I simply find it rather hot in here. Don’t you, Sir?’
‘To be absolutely accurate, I could not care less about the climatic conditions in here, Mr Linton. We have to get that lid open.’
‘Why are you in such a hurry?’ My voice sounded rather dreamy. I felt rather dreamy all around. The last few minutes had been a… well, let us call it an ‘interesting experience’.
‘Don’t you see? Mr Linton, if we do not get the crate open, the ship might sail with us on board, and we would be stuck in here together until we reach our destination!’
I gazed up at the dark shape of the man above me. My eyes had grown used to the gloom by now, and I could make out his classical Greek profile, his strong arms and his dark, dark, sea-coloured eyes.
‘And that would be bad because…?’
There was a pause.
‘Mr Linton?’
‘Yes, Sir?’
