Chapter 9 Annabelle
Annabelle
Istalk up through the Hall to my own chamber. When I arrive there, I close the door and slide down to the floor. My hands are shaking.
I am being ridiculous. What has the man done that is so affecting? Nothing.
Except that isn’t true. The way he opened himself up to me, the exquisite vulnerability he showed. I have never seen its like.
The look on his face as he watched me instruct him…I will not soon forget it. He looked at me as if I were a wonder, the most beautiful sight he ever laid eyes upon. I have had many lovers, but none looked at me like that. And none followed my commands with such sweet obedience.
I did not imagine these feelings when I thought of ruining this vicar and getting with child by him.
I imagined that I would use him and discard him.
It was to be just another display of my dominance over Trescott, over my father, over the village—but when he knelt before me, I did not feel in control.
I have always favored quiet, pretty men, yes, but Alfred Saintsbury is an extreme. I expected him to come to our encounters with some pride, some armor against me. But he surrendered so fully. He was completely bare of all pretense. It made me feel weak.
And I am not used to anyone making me feel weak, except for, perhaps, a few old friends like the Ludlows. Certainly not a man, certainly not a lover.
I need to guard myself better.
Next time I will.
I need to complete my objective. I need to bed him, properly, and get with child.
I can enjoy him, but I cannot get caught up in savoring him.
I put my head back against the door and close my eyes.
The memory of Alfred shuddering on his knees before me comes again unbidden. My skin heats afresh.
I remember his tongue in my channel, his eagerness pushing me to the brink.
“Fuck,” I swear, bringing my hand once more to my core where I am still sopping wet.
Imagining that it is Alfred touching me, that it is Alfred filling me up, I stroke myself.
I gasp at what I imagine. At how much pleasure I anticipate from what, soon enough, we will do.
I slip my fingers up into myself and say his name once, then again, and then again.
I come on a cry, unable to stop the visions of him even when I am spent.