Rock-a-bye, baby, thy cradle is green;
Father's a nobleman, mother's a queen
- Traditional
Noble Men
His collar opened beneath her nervous hands like wings, so white that they glowed, smelling of fresh snow, unsoiled by the city's crawling smog. Devoid of the illumination of a lamp or fire, she felt his hip nudge her waist, the sensation blunted by the unyielding frame of her corset; and she pressed her body tighter against his in reponse. Outside, the rain made music on sooty roof-tiles and cobblestones. Cool fingers trickled through her hair, tugging gently until it turned into a tangle of waves, dislodging copper hair pins.
'Pamela.' Dry breath, whispering her name against the bare skin of her throat. She shuddered, her own breath fled from her lungs. Was he now asking her permission? And if her mind was indeed changed - if she turned him from her house, revoked his invitation - would he obey?
'Tll death do us part, Pam thought, suddenly.
It struck her, rather late, that perhaps she was merely forsaking one cage - one vow - for another. But then, she had always been a good judge of character. 'Come,' she said, between two shallow breaths. Her heart was racing, urgent and needy, like she had never known it before; it would not betray her again. She reached around his neck, stark as a cliff against a moonless night, and brought him back down to her collarbone. 'I'm ready.'
THE END
27 September 2009