Chapter Sixteen
After god only knows how long he’d spent staring at the bed-curtains, arguing the merits of finding a way to repress the ill-advised desires the conversation with Miss Adler had renewed in his body, or taking care of them himself, followed by another hour of guilt over his lack of facility with their own languages and text, as well as quite a few clever excuses for the same, Roger managed to find sleep—only to be awakened once more by a sharp creak, as the door to his bedchamber inched open.
With a groan, he flopped onto his side, blinking through the darkness. What time was it? It couldn’t be after four.
This better be important. He’d been in the middle of an inappropriate but very nice dream—the nicest he’d had in a long time.
Not that he could quite remember it, but it most certainly, and most inconveniently, involved Miss Adler.
Not in the Lira library, but in his. And not merely talking this time.
He’d been sprawled on one of the more comfortable chairs, his legs spread, her in between, his falls open, and that smart mouth—squeak.
The hinges on the door groaned as it opened wider.
Roger yawned, forcing himself back into reality, disappointing as that might be.
He could not confuse the two. His dreams were the only place such inclinations could be exercised.
If that. No matter how thrilling it had been to confirm that she did not regret what had previously transpired between them.
That it had indeed been as good for her as it was for him.
Even if they were impossible in the life he was supposed to lead.
He just had to find a way to live with that knowledge after she left and he married Leone Teres.
Which he would. Though it’d be a great deal harder without proper sleep.
“Lopez,” he whispered. “What’s going on?
” he asked, praying the man wasn’t there to tell him another staff member had quit or he’d lost another ally on the Commission or Miss Teres had run off with some Ashkenazi upstart who was now in the lead for Narbonne’s seat, or something worse that he hadn’t thought of yet.
“It’s not Lopez,” a voice whispered. The door slid shut with a click. Roger sat up in bed, squinting through the shadows as his eyes adjusted, his gaze finally falling on a now familiar form.
“Miss Adler?” he asked, pulling a pillow onto his lap, working to channel his thoughts toward her in an appropriate direction. “Is everything all right? Are you ill?”
“No.” She shook her head, her night braid bouncing off the shoulder of her chemise.
Her very thin chemise, which she’d not bothered to cover with a dressing gown.
It was so thin that, even without proper light, he could make out the outline of her very pert nipples, which he most certainly shouldn’t be staring at (nor thanking their creator for making cold exist—why no one had included such a blessing in the Birkot haShachar was beyond him).
“May I come in?” she asked, interrupting his cycling thoughts.
“I think you’re already in,” he said, pulling the coverlet higher. “What’s wrong?”
She placed something on an end table with a small plunk and stepped forward again.
“I’m not exactly sure how to say this,” she whispered before he could ask what she was doing.
He peered through the darkness at her grave, determined face, worry etched into her brow.
Something was wrong. Very wrong. He sat up a little straighter. “You can tell me,” he assured her. “Has something happened?” A horrifying thought occurred to him. “Are the children all right?”
She shook her head. “No. The children are fine. At least as far as I know.”
“What is it about?” If not about them, why would she come to him in the middle of the night like this? “Is it the staff?” he asked. “Have any of them—”
“It’s not the staff,” she interrupted, an odd frustration edging her voice.
“If not the children or the staff…”
She gulped a large, audible breath. “I want you to have sexual intercourse with me. Again.”
Roger stared through the darkness as his mind attempted to make sense of the words. He couldn’t have heard right, could he?
“Beg pardon?” He pinched his own arm to verify that he was indeed awake.
“Sexual intercourse,” she repeated, swaying a little so the moonlight caught her chemise, and he could see the full outline of her shapely legs, up to the juncture of her thighs. He swallowed, pressing the pillow harder over his lap.
Mercy.
“It’s when you—” she started, oblivious to his clear, nearly uncontrollable desire.
“I know what the word means. You used it earlier this evening,” he reminded her, pinching the bridge of his nose as he attempted to regain some semblance of control of his person. “And how to do it. With you.”
“Yes. I recall. Hence, I added the ‘again’ to my request.” She folded her arms tightly across her chest. “You admitted that the last time was excellent,” she continued. “Thus, after considering our conversation earlier, I have a counterproposal for you regarding the subject.”
“Beg pardon?” His mind spun.
The woman drew in a deep breath. “I propose that while I’m here, while neither of us is married or betrothed, that we engage in that activity once again,” she told him, her manner breathtakingly calm.
He should say no. He should tell her that this was not appropriate behavior for a host, nor for a guest. He should tell her that nothing good could come of it, no matter how much his body screamed yes.
But his foolish mouth said nothing of the sort.
“Once or multiple times?” he asked instead. Merde. Madness. This entire conversation was madness. He needed to calm himself down and take control lest they did something they’d regret. That they’d enjoy but most certainly would still regret.
“Multiple times,” she responded without hesitation, her voice completely serious. “Unless you prefer merely once more. If so, I suppose I could stimulate myself when necessary. I do have the means and access to masturbatory assistance and am quite thusly accomplished.”
His mouth fell open. Both from the nonchalant way she said the words, but also from the images now plaguing his overly desirous mind.
“With your hand or with an implement or with both?” he asked, because any and all “control” was gone.
“Both.” She cleared her throat. “Do you recall the trunk you carried for me earlier?”
“It’s pretty difficult to forget.” He frowned as he searched for the thread of conversation. What did that have to do with—
“It contains the molds I use to render condoms,” she explained.
Roger could only blink. “Beg pardon?”
“Condoms? Prophylactics?” she repeated, as if he didn’t understand the word. She indicated the item she’d placed on the table. “There’s one in that jar.”
“You came prepared,” he murmured, glancing at it and then back to her. “And yes, I am familiar with the device.”
“The ones I make are quite popular,” she told him.
“I’d imagine.” He turned over the information in his mind, staring at her. “So you’re telling me that I nearly destroyed my back carrying a box of penises?”
“No one asked you to carry it yourself,” she pointed out. “I believe at least two laborers hauled it out of my house. But yes, wooden ones,” she affirmed.
Before he could stop himself, he started to laugh. Harder than he’d laughed in, well, as long as he could remember. So hard he was wiping his eyes.
“I’m not sure it’s that amusing,” the woman said, folding her arms. “They’re very important.”
“Clearly,” he teased. “After all, they’ve rendered you… How did you term it precisely? Ah yes, quite ‘accomplished,’ with the masturbatory arts.”
“Their primary purpose is as medical supplies,” she argued. “Besides, it’s important to have a good understanding of anatomy for my business, and thus most of my skill was acquired in the name of research.”
“You keep telling yourself that,” he quipped, unable to stop grinning at her, probably like a fool.
Before either could say anything else, they burst into simultaneous laughter. It was inappropriate and ridiculous and yet completely somehow just right. Like her. Exactly like her.
“Does this mean you’re willing to engage in sexual intercourse with me now?” she asked, when they were able to take hold of themselves, drawing closer yet again.
“What if I tire before you’re satiated? Will you toss me over for the trunk of penises?” he asked, wiping his eyes a little. “I presume there are a great deal more of them than there are of me.”
“Perhaps. Though I suspect you can rise to the challenge,” she told him, rather brazenly gazing down his body, though he couldn’t help but notice the way her chin and hands shook just a touch, belying her nervousness.
Guilt squeezed Roger’s gut. This was wrong. Completely wrong. No matter how much he wanted it and how much she claimed to. He needed to put this all to a stop lest someone got hurt.
“Are you sure this is truly a good idea?” he whispered, reaching out and stroking a stray lock of her hair.
“No,” she said. But she didn’t pull away.
“I recognize that it’s a terrible one.” She stepped back from the bed, finally doing what was right and sensible for both of them.
Except instead of turning and leaving, she curled her lips in a sly sort of smile, which had to have been the damned most attractive thing he’d ever seen.
“But there’s nothing I want more. And thus, I’ve decided to take control of the situation so that at least it can be accomplished rationally and with proper boundaries. ”
“Boundaries?” he managed to ask, his mind barely functioning over the lust coursing through his veins.
“The entanglement shall be limited to while I’m here, so it shall not interfere with your future betrothal,” she explained.
“I promise, no one will know. I’ll tell no one when I leave, and you can go on to obtain your new bride unabated, while I return to my practice. We can both have everything we want.”
Roger stared at her, temptation battering his senses.
What she said was… logical, at least on the surface, but there had to be… danger. Strong emotion clouded reason. It was why he’d always strived to be prudent, careful, patient. To not act in the moment. Except now he could not seem to force himself to behave as he should.
He swallowed. He was not going to be able to say no to this, was he? And he didn’t want to. Not in the slightest.
“All right.” His voice was shaking, not with trepidation but with raw lust. “I can agree to that.”
“Good,” she said. “Let’s get started.” Before he could ask what she meant, she grabbed the bottom of her chemise and pulled it over her head, tossing it onto the floor and standing in front of him nude.
She was glorious.
He’d only seen glimpses the last time, but being permitted to see all of her…
He was near overwhelmed. Smooth skin, soft, round hips, perfect, pert little breasts ready to be nipped and sucked once more, and what had to be the most tempting round arse ever created.
He was in trouble. Complete trouble, but there was nothing to do except enjoy the mayhem.
Rising, he threw off the covers. Miss Adler wanted to play. Well, then, let the games begin.