Apologies for the delay.
Perhaps she had been rather hasty. Perhaps she had been very hasty indeed, she thought ruefully; recklessly so, in fact. And now she was not quite sure what to do. One thing was certain; she had felt a lot more comfortable trying this on in front of her mirror at home in her own bedroom than she was now, and even then it had been a push to say she was entirely at ease.
The choice of colour had been silly really. White. Working on the basis that it seemed to have worked on her wedding night, she had allowed herself to go along with it because she liked the nightdress itself so much, but now she realised that the colour had really been more fitting then, in more ways then one. These days it did have a tendency to make her look rather bigger: her hips rounder and wider; her shoulder almost as if they were manly; her breasts gargantuan.
Turning to look at herself from the side, which was difficult in the small bathroom mirror, she grimaced. She might just get away with it without looking like a right old tart. She had accepted that, for the purposes of this evening, she was probably going to look like a tart anyway, but to look like an old tart would be simply intolerable. She decided not to dwell on what this situation she had got herself into could tell her about the extent of her feelings for Richard, that she was going to such nerve-racking extremes to try to impress him. She loved him but, in one way or another, he was probably going to end up being the death of her, she reflected fondly.
Turning her attention back to her nightdress, she wriggled a little bit, trying to see if there could be any more give in the bodice, it was rather... figure-hugging to say the least. And the light in the bathroom was making the fabric of the skirt seem a lot more translucent than before. She could see it half brushing, half floating over her hip, and the curve of her leg beneath. She put a hand to the back of her hair, which was still held up loosely, and dug her fingers in in mild frustration, causing a little bit of it to come loose, staring back at the reflection of her own face now as opposed to her body.
Her wrist felt almost as if it was beginning to tremble. It was quite beyond the limits of belief, how nervous she was. She thought back to all they had done together, all the ways and the pains he had taken to prove that he loved her. He had never been anything other than gentle. He loved her. There was no need to be frightened before him, she realised, he would sooner hurt his own flesh than her, and what was more important, he would not scorn her.
Reassured by this thought, she exhaled and smiled warily at her still-nervous reflection. The thought once again had struck the side of her consciousness of just how much she loved Richard. Often she could not tell, or did not care, where he started and she ended. It was like marriage should be, she thought. She wanted to marry him. The notion had milled around in her head for a while, but she had never put it together before, never silently articulated it like this. I want to marry him.
She almost jumped clean out of her skin, never mind the dress, when the cautious tap on the door came.
"Isobel, is everything alright? Only you've been in there for quite a long time."
So surprised was she at been shaken so quickly out of her reverie like this, her voice came out in a high-pitched squeak and sounded rather frightened.
"Yes."
Immediately, she heard the sound of the door handle being turned.
"What's the matter?" Richard was asking almost sharply, sounding concerned, "Isobel, te-"
Peering around the door to see what was happening, the sight of her apparently stopped him in his tracks. The nervousness in her face apparently drained gradually away into amusement, as she caught his awe-struck expression. He simply stood and stared at her.
"Oh for heaven's sakes," she said, half-smiling after a while, his reaction not a little disconcerting, "Richard? Please say something!"
Suddenly she felt young again, young and beautiful almost, under the crown of her half loosened hair under the wonder of his gaze. She felt the beginnings of a smile begin to fold into her lip, as she came to terms with his reaction.
"Isobel, I-..." his voice was low and husky and she was pleased to have taken him by surprise, "Will you come to bed, Isobel? Please?"
She smiled at him, reaching her arms to draw them around his neck, pull him gently to him and kiss him passionately, thankfully. Sensing that he was still in something of a daze, she took him by the hand. She was feeling brave now, she could lead him back into the bedroom, to the bed, their bed.
As they lowered themselves down beside each other onto the mattress, she felt his hands pressing against her hips. She sat back a little, letting his hands explore the creases of the silky fabric on her legs, her arms still draped lazily over his shoulders. His eyes, flitting upwards, fixed on where her breasts were pushed together by the tight bodice of the dress. She felt herself blush slightly, until his lips pressed softly into their curves, working his way along the edge of the lace.
Stopping, he pulled back, his hands still on her hips, looking into her face.
"For me?" he asked.
"For you."
It was then that a thought occurred to her, a thought too tempting to quite shift, it whetted her curiosity.
"Richard," she rested her hands cautiously on his thighs through his pyjamas, "Take off your pyjamas and lie down. Go on," he told him with a smile when he only watched her in confusion, "I want to do something for you."
Slowly, as if trying to gage what she was up to, he complied. Lying down next to him, feeling the advantage of, for once, having more clothes on than him, she settled herself with her face resting on his chest, her hand stroking gently against his thighs and then slipping upwards and taking his manhood between her fingers. She felt his chest move dramatically with the surprise as he let out a moan of mingled shock and pleasure. Emboldened, she took hold of him more firmly and stroked back an forth.
It was wonder full to feel his reaction to her. His hips moving beside hers, his chest rising and falling rapid and the sounds her was making... now she knew what he had meant. Love had never been this selfless for her before. All she cared about was him.
Quickly kissing his navel on the way, she shuffled down his body and took him into her mouth as deeply as she could, moving her mouth over him, pushing her tongue lightly along. She felt him restraining himself from thrusting into her mouth with difficulty. It excited her madly to think that this was her doing. Carried along with her rapture in his reactions, she swallowed experimentally, and she sensed that it took all of his mortal strength not to let go and spill himself into her mouth. This notion was confirmed when a second later, she felt herself being rolled over to lie on her back, the fabric of her dress being pushed up over her thighs, his fingers momentarily pushing into her, resting her own wetness, before he pushed into her and thrust hard. The friction and heat of their bodies moving frantically together meant that neither lasted very long. Her arousal at what she had done to him was so great and the feeling of him exploding into her was so strong that it sent her over the brink with a cry.
They lay entangled together, the fabric of her dress damp and with a tang of both of their excitements, lying around their legs, and he kissed her softly as if still in wonderment.
"Isobel, I-... Thank you." He seemed at a loss for any other words.
His hands on her bare arms, her drew her body to his and held her tightly. She wrapped her arms around his naked back, kissing the line of his jaw.
"I need you, Isobel," he told her after a while. They were both drifting half to sleep, but she still heard him, "Never leave me."
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