So, it's come to my attention that the Helen I'm presenting could come off as a bit.. ahem, loose? I don't see it that way (I mean, the woman is 161 years old) but I just wanted to let y'all know that that's not my intention.
This piece is something of a guilty pleasure for me because I have a thing about restrained English gentlemen and the loss of said restraint and the manner in which that is achieved... :P
Thank you for the lovely reviews! Keep 'em comin'!
Enjoy
xx
James:
James had revelled in the term, thinking it the most adorable thing he'd ever heard. He'd always been the good natured one, rarely raising his voice, always kind, always courteous. Even when they'd fought, he'd always been restrained. Some days, it drove Helen to the brink of insanity. Each time they fought (which was, in fact quite rare) she'd have to fight the urge to stride over and shake some sense in to him. Even John, the consummate gentleman fought with more passion than him. One day, she was so mad that she actually did shake him. The look of shock on his face was so comical, Helen had started to laugh at him.
She'd tried to step away from his as she doubled up with laughter but surprisingly enough, his hands hand clamped down on her arms, keeping her body just inches from his. That had sobered her up. She could see the anger glittering in his eyes and immediately rethought the intelligence of her previous action. She knew she should have insisted on her release her but she was mesmerized by the way his breathing had increased, his were lips pulled tight across his teeth and his hands were getting tighter and tighter around her arms.
Then, just as she opened her mouth, he had silenced her, leaning down to crush their lips together. She meant to protest, meant to squirm and move out of his embrace but her body didn't seem to want to listen to her head. Instead of a squeak of surprise, she was moaning into his lips. Instead of moving away, she leant into his chest and grabbed at his clothes, pulling him closer.
And while it had been a while since Helen was in this position, she couldn't remember kissing ever being this… this… this intense. All her nerve endings were on fire, her body aching for his touch. From that point, things had very quickly progressed and soon the aching was more than satisfied. Of course, he'd apologized profusely for his actions, promising that he'd never, ever force himself on her again.
It had taken her a good hour to convince him that there had been no forcing involved. That she was a very willing participant and hoped she could be again. He'd been taken back by her offer but, as she'd expected, he'd been more than willing to comply. Of course he'd been more gentle with her but after more than month of his gentle affections, Helen had made it her own personal mission to make him lose control again.
It took her another month to achieve this goal but boy was it worth the wait.
Then, of course, World War II had happened and their relationship slowly dropped away. The first few years were fine, intense and passionate but then, after seeing Druitt in Normandy, it all fell apart. Perhaps they were both feeling guilty. Perhaps they were too caught up in their work. Perhaps it just wasn't meant to be.
For a year or so it had been awkward but, in the way old friends do, they got past it, falling back into a comfortable companionship. Their combined pride had been an issue but, after a time, they could stand the pain no longer. It was as if one day, out of the blue, Helen arrived in his lab, friendly smile on her face and everything was fine.
It wasn't, but they were very good at playing pretend.