So ... who wants to know what was in John's letter?
Read on...
Alone in her room at last, Anna opened the letter. To her joy, there were several pages. No wonder John hadn't been able to slip it under the door of her room. Huddled into her nightdress, tucked under her blankets, Anna began to read.
My darling Anna
We're alone at last. Just you, and my words, and if all has gone well today, you will have had a taste of what I wished for when I first gave you those words.
The memory of John's lips against hers and his hands on her waist made Anna's skin tingle all over.
Of course I wanted to hold you, I wanted to kiss you. Any man in his right mind would want that liberty from you. If I had known then what I know now, I wouldn't have been able to resist you. I love the taste of you, the feel of your lips against mine, the sweet touch of your hands against my face. I love the feel of your tongue against my mouth, the way you taste me, as if you can't get enough. Nobody else has ever found me so desirable, and the idea that you not only allow me to touch you, but want me to, is sometimes more than I can comprehend.
Had I known then what I know now, I wouldn't have stopped at kissing you, unless you'd wanted me to. And knowing you as I do now, I don't think you'd have wanted me to stop.
Anna's hand shook as she laid the first page to one side. Her blood singed beneath her skin, her hair against the back of her neck felt damp and clammy.
I would have been gentle, at first. The softest kiss, the barest taste, I would have wanted your permission for every touch and caress. But if you had kissed me back, the way I know you can, I would have pulled you close into my arms, held you tight and feasted on your mouth.
I doubt I would have been able to keep my hands off you. I still remember how you looked in that maid's uniform. So demure, so correct and perfect, but so enticing. I would have slid my hand down from your waist, along the length of your thighs, to see how you would react. I might have cursed that long green skirt you wore, for separating me from your shapely legs.
Anna felt a stronger frission of desire wash through her, making her legs tremble. Her breath caught in her throat.
I remember everything about the way you dressed. Those little frills of lace along the top of your apron, the way the lines only enhanced your womanly shape, rather than concealing you. Those little buttons at the throat, just beneath your chin.
Anna remembered. They had been itchy, uncomfortable, difficult to fasten in the morning when she was still half awake and longing for more sleep.
I would have unfastened one, maybe two... perhaps even all three if you had allowed me to. Then, tipped your head back, to kiss my way down that lovely white skin of your throat, teasing you, tasting you, beneath the neck of that dress.
Delirious with desire and aching for her husband's touch, Anna's left fingertips grazed against her throat, remembering the thrill of feeling John's skin against hers, the brush of his stubble late at night, the soft warmth of his mouth, the callouses of his fingers... Echoes of pleasure whispered, growing ever louder within her blood.
Had I been bold enough, sure enough that we were alone, I would have lifted you in my arms, sat you on the table in the servants hall, still kissing you, while one hand would have slid the hem of that long green skirt up your legs. To be able to run my hand up your leg, over the curves of your calf, your shapely thighs, up towards your waist. If you had let me, I'd have slid my hand around to that soft, sensitive skin along the inside of your legs. You know where I mean. That soft line of your thighs, where if I stroke just lightly enough, you make the gentlest and most tempting of noises, barely a sigh.
Anna knew she would blush when she sat down to breakfast the next morning, even thinking about such wanton happenings. Barely conscious of her actions, her own hand played with the edge of her night dress, her fingers sliding upwards along her own skin, experimentally. The sensation was nice, but not nearly as nice as when John's hands ran over her just there.
Perhaps I would have held you tight against me, to feel your curves pressed against me. Or perhaps I'd have laid you down, allowed my other hand to join in, to stroke against your hips, the tops of your thighs. Maybe even to tease my way inside your undergarments...
Oh God John, I want you here, why aren't you here... Anna's hand slid further upwards, finding the inside of her thigh already damp with passion.
...easing my fingertips between your legs, to stroke at your core, to see what you felt like, to find out if you would like it.
Oh she would have liked it. Anna knew this from John's ministrations upon her body during their long, sleepless wedding night, when he had teased and stroked her, raising her sensations up to a height of pleasure she had never imagined, never even dreamed possible. Her own fingers in concert with John's words stirred a weak echo of those sensations now, a quiver inside her stomach, a soft hot gasp escaping from her own lips, a fluttering in her chest.
I would have stroked against the centre of you again, and again, and again, until you begged for release. I think you would have liked it, very much indeed. I know that now, and long to know it again.
She was down to the last page, just a few precious lines left.
When we can be together again my darling, I have every intention of knowing that again. Until then, I remain yours, always. Until we can be, once more, alone at last.
Sleep well, my love
JB
Weakened and shaking, her breath hot and harsh, Anna closed her eyes for a few seconds. Images of John swam before her, the longing for his touch was insatiable, such that she could barely withstand it. She ached to go to him, to be with him, to show him what ravages of passion his words had wreaked upon her, to beg him to finish what his letter had started until she was sated once more, as she hadn't been since her wedding night.
Soon, she whispered cool and soft logic to her screaming emotions and desires. Soon. We will be together without fear, without worry and then we can give each other everything, and it will be perfect.
In the still of the night Anna sank into a restless sleep, the leaves of John's letter joining the others, tucked beneath her pillow, safe under her left hand.