She was wet already. Jimmy could feel it, a dampness between Ivy's thighs where she sat astride him, her skirt up around her waist. Her blouse, borrowed from Daisy or somebody for the day, was unbuttoned, and Jimmy tentatively sucked at each of her breasts in turn, pressing his tongue against her pebbly nipples. That seemed to please her. She grabbed his shoulders tightly and shifted in his lap. His answering hardness, which he had worried might not appear, strained his trousers.
The show, to which Jimmy had been so looking forward, had been suddenly cancelled. "Laryngitis," the woman in the box office had said, as she refunded Jimmy's money. Jimmy had been disappointed, at first, until Ivy said, "Never mind. Let's have a drink instead," and a new world of possibilities opened to him.
After a few drinks-far fewer than last time-in a local pub, Jimmy had taken a room in a hotel where no questions were asked and rates were by the hour. Ivy had never done anything of the sort, but she was very willing to go. It was his first experience, as well, although he kept that quiet. Instead, he kissed her, his tongue pressing against hers as he fondled her breasts. She sighed into his mouth.
He could do it, he knew that. She would let him lie her out on the squeaky, narrow bed, let him slide off her skirt and sensible cotton undergarments. She would permit him to climb on top of her, to slide inside her, to bury himself in that warm, secret place and rut himself to ecstasy. Some part of him wanted to, but another, larger, part hesitated.
"Go on, then." Ivy smiled shyly, her cheeks pink, but made no move. Unsure exactly what she meant, Jimmy trailed a hand slowly down her creamy skin. He dipped lower, his fingers skimming the waistband of her drawers. Drawing a breath, he slid past the barrier and slipped a finger gently inside her. She was warm and soft, and he hadn't the slightest idea what he was doing. He moved the finger in a small, slow circle, and Ivy's eyes grew wide. "Jimmy." A tongue darted out, to lick at her lips. It didn't seem like a discouragement. He did it again, pressing slightly harder this time, and she swallowed. "Oh, I love you," she said, and the words stopped Jimmy cold.
He couldn't do this. Because this, he knew all too well, meant one thing to a girl like Ivy. It meant a promise, a vow that would lead in very short order to marriage and children and everything Jimmy didn't want. And he may have been a bastard, but he wasn't that much of a bastard.
"I'm sorry." He withdrew his hand.
"No..."
He shook his head and said it again. "I'm sorry, Ivy. I know you're not that kind of girl." She had no response to make to that. There was no possible response, unless she wanted to insist she really was, and Jimmy knew she wouldn't do that. It would be a lie, anyway. Ivy was pure, clean, and he needed somebody else. Somebody...sullied, like he was. "Let's get dressed," he said, gently urging her to stand, so he could will his body into submission. "We can have supper before we get the train back to Downton."
He turned his back as she dressed. It was the most gentlemanly thing he could do.