March, 1889 — Yaxley Home

The first time he'd properly seduced her had been at a cottage on the cliffs that he'd procured for the occasion. He may have kissed her in an upstairs room at someone else's party, but he wasn't going to undress her there; nothing that felt rushed or cheap. That was the whole point of their affair, at least half of what he gave to her that her husband couldn't; he made her feel wanted, desired, cherished. Every scene had to feel intentional — and, at least in the beginning, sickeningly romantic. A cottage on the cliffs. He'd told her when to arrive. He'd had a lavish dinner set out before she came, wine already decanting. The sun was setting in brilliant hues while he unlaced her dress. He'd kissed her shoulder blades and whispered poetry along the curve of her neck, and still sent her back at a respectable hour.

They'd been sleeping together for months by now, and clearly not every tryst could be like the first one. They had transitioned from spots he arranged to her residence, when she knew her husband would be out for hours. The sun set too early in the winter for him to see her bathed in all those colors very often. But while the sunroom off her garden might have been less overtly romantic than the cottage, Don Juan tried to keep the spirit of these meetings the same. She needed him to see her; when he came to her she was the only thing on his mind.

He'd brought a box of strawberries today. It was still early in the season for strawberries but these ones had been grown in a hothouse, and perhaps with a hint of magical assistance; they were lush red and plump and perfectly heart-shaped. He had used one to teasingly coax her mouth open prior to his first kiss. He'd placed another on her tongue right after he started undressing her, with the mischievous admonishment not to make too much noise while he revealed, caressed, and kissed her skin bit by bit.

Don Juan made a point of undressing her fully every time he visited. Nothing rushed, nothing cheap. After he gently pushed her into a reclining position on the chaise, completely naked, he took a moment to soak in the look of her, relishing the sight. This view was his alone. When she slept with her husband — if she even did anymore; they had by and large left off talking about Mr. Yaxley once they'd fallen into their habit of routine visits — he would have come to her room when the lights were dimmed, or off. She would have worn a nightgown, and he probably didn't bother to remove it. Even if he did, he wouldn't have seen her like this — confident, relaxed, resplendent. Don Juan's own personal queen, dark and alluring and powerful.

"All that's best of dark and bright meet in your aspect and your eye," he quoted to her, trusting her to catch the reference without his having to explain it. He put a hand between her legs and dipped his mouth to her breast. He liked to start this way, with the focus all on her; he liked to feel her quivering around him with the aftershocks of pleasure by the time he rolled her into position on top of her. He kept on this way until her body begged for more, until her hips thrust forward against his hand and the room had begun to smell of sex — then he broke off with a lascivious grin and lowered himself to his knees to put his tongue to work.

---