Page 101 of A Rare Find

“Don’t stop,” she pleaded as they eased off, and they took pity on her, giving it all to her, all at once, and harder, the stroking and the suction constant now.

“Ah,” she cried. “Ah.”

Their calloused hand closed roughly on her breast. She broke apart, the rippling sensation of relief, of freedom, so profound and all-encompassing it felt like flight.

“Come closer,” she demanded, when she could speak, and as they obliged, mouth glistening, she kissed them once, and pushed under their arms, attempting to heave them up farther.

“What are you trying to do?” they asked, bemused.

She wasn’t exactly sure. “I want you…up here.”

Bemusement shifted. They were almost somber, nearly reverent, as they settled their knees above her head, slender thighs parted. They hovered. Her vision went fire bright.

“This belongs in a cathedral,” she whispered.

They laughed that ragged-edged laugh. “There’s no way any archbishop of Canterbury would ever agree.”

“I mean the color. It’s like stained glass. It’s like the fruit in Eve’s hand on the Great East Window at York Minster.”

She fondled them with her thumb.

“Elf.” Their voice was hoarse. “This is wickeder than I imagined.”

Exultation crashed through her.

“Should I…?” They sounded desperate.

She guided them down onto her mouth, and it was wicked, the most deliciously wicked thing she’d ever experienced, Georgie’s wet heat smothering her face, their urgent gasps, the way they pumped their hips helplessly, and then froze, as though struck by a bolt, while a tiny part of them pulsed and pulsed against her tongue.

Afterward, she was damp everywhere, sweaty and sated, and they joined her in making a sticky heap, tangling their legs with hers. The two of them lazed in the sun. At some point, she fell asleep. She came to consciousness parched and hungry as a ravens bear. Georgie was at the parapet again, fully dressed, bent over a telescope. Their hind end looked magnificent in breeches. But the sunlight winking on the brass brought her eyes back to the telescope.

“Agnes isn’t supposed to leave that up here,” she said. “Papa would—” She cut herself off. Yes, Papa would roar about his telescope, out of its case, exposed to the elements, and she knew what he would roar, and why rehearse it? His voice was louder than hers in reality, but perhaps she could quiet that voice, at least in her own head.

“There’s some commotion on the green.” Georgie kept their eye to the eyepiece. “I can’t quite make it out.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.” She leaned back on her palms, straight-armed, legs stretched out, swishing her feet back and forth. “Remember, Twynham is invariably dull.”

“I’m offended.” They swiveled. “Dull?” They prowled to the edge of the pallet and loomed, hands on hips. “Dull?” They flung down beside her. “I’ll double my efforts.”

Smiling, she shook her head.

“Triple? Quadruple? My God, you’re demanding.” They beamed at her, and their blatant enthusiasm gratified little vanities she hadn’t known she possessed and stoked her desire for little intimacies. Heated looks. Coded words. Casual touches. And now they were nuzzling her like a giant cat, silky waves of auburn tickling beneath her chin. She laughed.

This thing between them charged the air.

But it didn’t change the facts of village life.

“You said being here was like being stuck in amber.” She pushed their head away, and they sat back, obedient, adopting her same posture. “Like being a beetle stuck in amber,” she recalled. “And Twynham is still amber.”

They frowned. “I said beetle? Not butterfly?”

She shot them a look.

They winced. “I was angry at Harry. He rattles off to fight old Boney for years—doesn’t even come home when father dies, was never there when I needed him—and then he shows up when I don’t need him, makes bollocks of everything, nearly shoots poor Phipps, and expects me to respect his authority? Ha!” They winced again and continued in a less heated voice. “The point is that I’d pretty much determined to hate everything about being back here before I’d even arrived.” They paused, gaze narrowing in thought. “Which may have led to my exaggerating the ceaselessly thrilling wonderfulness of my life in town just a bit—to myself, and to you. I didn’t want Harry to win by being even the teensiest bit remotely correct about any of it.” They tipped back their head and sighed. “To be fair, he didn’t come home when father died because of Waterloo. I’m aware of that. He did come eventually. Not for long, but he came.”

“Love.” Elfreda murmured it. Georgie’s head came back to center. Their eyes held the whole sky.

“Death.” She swallowed. “War. Your mother, your father, and your brother all had their reasons. For not being there. But you still had to go through what you went through without them, and that isn’t easy. Or fair.”