Chapter Four
That evening, the house was quiet. Margaret was in her bedroom, next door to that of the patient who had since fallen asleep. Margaret seemed satisfied that Matthew’s cure had worked its promised miracle, though it would be some time before I would forget the look of dismay in her eyes upon seeing the medical student approaching Edith’s room.
I tried to shake the memory as I laid down in my bed and listened to the silence again.
Vic had gone to his bedroom nearly an hour earlier. I had been undressing for bed when I heard his door close. My movement stilled as I listened to the footsteps in his room, and finally heard the gentle groan of his bed as it accepted his body.
I hated that I was acting like this over a man, that he had been on my mind nearly every minute since my arrival. I hated that I still searched for the taste of him, though hours had passed since his lips had been pressed to mine, since I had felt the wet heat of his tongue in my mouth.
I lay naked in bed. My craving to feel his hands on my body had become a painful, physical ache. I imagined him gripping my waist or kneading my breasts, rough and possessive. I wondered how he would feel inside of me. Given the forcefulness of our first kiss, it was hard to imagine he would be tender.
I got up from bed, and pulled on a sheer, silk dressing gown. The feeling of the material against my hard nipples, and the soft fabric caressing my over-sensitized body with every movement, only increased my growing feeling of emptiness.
By the light of the moon coming through the window, I dragged the armchair from my bedside to the opposite end of the room. I set the back of the chair against the wall I shared with the man whose presence had come to preoccupy my mind: the man who would willingly give me what I so desperately needed, if only I would ask.
I climbed into the chair and knelt on the seat cushion, my legs spread apart. My breasts pressed against the back of the chair and I set my palms against the wall.
I put my ear to the floral wallpaper, which displayed only shadows in the dark, as I listened for a sign of him. I could hear my own heartbeat, echoing against the wall and swamping my senses.
Then, I heard a low moan.
It was soft: only barely detectable, as though uttered in a deep sleep.
I pressed my ear against the wall so hard that it hurt; I wanted to make sure I missed nothing. That a soft moan could cause such a strong reaction in my sexual core, that this sound could cause a tremor to seize my inner thighs, was insanity. Yet, I felt my muscles tightening.
He moaned again.
I pulled open the silk dressing gown, so that my naked body rested against the plush back of the armchair. I reached my hand down to where my legs were spread apart, and my knees pressed against the outermost limits of the chair. I let my breasts gently nudge the chair back, as I leaned my weight against the ear still pressed to the wall.
My fingers trailed over my thighs, moving upward to feel just how soaked I had already become. I began to rub a small, gentle circle over my melting core, enjoying the warm wetness I had produced just imagining him lying there.
I heard him move, the gentle creak of the antique bed giving him away, and a shudder of pleasure ran through my entire being.
I increased the speed of my hand’s motion, my hips rolling against an unseen force. I found I was whimpering gently, my face still pressed firmly against the wall.
In that final moment, I breathed his name.