17. The Wife, The Uncle, & The Fool
The Wife, The Uncle, I want to lie on that miserable chaise and fall asleep; and I do not want to explain to this woman what everyone expects us to do tonight—for a multitude of reasons.
“My mother? Are you referring to the horribly dull conversation she tried to have with me about stimulation and that I should be still and if I had any questions I should under no circumstance ask them?”
I must resemble a fucking cartoon character right now, because I’m one hundred percent sure my jaw is literally on the floor, with one foot on the first stair.
What was wrong with these people? I should write a strongly worded letter—to Helena, probably—and give her a piece of my mind about her not giving her girls a clear idea of what these 1800s men are planning for them.
I’ll have Jo give the note to her after I’m good and gone so I don’t have to look her in the eyes over dinner after the fact.
Maybe I’ll have Jo take it straight to the press and let them publish it in the paper, wouldn’t that be a treat.
“Sex, Jo. She was talking about sex, though she clearly did an awful job of explaining it. It’s when a man and a woman, uh, get naked together? It’s how babies are made. And please, for the love of God, don’t take your mother’s advice on this.” I turn away and finish climbing the stairs.
“I just can’t understand how undressing together could possibly be such a tiring venture! Besides, when Grandmother found us here, you were naked. Does that mean we’ve done the sex?” Jo calls after me, her steps loud on the stairs as she chases after me.
“Christ, Jo, no! You would know if we had sex.” Screw going home, I’m going to jump out of the window because I can not continue this conversation. The words ‘we’ and ‘sex’ in the same sentence coming from my very attractive wife—that I have agreed not to touch—is killing me.
“How could I possibly know anything? Before tonight I had never even been kissed!”
I take my time as I pivot to face her. Arms crossed and pouting in her wedding gown—she’s ethereal. Slowly, I walk over and stand in front of her.
“You’re telling me that was your first kiss?” I ask softly, and she nods, not meeting my eyes. “And it was awful, the most pitiful kiss to ever exist—and I mean by my time standards, not yours.”
“What do you mean it was awful? I thought it was…nice.”
“That’s because you’ve never had a real nice kiss before.”
“Oh, and you have?” she challenges, finally looking at me.
“Yes, actually, I have.”
“Was it Miss Mae? Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t really want to know.” She averts her gaze again. Is she jealous?
“Jo,” I whisper.
Stop, Blaze. This is a bad idea, Blaze. You need to walk away, Blaze.
“Josephine,” I repeat, and reach out, cupping her cheek and turning her face towards mine.
“I would hate for your first kiss to be an awful little peck that was forced on you by the same assholes that demanded you get married to a stranger in the first place. Your first kiss should be magical, not mortifying. Will you let me have a redo?”
Her eyes dart back and forth between mine as she chews her lip and smooths her beautiful dress. Finally, she nods.
“That’s not good enough for me, Jo. I need words.”
“Y-yes, Blaze, you can have a redo,” she breathes.
As badly as I want to crash into her, that’s not what she needs. I slip my palm from her cheek back into her curls and bring my other hand to her waist. Finally, I lower my mouth to hers.
Just as I plan to pull away, she relaxes, melting into me, and I can’t help it anymore.
My hand slides from her waist to the small of her back, and I press her firmly against me.
Jo gasps softly in response, and wasting no time, I slip my tongue into her mouth to lick at hers.
She tastes like champagne, and it makes my head spin.
To no surprise of my own, she’s a fast learner, and we’re both panting and biting at each other in record time.
“Blaze,” she moans when I stray from her lips and begin kissing down her jaw, but her voice breaking the silence is like a wave of ice water. I release her, careful to be sure she has her feet firmly under herself before fully stepping away.
“I’m sorry, Jo. I got carried away and I shouldn’t have…we should go to bed.” She stares wide-eyed after me, but I turn away and don’t look back as I basically run down the stairs. This is temporary. She’s not mine and never will be. I would be a fool to let either of us get attached.
I’ll sleep on the settee in the dressing room tonight.