They sat next to one another on the settee, each absorbed in their own bit of reading. He had the latest farm journal and she was reading some new American novel. The day had begun as a misty one and had developed into a grey, sodden, heavy rainy afternoon. But Anthony Strallan had barley noticed, ensconced in the library, engrossed in his journals and his new wife.
Since marrying her the month before, his life had taken quite an enlivening turn. Rejecting his penchant to muddle through his infirmity, Edith had boldly acknowledged his limitations and found ways around them, refusing to let his useless arm deter either of them from happiness. The shy, demure Edith Crawley that he knew before the war had grown into a sure, confident, bold woman; at least when they were alone.
Her curiosity of the wedding night had delighted him and she had responded with gusto, endeavoring to add to his euphoric state. And she continued regularly in her quest to further excite him. He had worried that he might bore her. Instead, she had ignited something within him that had long been dormant. And so they had fallen into a happy routine of exploration and anticipation all through the honeymoon and after the return home a few days before. Rarely did he get a night off, as she called it. But occasionally he had been forced to beg off, knowing his body was not up to the challenge. On those nights, she curled contently next to him, her hand on his chest, and loved him in a different manner.
And all of it left him with the feeling that he had set out on an exciting new adventure.
Trying to force his mind back into his journal, he felt her hand creeping onto his thigh. It rested there casually, as if it were nothing for her to touch him in that manner. It had the effect of pulling his mind away from his article again, however. And as he sat, contemplating the feel of her hand so intimately placed, he felt stirrings of mischief as his midsection tightened.
She remained quiet though, seemingly engrossed in her book. But he knew better than that. Her behavior charmed him, for many reasons, and so he decided to let her mischief run its course. He wanted to see where she might lead…
Not too many moments had passed when her hand flinched, her elegant fingers tightening and clinching his muscle, before her hand moved ever so slightly upwards, settling against his most intimate area. Her tiny gasp at what her wandering hand discovered amused him but he remained silent, still staring at but not reading his article.
Suddenly she shifted her position, twisting in such a way that her breasts brushed against him before she turned and settled with her back against the opposite side of the furniture. Kicking her slippers off, she lifted her feet, first to tuck her toes under his leg and then slowly, she moved her feet to his lap. Then in a pretense of rubbing her feet together, she managed to rub against the now very prominent evidence of his interest in her antics.
Finally, he braved a peek at her face and was met by her desire laden eyes, baiting and inviting him for more. Her expression of wantonness and obvious intentions, here in the library in the middle of the day, initiated a feeling of impropriety within him that was quickly brushed away as she licked her lips in a most stimulating manner.
The heat rising in his body was becoming unbearable, the room suddenly stuffy. And as she shifted once again, he knew his battle was lost. He seemed to lose most of the battles with her and was, without a doubt losing the war, and that notion delighted him. Now a leg had fallen off his lap, her foot on the floor. But the other remained in his lap, effectively opening her legs to him, the only barrier being her rumpled skirt. Her foot rubbed against him again and he saw a mischievous smile grow on her lips. That did it. Surrendering to her not so subtle hints, he snaked his hand under her skirt.
As his hand worked its way up, she slid down to meet him. Briefly he wondered how he would manage when his hand arrived at it s destination, but he could have saved the worry. It seemed she wasn't wearing any of the usual undergarments. His fingers flicked her intimacy and he reveled in her swift intake of breath. Her hand clinched the back of the settee as she let out a soft whimper. "Oh Anthony…" she breathed as her eyelids drooped shut and her head lolled back.
Satisfied that this really was her intention, he began to play further, His fingers lingered over her folds, softly brushing along the length until he began to feel the evidence of her pleasure, her sweet juices moistening his fingers as they moved. He felt tiny trembles as he began to press a little more, until finally, he slid his long finger between her folds and into her heat.
She pulled her skirt up a bit, exposing more of her flesh and letting out a whiff of her enticing aroma. Bu now, he wanted her so badly that his manhood was straining beneath his trousers. He couldn't remember ever being so rock hard in his life. "You little trollop," he teased as he moved over her.
"Your little trollop, Anthony," she replied as she reached up behind his neck and pulled him to her for a kiss.
The kiss was passionate, and filled with want. She surprised him as he pulled away and reached for him, unfastening his trousers and freeing his member. She gasped as she took hold of him, her eyes widening as she realized the results of her playfulness.
"Be careful what you wish for, my dear," he teased as he watched her face.
Hiking her skirt even higher, he leaned down and tenderly kissed her femininity and then straightening up, held his rod over her, taunting. "I think it is time you pay for your little transgressions here."
He had fully encased himself in her warmth and wetness when a quiet knock sounded at the door. Both pairs of eyes flew open as Anthony tried to pull away. "No," he called out but it was too late. Harrison was already opening the door. "The Countess of Grantham to see you…." Harrison froze as the open door fully revealed the activities in the room.
Edith hurriedly pushed her skirt down while Anthony fumbled with is trousers. Thankfully Edith saw her mother in the background before Anthony and stood, putting herself between the door and her husband. "Would you show my mother to the parlor, Harrison?"
The butler, red faced and trying desperately not to look in her direction, nodded. "Yes, I'll see to it," he said before backing out and closing the door.
Turning to her husband, who was now all shades of red, Edith began to giggle. "Shall I help you?" she asked brightly. His look of utter perplexity tickled her. "With your trousers?"
His bright blue eyes lit with amusement as he grinned. "If you touch my trousers, I'm afraid your mother will be left waiting an awfully long time," he said lightly.
Edith looked back at him conspiratorially. "I'm afraid you might be right. Will you be alright here? I'll go and visit with her alone, if you'd rather not…"
Blushing again, Anthony debated the merits of her suggestion. It would be easy to leave her to explain to her mother but then, that would be a coward's way out. No, better to go with her," he decided…. Perhaps if the two of them faced the Countess together, the matter would be solved quickly. "I'll go with you. I wonder what she wants…" he mused as he made a final adjustment to his pants and then walked with her from the room.
I'll let your imagination take it from there, lol. As always, I love to hear what you think.