Chapter 18
Alfred
Dear Alfred,
When I read your letter I was so stunned that I could not speak for five minutes together.
You have been so resolute in your religious principles—well, you have been as resolute as I have been in my ambition.
But then when I had time to contemplate, I cannot help but think it is a good thing. I have always said there is no reason you should be so strict with yourself. And given as strict as you have been, is it a surprise that you have been tempted?
Please write and tell me if you still belong to our club or not.
I will try and not be too titillated by the details.
But I make no promises.
Your friend,
Henry
P.S. Whatever you do, do NOT get caught.
I toss Henry’s letter aside.
It is the evening of my encounter in the woods with Annabelle and I sit at my desk in the little morning room of the vicarage.
While I appreciate Henry’s sanguine attitude, he does not understand the depths of my obsession.
He sees it as a bit of naughtiness.
The type of thing he wouldn’t risk himself but that he thinks I can get away with.
It is so much more than that.
I am lost in thoughts of her.
I have become completely depraved.
If my father ever learned of my actions, he would disown me completely.
I have violated every rule of my upbringing.
I struggle with these facts.
But not for the reason I should.
I struggle because I don’t feel regret and pain.
I do not feel the disapproval of God.
In prayer, I ask God to condemn me—and I am met only by silence.
In my bones, I have the strange sensation that the Lord I have worshipped all my life is indifferent to my transgressions.
I cannot understand it.
And I cannot stop thinking of Annabelle.
In the woods she took me in her mouth so gently, introducing me to pleasure that before her was only a distant dream.
I thought that I would die having never spent in a woman’s mouth. In my darkest, most depraved thoughts I imagined such things, always vaguely. I had not thought such a thing possible in reality. At least not for me.
But she made it a reality. I was completely in her power. At her mercy. And utterly grateful to be.
I grow hard in my trousers, swelling at the memory of her soft, insistent mouth. I am tempted to slake myself, but it is a gentle temptation. In truth, I would rather wait. For her. It is enough to be here, hard and aching at the memory.
My eyes blur.
I open the bottom drawer of my desk and reach for my green book. These days, it sits atop the Acton.
I flip to the page where one of the protagonist’s paramours sucks him off with her mouth. When I read it before, I did not quite understand why his pleasure was so immense—but now I do. I do, I do, I do.
I close the book and toss it back into the drawer.
As usual, it isn’t helping.
My feelings for Annabelle are becoming unruly. I am aware that, in truth, they were never particularly reasonable, as is evident from my conduct. But in this moment, I fear the emotion that stirs inside me for her.
I do not like to think, for instance, of her eventual return to London. The idea of Trescott without her devastates me. But there is nothing to be done about it. She determines everything between us.
So I wait. I have no other choice.
But I suspect that she will call me to her on Sunday.
And she does.
I do not know why she doesn’t command me to her more frequently. Or why she favors Sundays.
But once again it is Sunday evening, and I find myself at the Abbey. The servants are once again scarce. I am greeted by the same junior footman.
When I am directed to the drawing room, I discover Annabelle seated as she was last week.
She is so beautiful that it hurts to look at her.
She is wearing a dress of silk, a light red, and which reminds me distinctly of her nipples when I have teased them into a state of want.
I flush at the thought, wondering if she chose the color for that reason.
“Good evening, Alfred,” she says in a low, even voice.
“Good evening,” I echo.
She has an inscrutable look upon her face. I wonder why she does not immediately rise as she did last Sunday and bring me to her rooms.
Instead, she appraises me for a moment.
“How are you, Alfred?”
“I am well. I am—” I break off. I am unsure of how honest I should be. “I am pleased to be here. With you.”
“You shouldn’t be. I wanted to make it clear to you. In fact.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You seem to think that I am doing you a favor in debauching you. That I am being generous.”
“It is hard to feel otherwise, Annabelle. When you are generous with me.”
“No,” she says. “Everything I do with you is for my own pleasure. Do not trust me. Do not think that I have a special regard for you and do not develop one for me. I tell you this for your own protection. As a warning. I do not think you are a bad man, Alfred. Only a na?ve one.”
I blush, just as I did that first day at tea with her. Once more, I feel embarrassed.
“I never said otherwise,” I manage. “Of course I do not imagine you strive to please me.”
“No, I do not. I am using you, Alfred. Most cruelly. I am making you faithless to your religion, your profession, your family. Do not become confused about who I am to you.”
I nod. I cannot begin to explain to her the evolution of my feelings. The way that I suspect that my faith, that God, does not require from me what I have sacrificed for so long.
“I understand.”
She does not look content.
“Do you no longer fear for your soul? Are you not disgraced and horrified by what I have made you?”
I sense that she wants me to say yes. Strangely, I think she wants me to avow her status as a villain.
“I enjoy the pleasure you give me, Annabelle. I am a man, although I am also a vicar. I am depraved, surely. I am disgraced, surely. And I am at your mercy. But what am I to do if I enjoy being ruined? Would you rather I not enjoy it?”
She raises her chin. “I do not care about your feelings, Alfred. I am merely giving you a warning.”
I cannot help but smile.
“Consider me warned.”
She gives me a look of disapproval.
And I wonder if she will dismiss me. For the first time this evening, I am truly alarmed.
But she doesn’t.
She rises.
“Come,” she beckons.
Once more I follow her through the august rooms and up the staircase.
She shows me into the bedchamber and shuts the door. She turns away from me after we enter.
“Annabelle. Look at me.”
I am not sure what prompts me to say the words.
She turns and I see, somehow, that I was right. Her eyes are stormy—and full of desire.
“Get on the bed,” I say, knowing what I want to do. I want to give her what she gave me in the woods. To make her ache for me the way I did for her.
“Alfred,” she says. “You do not give me commands.”
She is protesting. But I won’t stand for it.
I shake my head. “On the bed. Now.”
She lowers herself onto the coverlet.
“Very well. As an experiment. If you insist.”
I stride over to her and, without so much as a kiss, drop to my knees. I shove her skirts up, exposing her stockinged legs.
Thankfully, she wears no drawers.
I put my mouth to her core and she lets out a small sound of surprise.
I lick and suck the way she taught me, filling her with my tongue and then my fingers. I tease her clit until she is writhing on the edge of the bed.
Then I stop.
“Do you know what you do to me, Annabelle?”
“Don’t stop.”
“Answer the question. And then I’ll continue.”
“I am very close. You are displeasing me.”
“Then answer and I’ll give you what you want.”
“If you don’t obey me, Alfred, you will lose your post.”
The words sound hollow to me. I do not think she will dismiss me—I do not think she would end this—over so trivial a violation.
“Answer me.”
She snakes her hand downward, apparently so desperate for release that she will take it herself.
I grab her wrist.
“No, Annabelle.”
I don’t know what possesses me.
“Alfred, you are making me angry.”
Her voice has a whine to it. I have never heard her sound so uncontrolled.
“Answer.”
“Fine,” she huffs. “No. I don’t know.”
“You make me wild, Annabelle,” I say, my breath against her core. She shivers in response. “I want you day and night. I dream about sleeping by your side. I cannot stop thinking of you. Of remembering everything that we do together. You have me completely undone. Do you understand?”
She says nothing.
“Do you understand?”
“I have told you not to trust me.”
“Yes. You have. But that is not what I have asked you. I have asked you to tell me you understand how much I want you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
I grip her thighs roughly. I dip down and suck on her clit again. She mewls in response, raising her hips to meet me.
But I break off.
“Believe me. Tell me you understand.”
“No. I refuse. You are going to lose your post, Alfred. I do not like this game.”
Again, I doubt her sincerity. I tongue her generously once more. I plunge two fingers inside of her and she clenches around me, so tight and perfect.
Then I stop, and she cries out.
“You can’t—you mustn’t stop.”
“Admit that you understand how I feel about you then. Admit that you know how much I want you. That I need you, Annabelle.”
“You don’t need me,” she says weakly. “I am ruining your life.”
I move my fingers so they fuck her. But then I stop again. She cries out in rage.
She makes to move off the bed, but I root her there with my arms. And even her attempt to get up is weak. She does not really intend it.
“Admit it. Just tell me that you know.”
I suck her clit then, holding her still. But again I stop short of giving her full release.
Then I am struck by sudden inspiration. Her flesh before me, her core, is lovely and engorged. She is so ready to come almost any touch would do it.
So I don’t touch her. I blow on her clit, and she moans.
She gives a little sob of frustration and can take no more.
“I know it,” she cries. “I know it. I believe you.”
“Good.”
And then I give her everything, and she comes apart on my tongue. She shudders and shudders, and her hand comes up to my hair, pulling and grasping as she rides the wave of her pleasure.
When she is done, I pull away and stand.
I look down, and to my surprise I see her fingers quickly wiping her cheeks.
Terror courses through me.
“Did I hurt you? Was I too rough?”
“No,” she says, turning away from me.
“Then why are you crying?”
She flinches at the question.
“I am not weeping.”
“You are.”
She looks at me. Indeed, her eyes are slightly swollen. Ever so slightly, she sniffs.
I sit on the bed next to her.
“We will not have much time together, Annabelle. You said you will return to London soon.”
“I will be done using you, you mean,” she says.
“Yes, if you see it that way. I don’t see why we can’t be honest with each other in the short time we have together.”
She looks away and then back at me. I am relieved to see her expression relax slightly.
“It was just very intense,” she says. “The pleasure.”
“I have affronted you. Scared you perhaps.”
Annabelle gives a little laugh.
“No,” she says. “And I am done following your orders. Now it is your turn to listen.”