Chapter 16 #2
The urge to touch, to know what his skin felt like beneath her fingers, was too strong.
She moved her hand from his and trailed downward, feeling the strained muscles in his neck before pushing aside his collar so she could feel his collarbone.
The hardness of his warm, broad chest, and the muscles flexing in his shoulder blades as he moved his hands all over her was miraculous.
Half of her was in disbelief that they were kissing at all, while the other half was hungry for his touch and shouting, ‘More! More! More!’
Her nails dug into the flesh of his back, and she almost growled with want.
Daisy squirmed in his arms as his kisses moved from her lips to trail down her neck and follow the neckline of her nightgown until he was kissing the hollow between her delicately rounded breasts.
Then, Edmund’s entire face disappeared into the soft, pillowy recesses of her bosom.
He reached up and pulled down her neckline so that her left breast popped out.
Her rose-hued nipple was stiff as stone and begging for touch.
His hot mouth closed on her breast, and she was hard put not to shout.
Daisy clapped her hand over her mouth to swallow the sound in her palm, her body shaking in reaction.
He suckled her hungrily as his free hand played with her other breast. She thrust her hips toward him, wanting to beg for she knew not what.
All she knew was that what he was doing was not enough.
He straightened up, reaching for her lips again as he delicately pushed her backward until her head was touching the bricks of the stone archway.
He scooted to the side on the bench so that he might deposit kisses all over her face before sliding downward slowly.
His hands were everywhere, caressing, feeling, touching, igniting her flesh, and causing tendrils of want to rise in his wake.
Edmund sank onto his knees. Daisy stared down at him and saw a hint of a smile tickle his lips.
Then, slowly, he pulled up her dress, and she gasped.
Her eyes widened as his mouth came face-to-face with her most secret self.
A vague embarrassment overtook her as she realized she was dripping, and she tried to bring her knees together so he wouldn’t see.
“Don’t hide from me,” he coaxed, his voice low and husky, before he scooted down and began to lick at the moistness.
She closed her eyes, torn between extreme pleasure and embarrassment.
“What are you doing?” she asked in a strained voice, even as she panted, her stomach squeezing with desire.
“I’m about to make you feel incredibly good. Do you want that, my sweet?” he asked, his eyes dark.
She could only nod.
“Good.” His tongue came out and flicked at a sensitive bit of flesh.
She arched upward, unable to stop herself from gasping. He gently eased her back down. Edmund buried his face in her warm wetness, and all she could do was revel in the pleasure that zinged through her body.
It was almost too much to take, yet the pleasure kept growing and growing, like a hot air balloon. She feared it might soon grow too much for her body, and she would combust into a thousand pieces.
When the combustion did come, she was barely prepared for it.
Her mind whited out with the intensity of it. She was a dandelion whose seeds had all been blown out, to form a cloud of ecstasy that fell slowly to the ground around her in silent, speechless oblivion.
She had not thought it was possible to feel so much. Her body trembled in reaction, and all she could do was sit there and pant.
“Am… am I ruined?” she asked Edmund, while staring up at the star-filled sky.
Edmund did not answer at once. He was still trying to catch his breath. Still trying to place himself back inside the bounds of sense.
When he finally looked at her, she was disheveled in a way that made something in him tighten sharply. Her hair had come loose. Her lips were parted slightly, as if she had forgotten how to compose herself again.
He licked his lips and sat back.
“No, Daisy,” he said at last. “You are not ruined.”
Her eyes searched his face, as though that answer might not be enough.
He shifted away from her, sitting back properly. The effort cost him more than he wanted to admit.
“I should not have let it go that far,” he said.
The words were not entirely true in the way they should have been. That was the difficulty. He could tell himself it had been a lapse, an error of judgement, something contained and corrected. But his body still remembered her too clearly for that to sit comfortably as the whole truth.
Daisy sat up slightly, her fingers curling against the grass. “What?”
It would be easier if this were simple. If he could place it into a category and leave it there.
Mistake. Temptation. Something to be avoided.
But nothing about their relationship felt that orderly.
“This cannot continue,” he said. “This arrangement,” he added, more steadily, “was never meant to become this. You understand that.”
“Oh,” Daisy breathed.
Her soft response, full of gloom and rejection, made him feel horrendous.
You hard-hearted fool. Look at what you did to her. She will never forgive you for acting like such a rogue.
He stood, needing movement more than air.
“I am sorry,” he said finally. “For what I have done. For putting you in this position.”
Her breath caught slightly at that, though she still did not answer him.
He nodded once, as if confirming something to himself rather than to her.
His hand flexed at his side. He did not trust himself to say more.
If he stayed any longer, he knew the boundaries he was trying to rebuild would not hold.
“I should go,” he said.
Daisy remained still.
“Daisy…” he added, softer now, “this is not about you doing anything wrong.”
That, at least, he needed her to understand. Even if nothing else could be resolved.
Then he turned and left before she could answer.
In the morning, Edmund stretched, feeling the ache in his bones from sleeping so awkwardly.
He stood up, crossing over to the armoire to wash his face with the warm water from the jug that someone must have left here at some point before dawn.
He hoped that the water would wash away the memory of Daisy’s moans. The feeling of her skin. The taste of her release—
Pull yourself together.
He had to continue with their agreement. Despite what he’d said last night, he couldn’t let himself ruin everything. Ruin her.
I made a promise. I asked her to be my partner. I shall not leave her to despair now.
So, he dressed and went to check on his son.
“Good morning, Harry,” he said as he entered the room set up for the boy in his aunt’s part of the house.
Harry did not answer. He sat with his arms folded and chin tilted away. Edmund recognized the small, stubborn figure of displeasure but was surprised to see his usually ebullient son displaying it. Mr. Oswalt sat beside him with a bowl of porridge that had clearly gone untouched.
“I am not hungry,” Harry announced.
Mr. Oswalt gave Edmund a look that suggested he had already tried everything reasonable and was ready to move on with the rest of their day.
Edmund exhaled once through his nose and drew a stool closer. He sat down slowly, as if giving the moment time to settle before he spoke.
“You may go, Mr. Oswalt,” he said. “Take your breakfast.”
The tutor hesitated, then rose and left them alone.
For a while, Edmund did not speak. He simply looked at Harry.
The silence between them felt different from yesterday. Less sharp, but no less difficult.
“I was wrong yesterday,” he said at last. “I am sorry.”
The apology seemed to sit awkwardly in the air, as though neither of them was quite accustomed to it being said.
Harry shifted slightly. “It is all right,” he said after a moment. “I forgive you, Papa.”
“Thank you,” he said quietly. He looked at the untouched bowl. Then back at Harry. “You are still not eating.”
Harry shrugged.
A familiar negotiation, then. Edmund recognized it for what it was: not defiance alone, but a request disguised as refusal.
Edmund recalled the part of his meeting with Daisy last night in which she had encouraged him to be more open with Harry about his mother and her unique circumstances.
While he doesn’t need to know everything, I should tell him something.
He pulled the stool a fraction closer.
“I will make you an offer,” he said, and Harry looked at him suspiciously. “If you eat three spoonfuls of porridge,” Edmund continued, “I will answer any questions you have about your mother.”
That caught his attention immediately. Harry glanced at the bowl as if reassessing its value.
“Three?” he asked.
“Yes.”
A pause. Harry considered this with unusual seriousness, as though weighing terms rather than food.
Edmund waited, patient in a way he had not always managed to be.
At last, Harry reached for the spoon, and Edmund watched him begin to eat.
Edmund realized, faintly, that this was how Harry understood the world: questions and answers, given in exchange for effort, fairness made visible and simple.
Not so different from the way I interpret things, really.
When the third spoonful was finished, Harry set the utensil down at once.
“Now you must tell me everything,” he said, with the confidence of someone who believed rules to be binding.
Edmund hesitated only briefly. Then he nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “I will.”