Genuinely, I was attending to my own affairs. No one believes me when I say that, but verily this time it was so. Simply making the bed, tidying the pavillion, humming to myself. Alessandra was out on errands. Caterina was in and out again, wine, sweets, fresh linens in her hands. She and I, then alone in the pavillion, the early summer breeze muffling the sounds of the camp outside. I admit to having an ear for Her breath, as if there is a line between us that vibrates in time, that tells each to the other our state at any given moment. She sighed and shuffled her feet and I turned without breaking my task, using it as an excuse to look at Her…and my what a look She bore! Her eyes half closed, as if seeing something just inside Her eyes; Her cheeks flushed and warming; the fine, thick curve of Her lips, parted; the secret of Her tongue pressed to the tips of Her teeth. I knew the look well, the look of concentration on Her own senses, the look She allowed herself when we were together, at the end, when I want only to feel Her overflow and She wants only to refrain, to drag out the moment. I must have sighed myself, must have made the barest sound as Her desire spread to me across the pavillion. She opened Her eyes, caught me staring, my eyes wide, a question crossing my face. “Shall I?” I offer, making no moves. She considered, slightly a blush at having been caught. She points to the books before her. “He needs my help.” She says, mocking my words from earlier. I’m being reprimanded and I’m not sure I care. I drop what I’m doing. “Then I will hurry.” I say, kneeling to Her then and there, beneath the desk, ink and account books be damned. I will never get used to the rhythm of her, to her whens and wheres.
I admit to having an ear for Her breath, as if there is a line between us that vibrates in time, that tells each to the other our state at any given moment. She sighed and shuffled her feet and I turned without breaking my task, using it as an excuse to look at Her…and my what a look She bore! Her eyes half closed, as if seeing something just inside Her eyes; Her cheeks flushed and warming; the fine, thick curve of Her lips, parted; the secret of Her tongue pressed to the tips of Her teeth. I knew the look well, the look of concentration on Her own senses, the look She allowed herself when we were together, at the end, when I want only to feel Her overflow and She wants only to refrain, to drag out the moment.
I must have sighed myself, must have made the barest sound as Her desire spread to me across the pavillion. She opened Her eyes, caught me staring, my eyes wide, a question crossing my face.
“Shall I?” I offer, making no moves.
She considered, slightly a blush at having been caught. She points to the books before her.
“He needs my help.” She says, mocking my words from earlier. I’m being reprimanded and I’m not sure I care. I drop what I’m doing.
“Then I will hurry.” I say, kneeling to Her then and there, beneath the desk, ink and account books be damned.
I will never get used to the rhythm of her, to her whens and wheres.
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