Looking back, Elfrieda should have known better than to make the noise she made when Don Juan started to do that thing he did with his tongue, the thing he knew would make her squirm and push on his head a little — not hard enough to push him away, of course, just enough to prolong the pleasure. They were in the habit of taking their time with this; Elfie thought in fact that Don Juan would be happy to do this, almost, forever.
With the maid sent on errands and Clifford out of the house, she felt secure enough to let her guard down. She had made the noise, there was no denying it — foolish, she had been foolish.
Now someone called her name. For a moment she froze. "Henrietta? Come back later, please," she called out. There was a small voice in her head that alerted her that the maid Henrietta was not in the habit of calling her Elfie. That would not be proper for a servant. But, she had to admit, that voice of caution was barely a whisper. There was another matter on her mind -- and the return of the maid meant that Don Juan would soon get up and disapparate, as he had done a few times when they were interrupted in their privacy.
"Hurry," she whispered to Don Juan, "I'm almost there." She threaded her fingers tenderly into his dark curls. "If you get me there before you go," she coaxed him, teasingly, "I'll make it up to you tonight."
That was another bad habit she was indulging lately — to disapparate in the middle of the night and meet her lover, just for a few hours. She knew now that what she had read in her books was not devoid of truth: two people could really feel like there was no way to get enough of each other.
It would have been good, Elfie sometimes thought, to have known that before she got married.
With the maid sent on errands and Clifford out of the house, she felt secure enough to let her guard down. She had made the noise, there was no denying it — foolish, she had been foolish.
Now someone called her name. For a moment she froze. "Henrietta? Come back later, please," she called out. There was a small voice in her head that alerted her that the maid Henrietta was not in the habit of calling her Elfie. That would not be proper for a servant. But, she had to admit, that voice of caution was barely a whisper. There was another matter on her mind -- and the return of the maid meant that Don Juan would soon get up and disapparate, as he had done a few times when they were interrupted in their privacy.
"Hurry," she whispered to Don Juan, "I'm almost there." She threaded her fingers tenderly into his dark curls. "If you get me there before you go," she coaxed him, teasingly, "I'll make it up to you tonight."
That was another bad habit she was indulging lately — to disapparate in the middle of the night and meet her lover, just for a few hours. She knew now that what she had read in her books was not devoid of truth: two people could really feel like there was no way to get enough of each other.
It would have been good, Elfie sometimes thought, to have known that before she got married.
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