CHAPTER NINE #2
Isabel made a noise in the back of her throat like she was trying to expel something hard and painful.
"I want to enjoy it," she whispered. "I want to be as other women are, to feel it.
But I can't." Tears were now flowing freely from her eyes.
Constance brought her thumbs up to brush them away.
"And I – I hate myself for it, but I cannot will myself to be – to feel the way I ought – but I want to be close to you, and I want, I want –" She put her head down again.
Constance stroked her hair. "I want to be other than what I am," she said. "But I'm not able."
She didn't speak again after that for several long minutes.
Constance went on stroking her hair, dropping occasional soft kisses to the crown of her head as she considered.
Her experience, limited as it was, had never encompassed women who struggled to enjoy themselves in bed – but it wouldn't have, would it?
All the women she'd bedded had been there freely of their own will, and with no painful memories blocking their ability to take pleasure in what their bodies offered them.
She did not, could not believe that Isabel was broken beyond repair; how could she be, when she had never even tried to prove otherwise?
But she did believe that convincing her of that would be a far greater task than simply offering comforting words.
She needed to learn it for herself, or she would be trapped in her worst memories forever.
Her husband had stolen so much from her; he ought not be allowed to take that, too.
"Have you ever tried it by yourself?" she asked at length. "Without the weight of another's expectations, you may find it easier."
"I have," Isabel said, her voice still muffled. "And I – it helped – but with someone else it's too much, I'm too cold, I can't –"
"Shhh. It's all right." Constance rocked her a little, considering.
Isabel needed gentleness, and she needed patience; whether or not she was able to accept either just yet was another matter.
She was quite certain Isabel would never take any spoken assurances for truth, for her scars ran too deeply for that.
If Constance was going to change her mind, the demonstration would have to be a physical one.
"You want to be close to me, you said," she said at length.
Isabel nodded against her shoulder, and Constance gave her just enough of a gentle push that she sat upright again.
Her eyes were red and her face damp, but the tears had stopped at least. "If you want that," Constance said, "I can give it to you.
" She put her hands to the laces of her kirtle, loosening them in short order and pushing both her kirtle and her shift down until they pooled around her waist, leaving her bare to the navel.
"Here, just –" She shifted them until their legs were tangled together, Isabel straddling one thigh instead of two. "There. Like that?"
Isabel's eyes were nearly glazed over as she looked at Constance, and Constance felt an entirely inappropriate surge of pride. "Like – what?"
"Touch me," Constance said, "as much as you like – wherever you like. I'll not touch you, unless you ask me to. You needn't worry about offending me, for I'll keep my hands here –" She placed both hands, palms down, on the bed. "And you may do as you please."
Isabel was still staring at her, with naked want in her gaze that she seemed unable or unwilling to disguise. "But – how should that please you?"
"It's not meant to," Constance said. "It's meant for you, not me. Although, if I may say – I like your touch. I want it." She caught Isabel's gaze and held it. "But this is for you. Don't think about anything but that."
Isabel's throat bobbed hard as she swallowed.
She reached one hand out, tentative, and brushed her fingertips against the side of Constance's breast. Constance let out a small sigh, but she didn't move.
For this to work, she had to keep still and quiet; she had to make sure Isabel wasn't distracted worrying about her or what she was thinking or feeling.
She pressed her hands down hard against the bed and steeled herself.
Isabel's next touch was bolder. She cupped Constance's breast in her hand, as if testing the weight of it, and squeezed lightly.
Her eyes tracked the flush that spread over Constance's collarbones – she blushed easily and always had, especially in moments like these – then lowered her mouth to kiss her.
She traced her lips across the constellation of freckles that dotted her shoulders, first the darker ones by her neck and then the lighter ones that descended below the line of her shift and onto her breasts.
She kept both hands in place all the while: one still cupping Constance's left breast, the other braced against her side.
Her kisses trailed lower and lower until her mouth was almost level with her hand, and – after a moment's hesitation – closed her lips around Constance's nipple, pressing down against it with her tongue.
Constance was not able to stop the noise she made then, nor the way her body jerked in response to the warm, wet pressure of Isabel's mouth.
Isabel's eyes flicked up to hers', though she did not take her mouth away.
"Go on," Constance said softly. It was all the prompting Isabel seemed to need, for she sucked harder – Constance dug her fingers into the bedding to try and steady herself – and brought her free hand up to tease at her other breast. Her hips, Constance noticed, were moving; as she'd anticipated, Isabel had tightened her legs around Constance's thigh, and was rubbing down against her in search of friction.
She wasn't wet, not yet, but she was getting there.
She pulled her mouth away with a faint gasp – Constance shivered as the air hit her damp skin – and said, "will you talk to me? "
She was still stroking Constance's other breast with her hand, which made it somewhat difficult to form a response. "What about?"
"Anything." Her hips were moving in earnest now, rocking against Constance's thigh. "I just – I need your voice."
That, she could manage. "You're so lovely," she said softly, and Isabel whimpered as she lowered her mouth to kiss and lick at her nipples again.
"I thought so from that first say I saw you in the market.
I dreamed of you that night, did you know that?
Of how it would feel to have you in my arms. I knew I oughtn't, and it hurt to know, but I couldn't stop the dreaming.
I wanted you every moment. God, when I thought of you like this –" Isabel's grip tightened and she whined, "- naked and flushed and touching me – I hardly needed to touch myself, I was so desperate, I could bring myself to climax just thinking about you –"
"Touch me now," Isabel gasped, mouthing at her skin.
"Please, please, I need – here –" She yanked at the lacing of her kirtle until it came loose, then shoved both kirtle and shift down before she grabbed one of Constance's hands and dragged it up to cover her bare breast. Constance needed no more encouragement than that.
She pressed down with her thumb, words still spilling out of her mouth as Isabel – who was aroused in earnest now, Constance could feel how hot and wet she was against her leg as she drove towards her climax, squeezing so tightly, Constance thought she might die of it – went on gasping and moaning, her mouth open, teeth scraping against Constance's neck.
So that was what she needed, Constance thought: touch and reassurance and encouragement all tied up together. She could manage that.
"I want to see you now," Constance said.
"I want to see how you look when you come.
You can do it, can't you? You're so close, you hardly need me touching you at all.
You can use me however you like, you can, I want you to, I want to be the reason you let go, do it for me, please –" She nosed along Isabel's neck, then captured her mouth in a deep kiss.
She pulled back only far enough to say, "You're so beautiful like this, I can hardly believe I'm permitted to see you, God must be rewarding me for some great service, you're a miracle, you –"
She felt the moment her words took effect: Isabel clenched down hard around her with a hoarse cry, legs shaking, gripping Constance hard enough to leave red marks on her skin as she wailed through her climax.
Constance went on talking in a low murmur, telling her how lovely she was, how beautifully she came, how proud she was of her.
It went on for some time – when the first wave ebbed, Constance nudged her thigh up against Isabel, and that was all it took to set her off again – but finally she stilled, drooping against Constance as if climax had sapped all her strength.
Constance put both arms around her, supporting her weight as Isabel buried her face in the crook of Constance's neck.
Her face, she noticed, was wet again: the paroxysms of her orgasm had subsided into sobs.
Constance said, nothing, just held her through it and rubbed her back. At length, Isabel sat up again with a final sniff. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't know what came over me."
"Shh." Constance kissed the remaining tears from her cheeks. "It takes some women like that. You don't need to apologize. You were wonderful."
Isabel smiled, glancing down at where she still straddled Constance's thigh. The wet streak she'd left there was drying sticky. "I've made a mess of you."