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THE CRUCIVERBALIST COURTSHIP

Epilogue - Forevermore

"Oh, yes!" Amy rocked back, pushing off his shoulders, allowing him to go deeper.

"Perhaps not quite so loudly."

"You said you would never quiet my voice."

"I believe I said I would never silence you." Then Sheldon curled his fingers within her, rubbing the front wall of her.

Biting her lips, Amy let out a ragged exhale in response. "I cannot be quiet when you do that."

Sheldon captured her lips, hungry and eager, and she let him, stilling her rocking motion to let his hand do its work. But he was being slow, dragging within her, deep enough to send shudders but not enough to send her over the edge.

It was tea time, but the Earl Gray had been forgotten as Amy straddled Sheldon on a settee in the drawing room. They were both still fully dressed, but with her loose summer skirt and the full short legs of her French knickers, Sheldon had mastered the art of shimmying his hand to her in private.

The drawing room was not the first of the two hundred and nineteen rooms where'd they shared a stolen assignation, and Amy hoped it would not be the last. The billiards table was just one place that was perfect for privacy, and there Amy would wrap her legs around Sheldon as he rocked into her, kissing deeply the whole time. In addition to the house, there was the laboratory, where the stretchers on the tables were just the height she needed for her feet, bending forward over whatever work they'd abandoned.

Sheldon switched to thrusting in and out, and Amy rocked again, trying to encourage him back to the action she liked best. She pulled her lips away to beg into his ear. "Sheldon, please."

"But I wish it were me," he said in return, "inside of you."

Amy pulled up, away from him, noting his surprise. She swiftly undid his belt and his trouser and then released his manhood from all the fabric.

"Amy, we cannot. You do not have your device." Then he threw his head back with a moan as she grasped him.

"I am not proposing that. I will do this while you use your fingers to my advantage." Amy did not let go, wrapping him and pumping. Sometimes privacy and forethought did not matter and they had to be creative in their mutual gratification.

"But think of the mess!" he protested hoarsely.

"A napkin," she answered, letting go to twist and take one from the tea tray.

"We cannot send that to be laundered with the rest!"

"Oh, good heavens!" Amy said, leaning back toward him, grazing the damp crotch of her knickers over his knuckles. "We'll just burn it in the fire if we must. We ordered two hundred of them; one won't be missed."

Either having run out of excuses or delirious with arousal, Sheldon kissed her, his fingers shimmying up her thigh, into her knickers, and plunging into her once more. "Oh, yes," she moaned for him again. "Quickly, before Mr. Bloom comes for the tray."

Committed to this course of action, they didn't speak with words again, although Sheldon curled and grazed and pressed within her in time with her hand upon him. It was swift and direct and timed perfectly and, too far gone to kiss, Amy rested her forehead against his, panting open mouth, losing the steady rhythm of her grasp as the passion built but she knew Sheldon was gone far enough, too, that it would not matter.

As always, her reserved husband kept a serious face throughout. He watched and he catalogued and he adjusted, his burning blue gaze never leaving hers, even when their eyes were so close as this, his mouth set firmly as only the occasional deep moan escaped. Amy might crawl onto him with a giggle or even a belly laugh, but Sheldon's face never betrayed such frivolity at these moments. She might simper or wink as he made love to her, but Sheldon only devoted himself to the gravity of their joining. Afterward, cuddling and panting, he might betray his satiation or achievement with a small, satisfied smile, but never during.

The concentration he bestowed upon Amy was her greatest aphrodisiac. Occasionally, she would spot the same look as he worked at his chalkboard or, even better, over a private puzzle or note she left tucked in the edges of the blotter on his desk in the library. The same slight furrow of his brow, the same curious burning in his eyes, his long, elegant index finger tapping along his beckoning lips . . . at those moments, she would coax him away from his work, letting his studious stare codify her body instead. And if she noticed him focusing on her, only her, that way from across a room . . . well, that was how she found herself rapidly approaching climax under his penetrating stare at this particular tea time.

And then he put his thumb right where she wanted it, giving it a rapid swirl or two, and her orgasm burst upon her, and she threw her head back as pleasure washed over her, the second and third wave even greater than the first. Amy would silence herself for no man, not even her husband, and the sitting room filled with the sounds of their mutual satisfaction, Sheldon joining her with deep, throaty tones.

Coming down, Amy kissed him and rolled off, sprawling with exhaustion next to him on the fine jacquard fabric as he cleaned himself. "Here, give me the napkin," she said. "There's a bit on my thigh."

Appropriately rearranged, she took back up her cup of forgotten tea and curled up next to her re-dressed husband, putting her head on his shoulder as she took slow sips. She hoped it looked like nothing more than two loving but demure newlyweds enjoying a peaceful meal. As predicted, she heard the butler approaching, the sounds of his whistling reaching them. He was quite skilled at warbling, and the tune carried loud and strong even through the closed doors of the manor home when his footsteps did not. Amy hummed along for a measure or two but then something struck her.

"Sheldon?"

"Yes?"

"When did Mr. Bloom start whistling? I don't remember it from when I would visit before."

She felt Sheldon shift next to her, the movements of his shoulder implying he was craning his neck in confusion. "Now that you mention it, I'm not certain."

Just then, Mr. Bloom knocked softly on the door and waited for their call before he entered. Amy passed over her teacup and asked, "Mr. Bloom, before you go. When did you start whistling in the halls? I don't remember it from before, but I can't recall clearly."

"Shall I stop?" the butler replied, standing sharply from over the tray he was gathering, his face suddenly more ashen than usual. "It's just that it brings a tiny ray of joy to my otherwise dismal life."

"Not at all," Sheldon answered, ignoring Stuart's latter remark as was their custom. "We were just curious what caused the change."

"Well, if I may be so bold, Your Ladyship, it's you."

"Me?" Amy said, leaning forward in surprise.

"It's the joy you've brought to the house and his Lordship. It fills the rooms, you see. It seems . . . positively audible at times, so whistling seems only . . . appropriate." He cleared his throat. "Dinner at seven in the dining room?"

"Yes. Thank you, Mr. Bloom."

Alone together again, Sheldon said, "How odd. He does sometimes say the strangest things. Joy being audible. Hmph."

Her blush fading into a triumphant grin, Amy snuggled back into Sheldon's shoulder. "Indeed."

THE END

Once again, this story would not be possible without the unflagging efforts and wisdom of my dear friend and beta, Melissa.

Thank you in advance for your reviews!