Chapter 7

T HE RAIN POUNDED LOUDLY against the cottage as Philomena sketched another flower. She had already spent hours arranging the flowers everywhere. Once she had reached perfection, she clasped her hands together and sat down. But then she looked around to observe the room, and the moment she did that, she saw a few more stems to switch around. So it was best for everyone, and every one of her fingers, to sit and sketch for a while.

And so engrossed in her task was she that she didn’t notice the banging on the door.

Truly, she credited most sounds to the storm, to thunder, and perhaps even to her mind playing tricks on her, for she hadn’t expected anyone to return for her until morning. The sounds could just be the rain crashing down on the roof, desperately showing off its underrated strength.

She had been stoking the fire and sitting close to it to stay warm. Only a few times, or a few times a few times, had she regretted not returning to the house with the servants. But her only focus was to make sure everything was perfect for the dowager duchess. If she had any hope of impressing her, this was her chance.

Yet now, being trapped in the rain-enveloped cottage, she did feel a little foolish. Being warmed by the fire she had maintained was some kind of consolation. At least she knew how to keep herself from freezing to death.

The banging pounded on the door again. This time she heard it over the competing pounding of the rain. Why was someone knocking? She must have locked it after the servants had left.

She rushed to the door and found Henry, soaked to the bone.

“Quick, get in here.” She dragged him inside and shoved the door closed before the slanting rain could make an entrance.

“Philomena.” He grabbed her arms. “Are you all right?” If she thought the rain was desperate, it had nothing on Henry in this moment.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Well, as fine as a single woman alone in a cold cottage trapped by the rain could be. She had better say it again. “I’m fine, Henry.” Some of the desperation dissipated. Perhaps a third time was the charm. “I’m f—“

“Oh my God, Philomena. I love you.”

“What?”

“I love you.” He had a strong grip on her arms, not painful, but commanding. Yet, the grip those three words had on heart was almost painful. How could such long sought-after words be painful? But the truth of them, the weight of them, it cut through her. Those words told her, explicitly, undeniably, of the depths of his heart. And that, miracle of miracles, his depths matched hers. How could it be? It was impossible to accept. He must have known she was struggling to receive the words because then she heard them again.

“I love you,” he shouted to no one but her. Thankfully he had lifted his chin to the ceiling. “Can you hear me, my darling? I love you. However I need to say it so that your heart accepts it, I will say it. And however many times you need to hear it, I will repeat it.” His chin was back down. His eyes were piercing into hers. And those three massive words were not quite so painful. They were…a balm.

A balm she didn’t know she needed. A balm that she could receive and accept. Absorb into herself.

“You do?”

“Yes. I can’t believe it took me so long to realize I love you. And now I can’t stop saying it. You are my dearest, closest friend, and I must have you as my lover and wife. If you want me.”

“Of course I want you.” She thought she had only voiced the words in her head.

But when he responded, she realized she had loosed her tongue.

“I’m so relieved.” He pressed his damp forehead to hers. “I would hug you right now, but at least one of us should stay dry and warm.”

He grinned at her. One of his big, loopy grins.

“So that’s a yes?”

“What’s a yes?”

“To marrying me. You’ll marry me, won’t you, Mina?”

Dazed, she managed to say, “Yes.” And then to be sure she wasn’t just thinking it, she said it again. “Yes, I’ll marry you. That would make me the happiest person in the world.”

“Only after me. I think I take first place in that.”

“Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”

“Mina, I never…” He feigned offense but was already stripping out of his layers. Right down to his smallclothes. In under a minute, a sopping wet pile of fabric lay at the door.

And a sopping wet pile of drool lay at her feet. Not quite. She managed to keep her mouth closed. Just barely. But his abdomen. His chest. His biceps. God above, she knew how he felt, but now she knew how he looked underneath it. Something else was pooling between her legs. She squeezed her thighs together as they moved to stand in front of the fire. Which was now making her too warm.

“There’s something I need to do, Mina.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I need to kiss you.”

He leaned in and pulled her trembling body against his strength. Then he tilted her chin up to meet him.

A gentle brush of his lips swept across hers. She sighed into him and slowly put her hands on his chest. With tenderness she had never expected, he pressed his lips on her mouth and whispered, “You’re divine. You’re my goddess.”

This kiss, her first kiss, was everything she could have hoped for. It was with someone she loved, someone she knew, and someone that she knew loved her. It was the ultimate seal of ownership. She felt owned by him, and felt as though she owned him as well.

His lips took hers and then his tongue trailed along her bottom lip. He gave a soft bite, and when she gasped, his lips locked around her mouth, opening with her. Moving with her. Prodding her. Gently, but with heated desire. Her hands slid up the corded column of his neck and into his wet hair.

One of his hands slid down to her hip and then further down, across her bottom. With one large hand, he gripped her bum.

And then gentleness split wide open into fierce passion.

Their bodies were on the rug beside the fire, he was on top of her. She was wrapped in his arms. Her breasts were aching for what they knew he could—would—do to her again. And again. And if she had any say, again.

She tugged on her bodice, leaving nothing to chance.

He moaned. “I love that you show me what you want.” His eyes met hers. “And I love that I love what you want more than you do.” His mouth opened wide and she braced for him to draw her flesh into his mouth.

Thank God she did, lest her hips buck him right off of her.

“Don’t hold back, Mina,” he murmured somewhere in the valley of her breasts.

“I can’t hold back anymore with you, Henry. I love you.”

He looked up and latched onto her lips again with a searing kiss. Fire. Passion. Years of friendship. Longing. Truth. And a future. It was all wrapped up in his kisses. “I love you, Philomena.” His whisper trickled into her ear. He smelled of the rain. Of sweetness. And Henry.

She reached down to pull up her skirts. How she needed him. How her body craved him.

The faster she pulled up her skirts, the harder he sucked on her nipple.

And then her pulsating core met its match. Underneath a thin layer of fabric, she felt his throbbing cock rest against her wetness.

“Do you want…” Henry’s eyes had gone dark with passion. “Do you want to make love to me, Philomena?”

“More than anything.”

“Let me make sure of that.” And he pulled his head away from her nipples. Away from exquisite pleasure. Away from—

Oh God, his tongue. Exquisite pleasure was blazing a torturous trail from her quim through each and every limb she had. How many limbs did she have? She couldn’t remember. She was overcome. His tongue was a godsend. She was writhing on the floor. Arching her hips up into his waiting face.

When he sucked on her bud, she cried out. All the coiling and tightening was reaching for something. She could feel it building inside of her.

His tongue dipped inside of her and his thumb pressed gently on her nub.

“Henr—” Before she could finish saying his name, her moans overtook her voice. She came. She came all over his face.

“God, I didn’t think anything could taste better than your breasts, but…oh my God.” He licked at her again, and she shivered. “Yes, you are definitely ready for making love.”

“I loved that,” she said between breaths.

“And you’ll love this, too. There might be a bit of pain. If it’s too much, just tell me and I’ll stop.”

He rose up on his knees and pressed his slick tip against her still sensitive cunny. She already knew she was going to love this. He was gentle and wet. Tender. Yet hard. He was holding back, she could see the self-control on his face. But she trusted him and his reasons.

She exhaled to relax and receive him inside of her. To be joined together as one. Something nudged inside of her. It was completely foreign. Indescribable. But beautiful. Filling.

He was filling her.

He pushed in a little further. As she exhaled, she drew him in and he groaned. His sound of desire and complete offering to her made her burn for him even more.

“Don’t hold back, Henry. Just like you told me.”

“My goddess, in a few moments I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back. But for now, I just want to soak up every feeling of bliss that this is.”

“I love you, Henry.”

“I love you, Philomena.”

She pushed her hips up to suck him in even more. “I want all of it, Henry.”

He pushed deeper, faster than she expected. She cried out.

He stopped. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. God, Henry, give it to me. I want it so bad.”

He thrust again and she shouted louder.

“There’s no one around to hear us, Mina. Scream as loud as you want.” He thrust again and she screamed.

The scream unleashed something inside of her. Something too quiet. Something scared. But she wasn’t afraid anymore.

“Henry! Give it to me.”

“Uhh,” he grunted as he moved deeper and faster inside of her.

And then there was a rhythm to the madness. He was seated so far inside of her that she could feel him touching every single part of her. This was life and love. And peace. Knowing the one you loved also loved you.

He placed his thumb on her bud, so sensitive. Rubbing gentle circles, she could feel herself completely under his command.

Then he lowered his head to her breast and took it in his mouth. He was inside of her, and she was inside of him. They were entwined. When he let out another moan, she was undone. Fully given over to him. Surrendered to her future with him.

He grunted and pulled out of her to soak her thighs.

They lay, drained but full, together for several minutes. Almost dozing off to sleep. Completely at peace.

After a while, Henry poked his head up. “I almost forgot something.”

“There’s more?”

He chuckled. “Well, yes, but perhaps not right now.”

He pulled up his smallclothes from around his ankles and walked over to his clothes. He brought them over to the fire and laid them out to dry. Then he reached into one of his pockets.

“This is for you. Well, I might have to get another one, but it’s all I could find on short notice. And then I guess the rain got its hands on her.”

Outstretched in his hand was a wilted flower. Almost impossible to identify except that Philomena was pretty sure it was a dahlia.

“I don’t think I’ve ever given you flowers before.”

She shook her head. She would most certainly have remembered if he had given her flowers before.

“Well, this won’t be the last time.” He tried to prop up the drooping petals.

“Thank you, Henry. I love it. I’ll treasure this forever. This shall be my lucky flower.”