minute.’ She laughed as she straddled him, and, arching her back, placed his hand upon one breast, rubbing it gently back and forth over the rosebud nipple. ‘Is this what I’m supposed to do? Tell me. Teach me how to be a woman. You always said life was for living, Archie, that only friendship mattered. Well, you’re my very best friend, so who better to teach me how to make love?’
‘I hope you’re sure, Kitty-Cat. This could all be a terrible mistake.’
He half mumbled the words, his mouth moving to suckle her breast, making her cry out with pleasure. She lost all control after that. His hands and mouth seemed to develop a life of their own, moving and caressing every secret part of her, stroking, teasing, tantalising, awakening sensations in her she hadn’t known possible. Just to experience the demanding pressure of his lips against hers, the roughness of his skin bruising her breasts, and the weight of his body upon hers, squeezing the breath from her lungs as he entered her, stirred a desire in her so deeply profound, so sweetly insistent, that Kitty could hardly believe the sensations rioting through her. It was as if this great and overpowering need had been present inside her all along, just waiting to be fanned into life by his touch.
Kitty was the first to wake. She stirred with reluctance, so comfortable and safe was she, wallowing in a sense of warmth and well-being. She drew her feet up beneath the blankets and the thought came to her through a haze of sleep, that she could lie here all day, so cosy, so safe, so...
And then she remembered.
Her eyes flew open and went straight to Archie’s supine figure, fast asleep beside her. What had she done? What had she been thinking of? A wave of embarrassment washed over, filling her with an overwhelming instinct to flee.
Very quietly, so as not to wake him, she slid from the bed, snatched up her night-gown and crept swiftly from the room, praying she would not bump into their landlady as she fled naked along the landing. Collecting her wash bag she locked herself in the bathroom, since thankfully no one else in the house seemed to be up at this early hour. She ran a deep bath guessing Mrs Stokes would be furious with her for taking all the hot water, but they’d be leaving straight after breakfast, so what did it matter?
What did anything matter? Last night she’d lost her virginity. No, not lost it - given it away with gladness and joy. Kitty could feel her cheeks burn with shame at the memory.
Had she completely lost her reason? She’d slept with Archie Emerson - her dearest friend who, up until last night she’d thought of as a surrogate brother, had even passed him off as such.
What would he think of her now? How could she ever face him again? Kitty felt utterly appalled by her own wantonness. Why had she done it? Out of revenge to Frank? Surely not. Why would she risk spoiling a perfect friendship for such a shallow reason? Kitty lay back in the hot water, going over their lovemaking, step by blissful step, remembering the mounting tension, the breathless excitement, the touch of lips and fingers and the glorious intensity of fulfilment. Surely all of that emotion must have a deeper purpose than simply physical. Whatever Kitty may lack in practice, she was certainly fully conversant with the theory of sex, thanks to Clara’s open approach to the subject. She understood that men could enjoy it without love. Besides, hadn’t she been given ample proof of that fact already, from her own fiancé?
But could a woman? ‘A woman’s needs are different.’ Clara had told her so a dozen times or more. ‘Except for harlots.’
So what did last night make her?
Why, a woman in love of course. What else could those marvellous feelings mean?
The water had gone quite cold by the time Kitty stepped out to rub herself down briskly with the towel. She did not examine her vulnerability or naivety now. Kitty gave no credence to the insecurities
‘I hope you’re sure, Kitty-Cat. This could all be a terrible mistake.’
He half mumbled the words, his mouth moving to suckle her breast, making her cry out with pleasure. She lost all control after that. His hands and mouth seemed to develop a life of their own, moving and caressing every secret part of her, stroking, teasing, tantalising, awakening sensations in her she hadn’t known possible. Just to experience the demanding pressure of his lips against hers, the roughness of his skin bruising her breasts, and the weight of his body upon hers, squeezing the breath from her lungs as he entered her, stirred a desire in her so deeply profound, so sweetly insistent, that Kitty could hardly believe the sensations rioting through her. It was as if this great and overpowering need had been present inside her all along, just waiting to be fanned into life by his touch.
Kitty was the first to wake. She stirred with reluctance, so comfortable and safe was she, wallowing in a sense of warmth and well-being. She drew her feet up beneath the blankets and the thought came to her through a haze of sleep, that she could lie here all day, so cosy, so safe, so...
And then she remembered.
Her eyes flew open and went straight to Archie’s supine figure, fast asleep beside her. What had she done? What had she been thinking of? A wave of embarrassment washed over, filling her with an overwhelming instinct to flee.
Very quietly, so as not to wake him, she slid from the bed, snatched up her night-gown and crept swiftly from the room, praying she would not bump into their landlady as she fled naked along the landing. Collecting her wash bag she locked herself in the bathroom, since thankfully no one else in the house seemed to be up at this early hour. She ran a deep bath guessing Mrs Stokes would be furious with her for taking all the hot water, but they’d be leaving straight after breakfast, so what did it matter?
What did anything matter? Last night she’d lost her virginity. No, not lost it - given it away with gladness and joy. Kitty could feel her cheeks burn with shame at the memory.
Had she completely lost her reason? She’d slept with Archie Emerson - her dearest friend who, up until last night she’d thought of as a surrogate brother, had even passed him off as such.
What would he think of her now? How could she ever face him again? Kitty felt utterly appalled by her own wantonness. Why had she done it? Out of revenge to Frank? Surely not. Why would she risk spoiling a perfect friendship for such a shallow reason? Kitty lay back in the hot water, going over their lovemaking, step by blissful step, remembering the mounting tension, the breathless excitement, the touch of lips and fingers and the glorious intensity of fulfilment. Surely all of that emotion must have a deeper purpose than simply physical. Whatever Kitty may lack in practice, she was certainly fully conversant with the theory of sex, thanks to Clara’s open approach to the subject. She understood that men could enjoy it without love. Besides, hadn’t she been given ample proof of that fact already, from her own fiancé?
But could a woman? ‘A woman’s needs are different.’ Clara had told her so a dozen times or more. ‘Except for harlots.’
So what did last night make her?
Why, a woman in love of course. What else could those marvellous feelings mean?
The water had gone quite cold by the time Kitty stepped out to rub herself down briskly with the towel. She did not examine her vulnerability or naivety now. Kitty gave no credence to the insecurities
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