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Two fingers dotted her clit, and a feeling of wonder rushed through Charlotte. A moan again escaped her lips. Her eyes latched onto his. It was impossible pleasure. It was nothing she’d thought would ever be allowed to her. Slowly, he began to shift his fingers over her clit, producing a soft sound as she grew wetter and wetter.
“You’re so good, Charlotte,” he whispered. “You’re good for me. And I’m going to keep you safe.”
Slowly, Jeffrey led her towards orgasm. The back of her mind felt as though it exploded. Her lips formed a round O, and she collapsed into his arms as she moaned and gasped. His hands returned to her waist, and he tugged her into him, kissing her softly, with his eyes closed. When their kiss released, they whispered their love for one another once more.
Both recognized that it was time to return to the dinner party. It wasn’t as though they’d escaped any sort of gossip—they weren’t idiotic enough to believe that. Still, Charlotte felt too frightened to go “all the way” at the moment. There was too much at stake and too much fear that simmered in her belly.
When they reappeared in the garden, Louisa caught her eye and delivered a sterling smile, one that said,I know precisely what you’ve been up to. Don’t think you got away with it.
Still, it seemed that nobody else had noticed. Peter shot towards Jeffrey to speak with him about something business-oriented, while Margorie waved Charlotte over to discuss her wedding dress. In these conversations—everyday, banal ones that seemed to exist at such dinner parties—Charlotte was allowed a small moment of reprieve.
Yes, someone was out to murder both her and Jeffrey.
Yes, she was afraid.
And yes, she was falling in love.
But it seemed altogether too much. So she found herself nodding along, grateful for these soft moments, for Margorie’s laughter as Charlotte suggested she simply walk down the aisle “naked,” like Eve herself. It felt fine to be normal. Normal was something to be craved.
