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The door opened; and in swept Jasper, resplendent in a black frock coat under which he wore a magenta waistcoat and black breeches. Following directly behind him was a young woman dressed in a tightly corseted gold silk gown with frothy white sleeves. Her beauty took my breath away. She had shining blonde hair swept up in some complicated hairstyle I could never in my life hope to imitate and a flawless ivory complexion. Diamonds glinted in her ears and glimmered from the jewel-encrusted necklace at her swanlike throat.
‘Ah, Mercy,’ said Jasper, smiling at me guilelessly. ‘This is Lady Arabella de La Croix. Arabella, this is Mercy, our maid who will be serving us this evening.’
My heart plummeted to my toes at his words, but I took care not to move a muscle. Arabella looked at me with piercing blue eyes; she didn’t say hello. I saw her note every pockmark on my face, and her small nose wrinkled with disapproval.
‘Then why, pray tell,’ she said, looking at Jasper pointedly, ‘is she sitting at our table?’
Jasper’s eyes glinted mischievously. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Perhaps she decided to keep the seat warm for you. She’s good for things like that. Mercy, we’d like our entrée now please. Arabella my dear, why don’t you be seated?’
I got up slowly and watched Arabella flounce over, settle herself in my seat, and arrange her mass of golden skirts. I was so shocked by the turn of events I couldn’t say a word. I just stood there and kept staring at Jasper, who must’ve felt the weight of my gaze but didn’t flinch once. He got some Madeira out of the sideboard and poured two glasses. When he sat down, he looked at me.
‘What, Mercy? Am I not paying you enough for this little extra service? I think you’ll find I am when you go into the kitchen.’ Arabella whispered something, and he chuckled. ‘No, she’s not simple. She’s actually becoming very well educated. Sebastian’s making sure of that. I’ll tell you about it over our entrée, when it finally arrives. By the way, Mercy, can you take these flowers away? They’re giving me a headache.’
I curtsied abruptly and sidled out of the room clutching the vase of sweet peas leaving the two of them alone—Arabella sipping her Madeira and Jasper gazing at her adoringly.
Chapter 11
Thomas insisted on walking me home. After saying goodbye, I headed straight for the shower, turned the dial to hot, and stood underneath, so the steaming water would scald away the memories of what we’d done.
Eleanor’s comment about me needing to feel the sting of pleasure with someone was coming back to haunt me. I groaned. If I’d known her good-looking cousin was a master vibrator wielder, I wouldn’t have let him anywhere near me with that thing. But it was too late now. What was done was done.
To his credit, Thomas had kept up a steady stream of commentary, asking if what he was doing was OK. I supposed he was worried because I’d said I had a sexual phobia and didn’t want me to freak out. I don’t know why I’d said that, but after Ben left me, I felt anxious about going on dates and it leading to sex. So I’d assumed I had now had one.
I had appreciated Thomas’s concern, but part of me wished he would be quiet and let me fantasise about Jeremy. However, when he’d absently shifted the thing into the apex of my thighs, I discovered that having a large vibrator between my legs was immensely pleasurable. I’d let out a strangled gasp.
‘Whoops, sorry about that,’ Thomas apologised, hastily moving it away.
‘No, it’s fine. You can keep it there,’ I said, trying not to sound overly eager.
‘Well, if you insist.’ He moved it back and began making small stroking movements, centring it on a certain spot. My eyelids fluttered closed as I felt a pleasurable warmth travel up from between my legs and swirl around my solar plexus. A small moan escaped before I could help it.
Recognising I was feeling amorous, Thomas said, ‘Shall I kiss you? It might make it feel less clinical ...’
‘OK,’ I agreed, more conducive to the idea of snogging him.
Thomas lowered his lips to mine, and we kissed while he continued stroking me with the vibrator. He was a good kisser, not sloppy and didn’t try to ram his tongue down my throat, which I appreciated. Kissing him was actually pretty great, and he was obviously enjoying it too from the small noises he was making in his throat. As the kissing and vibrating went on with no traumatic effects (only enjoyable ones), I found myself automatically stroking his bare chest.
My hand dropped lower, feeling his washboard abs, and lower until I accidentally touched his member, which was warm and stiff. Embarrassed, I drew my hand away, but he said, ‘Feel free to go there.’
Then he added, ‘Or not. I don’t mind.’
‘Maybe I should take off my clothes too,’ I said, avoiding his eyes.
He shrugged. ‘Sure. Just tell me if at any point you want me to stop.’
I soaped my body thoroughly twice, rinsed, turned the water off, and reached for a towel. I buried my face in it and let out another groan as visions of Thomas steadily going through his checklist invaded my brain. At no point had I told him to stop. That was because everything he’d done had felt really good. Placing the vibrator so it buzzed away between my legs, he’d nibbled my earlobe, then sucked my nipples; and it was fantastic. And I’d participated by stroking his length, which he assured me felt equally as good. It was all so good, in fact, that things progressed to the point that we’d spontaneously climaxed. Afterwards, as we lay there, coming to our senses, Thomas had quipped, ‘Well, that was fun.’
At the time, it had been fun and strangely freeing since there was no pressure or expectations involved, but now I wondered what the hell I’d done. I felt guilty, like I’d somehow betrayed Jeremy, which was ridiculous. He was probably off having his own orgasms and not giving me a second thought. Or was he?
It was well after midnight when I’d finished drying my hair and was settled in bed, wearing a clean camisole and knickers. Idly, I glanced at my phone on the nightstand and saw there was a message from ‘Thomas the Tank Engine’. My heart sank, then, confusingly, lifted.
After Thomas had walked me home, there was the inevitable discussion about exchanging numbers. He’d wanted to put his in my contacts, but I hadn’t wanted him to see what I’d named him. So to get out of that dilemma, I’d confessed I already had his number and messaged him so he had mine. Now he’d sent me one back.
TTTE: Hi, I had a great time tonight. I know I said that before we did stuff, but just to reiterate it. Hope you’re not freaking out because of your sex phobia. Let me know you’re OK.
I supposed if I didn’t reply, he’d think I was freaking out. He did sound like he genuinely cared about my well-being. Either that, or he was worried I’d tell Eleanor that he’d seduced me.
Me: Hi, no, I’m not freaking out. Well, a little. But it had been a while, so to be expected I guess.
