Chapter Ten
Scarlett had experienced nasty shocks before in her life.
She had been shocked by her father’s ruin and then again by his death.
She had been shocked when her fiancé, Thomas, abandoned her after these events.
And this circumstance was certainly shocking.
In fact, she wasn’t sure she had ever been so shocked.
She was so shocked, in fact, that she sat down on the bed without being conscious of it.
She had just had more intimate congress with a man than she ever had had before—and in her sleep.
Scarlett sat there, merely stunned, for she knew not how long. But despite the depth of her shock, it was not, she had to conclude, necessarily an unpleasant one. She could remember what she felt in the space between waking and sleeping, when she had been in his embrace.
She flushed hot again and then again.
He was so handsome. Afterward, he had sat there in the bed, completely unclothed.
She had been unable to see his cock because it was covered by the bedsheet, but she had feasted on the rest of him.
His broad, muscled chest and shoulders, his freckle-dappled skin.
He was tanner, a bit more golden, than one would expect.
He was so beautiful that she had found it difficult to carry on the conversation, to express the outrage she knew she must. She could hardly believe that she had actually been folded into his arms, and that his—his most intimate part had been wedged between her thighs, and that he had actually—
She had been very aroused upon waking with him.
There was no denying it to herself.
She had been on the precipice of her own climax, as she had been somewhere between her usual dreams and reality. She usually woke so inflamed that she had to hasten herself to orgasm, but in this case, she had been nearly there.
She could feel him against her still. His body hard and large, his member thrusting between her thighs—she could not believe she had experienced such a thing. It was beyond scandalous. Beyond anything that a lady should have knowledge of.
He had told her that he had improper dreams, which was very strange.
But she had never told another living soul about her own illicit dreams, so it was impossible he should know such a thing about her.
Before that revelation, she had wondered if he had intended to defile her and get away with it.
If he saw her as so inconsequential that he could take what he wanted and trust her to say nothing.
But his behavior soon ruled out such a possibility.
His admission of his dreams had first softened her suspicions, but his proposal of marriage had killed them.
He certainly couldn’t want to marry her.
He certainly didn’t find her physically enticing—except, perhaps, in his sleep, when any woman might do—and she had no fortune to make marrying her advantageous.
No. It must be as he said. As he insisted. A horrible mistake.
What were the chances that the two people who slept deeply and had such dreams would end up in a bed together?
What a grotesque twist of fate.
As she sat there on the bed, in her stupor, her body still pulsed with want.
She felt him behind her again, how sinful it was, and how delicious.
She had been dimly aware throughout their conversation—or was it more of an argument?
—that she was slick between her legs. She had likewise a dim conception of what occurred when a man found bliss, and she had felt a slippery sensation between her own thighs.
Scarlett pulled up her chemise and investigated for the first time. Between her thighs, she was very wet, and she realized it must be a combination of the evidence of his spend and her own desire.
Could he really find her so unattractive, she thought, if he had found ecstasy against her? Perhaps it was merely that, in his dream, he imagined another woman completely.
But the idea was too tempting. Perhaps, on some level, he did find her comely. Comely enough, anyway.
She ran her fingers through the slipperiness that coated her upper thighs and then up to her core. There, she found more of a familiar wetness. She parted herself easily, gasping at how wet and wanting she was.
Scarlett couldn’t help it. She began to touch herself in quick, desperate strokes. She let her fingers trail downward to the seed he had left on her, and brought that up to her core, filling herself with this remnant of him.
She was already plenty wet, but the thought of his seed inside her, that he had found pleasure against her, hastened her onward. She filled herself with her fingers and imagined that it was the hard, blazing cockstand she had felt for a moment between her legs.
She gasped and came, barely able to stifle the cry that flew out of her mouth.
She leaned back on the bed, panting, utterly exhilarated and flushed with shame.
When she caught her breath, she felt the urge to cry.
But she didn’t.
She didn’t understand what had happened between her and Mr. Malcolm Brown. But she knew she had been right when she told him that they must forget it.
She must try not to think of the man, she decided, as she began to drift off to sleep once again.
She must let him vex her no more.
She must forget that it had ever happened.