The last of the servants has finally left for the fair in Thirsk and Charles has slipped down to the kitchen for sandwiches and a large portion of Mrs. Patmore's apple tart. He is walking past her parlor when he hears a low contented sigh and is surprised she didn't go with the others. Tiptoeing up behind her settee, he is startled to find that she has removed her skirt and blouse and is sitting in the dark in her shift and stockings, trying to keep cool in the summer heat. What happens next?
Charles watches her lay there. Her eyes closed, mouth slightly parted. Her soft brown hair undone and lying across the soft cushion of the deep red settee. His gaze lingers on the rise and fall of her full breasts pushed tight against the thin silk of her shift. He slowly makes his way down her body. The soft curves and dips of her stomach and hips. The sacred deep v at the junction of her shapely thighs. Her shift is pushed up, exposing the tops of her smooth black stockings, the garters that hold them in place. He had often dreamed of her like this. Imagined what her body would look like under her layers of corsets and dresses. He could never imagine the sheer beauty before him. The soft milky white skin of her shoulder,chest and thigh. The dusting of freckles playing against the creamy white. He knows he should turn away, afford her the privacy and respect she deserves from him. Yet, he continues to stare. He longs to run his fingertips across her bare skin, to then follow that path with his lips and tongue. Letting the smooth silk of her skin satiate his burning need to taste her. She stirs, her body moving just enough for a strap to slide from her elegant shoulder, exposing the plump fullness of her breast, a hint of pink from her nipple. His body reacts on its own accord, a sharp intake of breath and a shallow groan in his chest. His fists clench at his sides as he feels himself harden, pressing tightly against his trousers. He knows he is playing with fire. That standing over her nearly naked body as she dozes gently in the summer heat is risky, to say the least. Any moment she could wake, open her eyes, and forever be burned by his lust-filled, sinful gaze. She would see the weakness in him, the need for her he tries so hard to bury and hide. His feet begin to move slowly. His intent to carry him out the door and down the hall. Instead they take him slowly around the settee, where he kneels next to her. He is so close he can hear her shallow breaths, smell the sweet lemon and lavender of her soft brown hair. His hand moves gently as it lifts to her hair, slowly twining a brown lock around his finger. He brings the curl to his mouth, running the soft silk across his lips. His first taste of her beauty. He places the dark lock back down next to her smooth cheek, the back of one finger slowly sliding down the length of her face. Her face instinctively turns into his hand, a small sigh escaping the soft pink of her parted lips. Still she sleeps on. He imagines the heat of the day has rendered her beyond exhausted. He knows she is getting tired, as is he. Tired of their work, tired of propriety, tired of pretending they do not love one another. He knows that she loves him. The way her hands linger on his arm, his chest, his hand. The way she takes care of him, stubbornly holding him back from pushing himself to the limit. The way she looks at him, silently begging him to reveal himself to her. He can no longer hold back. He can't even think of a reason why he should. His eyes linger on her lips before he leans over and presses his own gently down onto hers. He feels her slowly awaken under his attentions. Her lips matching his, her hands coming up to grasp his head. Her fingers playing gently in his silver waves as he deepens the kiss. His tongue running along the crease of her parted lips, searching for entrance into the warm heat of her mouth. She accepts him, pushes her own sweet tongue against his as she moans into his mouth. He cannot find the words in him to speak. He knows they need no words, nothing can explain this final joining of their souls. Her fingers work the buttons of his shirt pushing it away from his chest and running her fingers through his soft curls. His hands roam her body freely, covering every inch within his reach. His palm cups her breast, kneading the soft flesh as his fingertips toy with the hard peaks. Her moans and sighs fill the room. He had hoped she would be a vocal lover. His insecurity needing to hear the satisfaction and confirmation of her pleasure. They continued this mutual exploration of each others bodies. Kissing, touching, tasting of one another until they were both silently begging for release. Charles held Elsie's gaze as their bodies joined and began a lovers dance as old as time. They moved as one, their love finally finding its place within each other's hearts.