CHAPTER ELEVEN #6
Isabel was already shaking just from that. "Please," she said. She couldn't have mustered anything else.
She felt Constance's cheek brush her thigh as she nodded, then the agonizingly slow trace of her tongue up her slit - not dipping inside yet, just slightly parting her.
Isabel's head fell back against the bolster as she chewed furiously on her lower lip, trying to hold back her gasps.
She was wet and aching and wanting, and the slow tease was almost unbearable.
She shifted her hips, rubbing up against Constance's mouth, and felt the rumble of Constance's laughter.
"All right," she said, "all right -" And then she licked into her properly, parting her lips and rubbing the flat of her tongue against the bud that made Isabel's whole body jerk.
She couldn't hold back her gasps then, nor the wail that escaped her when Constance fastened on that spot and began to suck.
She alternated between that and licking up and down her slit, her nose bumping against that most sensitive spot with every pass, and Isabel couldn't stop moving, couldn't stop rolling her hips to meet the movement of Constance's mouth.
It was so good. It was so good, so much, and she needed to anchor herself before she floated away.
She clenched a hand in Constance's hair, then - as Constance made a noise against her - withdrew it just as quickly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean -"
Constance pulled her mouth away to look up at her.
Her eyes were dark and glazed, and she fumbled with her free hand until she'd caught the hand Isabel had pulled away and put it back in her hair.
The look on her face left no doubt at to her meaning.
Isabel caught her breath, digging her fingers against Constance's scalp as Constance dove back down between her legs.
The movement made Isabel's hand jerk in her hair, and Isabel felt her moan against her.
She pulled again, and noticed that one of Constance's hands was tucked between the bed and her body, and her hips were jerking as she went on licking and sucking at Isabel.
The sight was enough to send pulses of pleasure through Isabel's whole body: she was doing nothing, she was just letting Constance touch her, and that was enough - it was enough to make Constance -
No one had ever done this to her before. No one had even thought of it. This could not be anywhere else, any time else. It could only be here and now.
Her pleasure was rising and rising, pooled low in her belly and between her legs until it had grown too big for her body to hold any longer.
Climax shattered her: she gave up all pretense of keeping still or quiet, writhing wildly, screaming until she was hoarse.
She heard Constance gasp, and the movements of her mouth grew sloppy, but she didn't stop.
She went on licking until Isabel wound down, panting, and her over-taxed body was too wrung-out and overstimulated to take any more.
She pulled gently at Constance's hair, and Constance came away immediately, crawling back up the bed to take Isabel in her arms and kiss her face.
Her cheeks and chin were wet. Isabel shuddered with a final spasm of pleasure, then laid down with her head on Constance's breast, letting Constance stroke her hair.
Her climax had left her exhausted. It was as if all the pleasure she hadn't felt for ten years had coalesced and exploded in a single instant, and it had left her spent.
"Did you . . . ?" she mumbled into Constance's skin. Constance shook with laughter, and bent to kiss her head.
"I did," she said. "More than once, in fact. You're quite a sight."
Isabel turned that thought over in her head: that just seeing her like that had pushed Constance over the edge.
That her pleasure could bring pleasure to Constance as well, that pleasure was something that could be shared instead of taken.
Her body felt loose and relaxed in a way that it never had before - not in the past year of widowhood, not during her marriage, not even in her long-ago childhood.
She hadn't been aware she was capable of it.
Constance pressed her lips to Isabel's forehead. "What are you thinking?" she murmured.
Isabel turned her head so that her face was tucked in the crook of Constance's neck.
She needed a moment to collect herself, to make sure she chose the right words.
"Before -" she began, then took a shuddering breath and tried again.
"When I was first wed, I knew I would not enjoy the marriage bed, but I thought I could - pretend.
Other women did, after all. But I wasn't able.
I couldn't - unbend. I was like a wooden board.
" More specifically, Geoffrey had said it was like trying to swive a wooden board, but she was not going to bring his name into this bed.
"It was my fault, I thought. That something that should have been easy was impossible for me. And . . ."
She took another steadying breath. Then another. Constance said nothing, just went on stroking her hair, waiting for her to collect herself enough to continue.
"I was married nine years before I had Walter," she said into Constance's neck.
This part was the hardest, the one that had shamed her the most. "I could never conceive in all that time - or if I did, I lost it so quickly that I never realized.
I spoke to a physician, and he said that a woman must climax in order to bear a child.
So I thought - that was my fault, too. I couldn't climax, and so I couldn't conceive.
All the things I was meant to do, I couldn't - I couldn't make my body obey me, to do the things it was made for.
There was some defect in me, I was too weak to force myself -"
She stopped. Constance had tightened her arms around her, rocking her slightly as if she were a child. She sniffled, but her eyes were, for once, blessedly dry. She was past tears. This was only her body's memory of pain, echoing past the point where it was of any use.
"But you did have Walter," Constance said softly. "And here you are."
"Here I am," Isabel agreed. "Here we are.
" She curled closer against Constance's side.
"He was so happy here, this afternoon. He's always happy when I bring him here.
At home, he's so - solemn." She sighed. "I think, sometimes, it would be better if I were able to send him to live somewhere else.
My niece's house is no fit home for a child.
But I haven't the power to decide where he lives.
And I would have to be parted from him besides, and I couldn't bear it. "
Constance was quiet for a moment; the only sound was the rain blowing against the walls. Then she said, "What if you could? Decide where he lives?"
Isabel lifted her head from Constance's neck to stare at her. "I can't. My husband's will gave that power to my stepsons."
"The wardship. I know." Constance's expression had turned thoughtful. "But would they ever cede it to you? From what you've said, they've no paternal interest in him."
"They see him once a month, if that," Isabel agreed.
"And it's just as well that way. But they want control over the allowance his father willed to him.
It's a pittance, but they believe it's theirs by right.
" She sighed. "As of now, they pass it on to my niece every month for his maintenance.
I only have what she gives me. And she won't let go of it, either. So there's no way."
She thought again of Walter in Constance's lap that evening, being rocked to sleep.
She thought of him shrieking with glee as Peter played with him, or when he scampered across the floor after the cat.
She thought of herself, here in Constance's arms, feeling safe - feeling loved - for the first time.
She couldn't have this always. She knew better than to wish for that.
But just these scattered moments, snatched when the opportunity arose - even that was more than she'd ever thought possible.
How could she complain that she wasn't offered more, when she had already received such a precious gift?
"Never mind it," she said, laying her head back down.
"There's no use wishing for what can't be.
And besides, I . . ." She played with a lock of Constance's hair, winding and unwinding it around her finger.
She couldn't look Constance in the eye for what she meant to say next.
"This, here, it's - being . . . cared for .
. . I never knew . . ." There was more she wanted to say, more she needed Constance to know.
But she couldn't find the words. It was not an idea, it was a swirling mass of warmth and happiness and affection that she couldn't shape into coherent thought no matter how she tried.
Constance tipped her chin up with a finger and gave her a look that made Isabel thrill from the crown of her head down to her toes.
She nudged her nose against Isabel's, then kissed her: it was a deep kiss, but an unhurried one.
Just for the moment, they had all the time in the world.
And in her kiss was all of the things Isabel had meant to say, and everything Constance might have said in return. They didn't need anything else.