Chapter 46
Annabelle
By the time we are settled into the comfort of my private car I feel well again.
The bread and cheese bolstered me in body and the interaction with those two young women has done the same for my spirits. I wash my face and brush my teeth behind the screen in the corner of the car and emerge refreshed.
It helps that I love my private car. I am not one to spend money recklessly—no matter what they say of me—but my car is a place where I have been profligate.
I surprised myself, in fact, when I chose its decorations.
It is rather feminine by my standards. The curtains and furniture upholstery are done up in lilac with pale turquoise carpets.
The tables, my desk, and the wood finishes are light.
Usually, I feel a responsibility to affect an air of gentlemanly seriousness.
But because my car is private, because Alfred is the first person who is not an employee or Evie who has ridden in it with me, I let a different side of myself take the reins.
In short, it is one of the places where I have truly allowed myself to enjoy my wealth, not just wield it.
And Alfred looks so very handsome sitting in it.
He is on one of the couches, staring out the window at the scenery that goes by.
I sit near him on an armchair and have a perfect view of his pretty face.
Out the window, his gaze is serious. I know he was surprised by the appearance of those two young women.
I can’t blame him for that. I have no connection to the respectable world, and I told him so.
But I didn’t make clear that there are plenty of people who do not care about respectability and who earnestly admire and covet what I have built.
It is amusing how little interest he has in my business.
There are men who would want to marry me for my counting house alone.
But Alfred seems to have thought of the place and its profits as little as any man could in his position.
“Just so you know,” I say softly. “Frank Holster isn’t an eighth of the lover you are.”
His eyes snap to mine. A faint blush spreads across his cheeks. I clench my thighs.
“Truly?”
“Yes. As I said, I never particularly enjoyed bedding him. I was too young to know what I wanted—and he made no effort to figure out that riddle.”
“Do you still love him?”
It is a question very similar to the one that he asked in the carriage.
But it is not the same. The other question was more dangerous—is Frank the only man you have ever loved?
Once I might have said yes. Now I don’t know how I could possibly answer in the affirmative.
Not to him. I am relieved that he has changed the scope of his inquiry.
“Of course not,” I say easily. “If I ever did. I certainly thought I did once. For a long time, even. But…” I shrug.
I can’t go on. I can’t explain how Alfred has made me question everything.
How what I felt for Frank is pallid in the face of my feelings for the man sitting with me in my private train car.
“I see.”
He looks distinctly relieved. He even smiles.
“I am sorry. For asking the question. For making you regret having told me the story,” he says. “I was only jealous.”
“You do not need to be jealous of Frank.”
He takes my hand.
“Who do I need to be jealous of?”
He looks up at me then. His green eyes are dark and serious.
I think of all the responses I could give.
The mysterious, the evasive, the glib. My business I could say if I wanted to seem cold.
Your cock if I wanted to remind him of his supposed utility to me.
I will tell you when you should be concerned I could say if I wanted to appear indifferent to our future.
But I can’t say any of those things.
Not to Alfred.
So instead I say the truth.
“No one.”
He gives a low growl of approval.
And then he kisses me.
I kiss him back, rising and pushing him back on the couch. I am on top of him and he is hard beneath me. Yes, I want this, I want him, right now.
I slither my hands down his body and stroke his cock.
“Christ, Annabelle,” he says, as if the boldness of my touch still surprises him.
My drawers, thankfully, are crotchless. I can ride him right here.
I free his cock, kissing him all the while. He feels hot and needy against my hand, already surging and approaching his largest size.
“I want to ride you,” I say, beginning to push up. But his hands lock around my upper arms.
“Annabelle, wait.”
“And why should I do that?”
“I am not sure—I am—well—”
He is fairly spluttering. Which is very perplexing. His cock is still hard between us. I know that he wants me.
“Would you prefer another position?”
“Er, yes, I mean—no.”
“Alfred,” I say, growing annoyed. “What is the problem?”
“Iwantyoutosuckmycock.”
I laugh. It isn’t what I imagined we would do in this car, but I am amused and strangely flattered by his request.
I slink to my knees and take him in my mouth.
If this is what he wants, I will give it to him.
I begin to suck him slowly, so slowly that he has nothing to do but savor the sensations.
His hand comes to my hair and grips the side of my head. I suck and suck at a slow, soft tantalizing pace, ignoring how swollen and bothered he becomes, refusing to match his intensity with intensity.
“Annabelle,” he moans. “Fuck. I need more.”
But I won’t give it to him.
Instead, I keep up my slow, soft assault until he is writhing beneath me.
When his arse is nearly off the seat cushion, I press him into the back of my throat.
He moans, this time completely incoherent. Hot seed fills my mouth as he groans and bucks. I swallow it all greedily, happy that I am able to give him what he wants.
When he finishes, he joins me on the floor.
Outside the train car, we are in the country.
Fields of wheat trundle by. It is like being in a drawing room centered in a field.
He begins to lift up my skirts.
“You don’t have to.”
“You know I want to,” he says. “Making you come with my mouth is my favorite thing on this earth, Annabelle.”
Soon, his mouth is upon me. He returns what I gave him, going slow, making me last until I absolutely can’t anymore.
I watch the scenery slide by as the pleasure builds and builds and builds. Until I snake my fingers into his hair and gasp out his name.
His tongue in my pussy, the rumble of the train, the certainty that he loves me, and maybe, just maybe, his child beginning to grow in my belly—for the rest of my life, I will know that, in this moment, I was happy.
I am happy with him.
I want the moment to last. I want to extend it forever.
But I can’t.
The pleasure, the happiness, is too much.
I come, unable to stop it, barreling ahead into the unknown like the train beneath me.