Page 70 of Apt to be Suspicious
“You cannot possibly be real.” Pen said it, but then she relaxed a little, letting herself fall fully onto her back. It gave Edmund a glorious view of her body, though her hand covered a fair bit of her below the waist. And besides, he was staying focused on her face.
Out of her clothes, she had a sturdiness to her he hadn’t quite expected, and a softness. Not the same sort as Margaret or Betty had, but they’d both had children, and that made a difference. For Edmund, it made him feel better. He would delight in Pen’s body now, however she permitted. But in a future, some years down the road, where she’d grown older, had a child or two— their child or two— he was just as confident he’d find her attractive then.
Now, he gave her a moment, then moved his hand so he could bend and kiss her. At first, he managed to keep his hips from being quite so obvious. As the kiss went on, though, and as Pen’s arm came around his shoulders and tugged him closer, that became more of a contortion. Eventually, he gave in, letting his hips roll against her body, the curve of her own hip and waist, and he groaned into her mouth at the pressure of it.
She stiffened slightly, but then deliberately let her hand slide down his back, encouraging him a little more. Edmund shifted, letting his weight press a bit, then pulling back from the kiss. “I would like to touch you. A finger inside when you’re ready?” He made it a question. “A little of the oil, to help, if that seems the thing.”
Pen blinked at him, then nodded once. “As you think best.” Then she flushed. “You obviously have skills. Show me your skills.”
Edmund could not stop himself from rocking his hips against her, arching with it, letting her see that. He could never entirely guard himself in private, in bed. This, though, was rather more than with Margaret or Betty. She could so easily undo him with a smile, a word or three, or the way she reacted.
Pen had given him a task, and he gave it his best. Not in a rush, of course, that was no sort of quality. He let his fingers explore, enjoying the freedom of doing so with no clothes in the way. Edmund thought he could lose himself in exploring her breasts for hours, while wanting to touch her everywhere else. By the time he ventured a fingertip against her, she was shivering slightly, pressing up against him.
“Here, there we go.” Now his words were becoming inane. Or not inane, but all about the tone and the flow of them, rather than the content. It was the way he talked to a horse or a hawk, fond and careful and wanting everything to be smooth and wonderful. Attentive to every little thing they told him, by a flicker of movement or attention or sound. Pen certainly liked this, and as he got a finger into her, she made a small sound. Edmund set himself to exploring what other sounds that might produce. He could feel her becoming wetter, but he considered. “A little of the oil? You’ll like how it feels.”
It was not, in and of itself strictly a potion. Not for that, given he’d had the vial for his own use. But it would make everything feel better, and the oil itself would ease the way. He got a little on his fingers, nudging the bottle back onto the bedside table, before taking his time with the touch. One finger, then two, then she was arching more against him. Edmund felt his hips rock. Certainly he was hard and eager as anything. Finally, when he thought she was as ready as she could be, he nuzzled her shoulder. “More? You’re ready for me, if you’ll—” His voice caught. “May I? Do you want that?”
Something in his voice got her eyes open, more or less focusing on him. “Show me.” Then she almost giggled. “Different language. Teach me this one. What you know.”
Put like that, of course he was going to. It wasn’t just her willingness. It was the fact that despite everything new, she was teasing him. Seeing him as he was, and wanting that, too. He wasn’t sure which part was a more potent urge, and it didn’t matter. Edmund kissed her shoulder, then rearranged himself, settling between her legs.
Everything in him was focused in two places: her face and what they were about to do. What he wanted. As he adjusted himself slightly, he began to press in. The temptation to groan and close his eyes and feel everything was strong, but instead, he watched her.
There was the moment of uncertainty, entirely precious, then a shiver, and then— as he pressed in more— a whimper. He held still, with some difficulty, until she relaxed a bit, letting his hand come up to stroke against her skin. “There we go. It’s new, but oh, you feel wonderful. I want you to feel this, too, both of us, together.”
Pen inhaled, shifting her hips just a hair, and Edmund slid in, the oil easing it enough. He held there for half a breath, just enough to let her begin to get used to it, before he pulled back. From there, it was all about the rhythm. He could hear a melody, as if in another room, something that began as a stately walk, before speeding up. Once Pen moved against him, he found himself watching her face intently. One of her legs came up around his waist, then the other, letting him explore more with his hands.
He wasn’t sure when the music changed, but he could feel her, more uneven. Less measured, certainly. Something that had syncopation to it, an ebb and flow. He was breathing harder. She was too, and she was making the most delightful sounds.
Not loud— she’d certainly have learned to be quiet, whatever she did herself or with others. Being louder was something they could explore together later. Now, he leaned into listening for each little moan or whimper, until he got his fingers in just the right place, pressing her up toward a climax. It took her by surprise, he thought, before thinking was decidedly not on offer, as he was driving toward his own pleasure.
In the aftermath, Edmund managed things well enough. He did not collapse on top of her. He managed a charm to deal with the mess, and got them under the covers. She curled up against him without saying much, and he let his arm rest across her, not entirely sure if she’d be able to sleep like that. Or if he would.
They both did somehow. When he woke, it was well into the middle of the night, with faint light from the moon through the window. He could see just enough to realise Pen was deeply asleep, nestled against him, using his shoulder as her pillow with her arm draped across him. This was decidedly a new language, the way she encouraged the intimacy in her sleep.
When he woke again, the sun was up, and it took him a moment to realise that they had both moved again. He could tell from her breathing that she was awake, but this time he was curled up, his front tight against her back. Hard against her, in fact. His hand was cupping one of her breasts, and when he moved, just slightly, she leaned back against him. “Morning.”
“It is.” Given the opportunity, he nuzzled at her neck. She’d left her hair up last night, now he thought about it, braided and tucked into a bun at the nape. Wisps had come loose, but sometime soon, he hoped to see what she looked like with it properly loose. “How do you feel?”
“Curious.” Pen sounded like she was almost laughing, then he felt her brush her fingers against his. “Is this how you usually wake up? Wanting, I mean.”
“I would very much enjoy waking up like this more often, the part that is about you here. Did you sleep all right?” Edmund asked it while trying to figure out how to say what he wanted. It did not go tidily into any language he knew, and that seemed wrong. Then he took a breath. “If you’re curious about what else we might do, I am entirely willing, yes. Interested.”
“You have an idea.” Again, there was that warmth and hint of laughter. “Propose your idea, then.”
“Last night, that was my skill. Things I’ve already learned.” His voice hitched. “But there are things I learned I couldn’t use with my previous lovers. Magic. Charms for pleasure, the sort of thing that can’t be explained by skill.” Edmund knew quite a few of those, actually, by virtue of certain of Papa’s books. Particularly Papa not commenting when a volume disappeared for a week or two from the shelves. He’d used them on himself, though sparingly. He knew how. But Edmund had no idea what Pen would think of them.
She went still for a moment, then nodded. “That. Show me.” Her voice went softer as she took a breath and let it out. “I’m glad of your skills. That this wasn’t fumbling. That you were—” Pen almost made it a question, then she didn’t. “You were set on my pleasure.”
“I was. Don’t worry, I also found mine.” Edmund considered. “I know a lot of charms. Sensations other than pure pleasure. Those are for some other day, if you want to explore them. But now, just warmth, and making things feel more.”
“I like more.” Her voice had gone breathy, and Edmund took that as his cue. He called the magic to his fingers, both hands, and then he set to work touching her in all the ways he could. Of course, one arm was under her body, but he could stroke and touch and cup with that. The other wandered far more, and then he managed to get the magic to pool in his cock. He heard her moan more loudly once he managed that, then rocked against her body, pressing himself snugly against her.
“There we are. Magic. All the goodness. Sweet and warm and glowing.” One day soon, he wanted to have her stretched out on the bed. A day when she was brave enough to let him look and look, while he teased and touched and learned all the most delightful places on her body. Now, though, it was all long, smooth touches, done purely by responding to her reactions. He let his eyes close, floating in it as her sounds and his fingers tangled and built.
When he pushed inside her, finally, there was the loudness. He’d meant to keep things slow and easy, a languid round, but hearing that, he couldn’t. Edmund arched into her, as far as he could, given the position, then again. His hand came down to cover where they were joined, centering the pleasure she was feeling. He felt her clench around him, shivering in his arms, and he kept going. Those shivers eased, but never quite stopped, tiny shudders now and again as she gave herself entirely over to what she was feeling. There was no logic here, no puzzle, just experience.
After the second time she climaxed, he could feel himself wanting to burst and bubble over. Faster and faster he went, burying his face against her shoulder, now babbling a little with it, and he wasn’t sure which language. Not long after, he finally let himself explode inside her, his own climax overwhelming him and taking all the words away for a long time. As he came back to himself, Edmund found his cheek against the back of her shoulder, his arm around her tight. The magic was ebbing away now he’d lost focus. She was soft in his arms, utterly relaxed.
