Chapter Seven

Finally making solid plans for Winter was an excellent distraction for most of the week preceding Christmas Day. Anna did not call, which disappointed and relieved me at the same time. She’d clearly been busy contacting all manner of workmen, as she promised she would, since I was contacted by all sorts of tradesmen. Builders, plumbers, roofers, and electricians were the first wave, sizing up the scale and the price of the job. The quotes I received were not for the faint-hearted, but Auntie Edie had left a very substantial amount of money for this renovation, and it more than covered the costs that would soon be mounting up.

I made calls to plasterers and specialists in wooden floors, to find out if they would be available to work at Winter in a couple of months, once the major structural work was completed. Looking ahead to that time, I truly began to believe I could bring Winter back to life, even initiate a new and exciting phase in the story of the old place. If I was still confused myself and uncertain just where life was leading me, I found a real sense of excitement and optimism in every detail and plan that was set out for my house. Even the traipsing of strangers through my hallway home did not disturb me as much as I anticipated, though I did conclude it would be better to move my sleeping and eating area into one of the separate rooms, out of the way of the regular comings and goings. Winter welcomed this sudden infusion of life, and accordingly, so did I. These weren’t people who were going to ask me about my personal life, or make judgements. All they expected was a rough idea of how I wanted the property renovated and the prospect of the money I would pay them to do the job. That kind of human interaction I could deal with without a qualm. I had Anna’s plans, and the money to pay them. Dealing with Winter’s future was pleasingly simple, and it boosted my confidence.

The only problem with being so busy attending to workmen and plans for the house over that week was Christmas Day dawned, and I realised there would be nobody at all coming to the house that day. The emptiness struck me even harder than it would have done had I spent the week alone. Some diluted sunshine had thawed the snow throughout the week, and it was now just a thin, wet layer and not remotely festive. Green grass appearing once again gave some inspiring evidence of life surviving beneath the oppressive cold, but the constant dripping of the meltwater from the holey guttering was becoming infuriating, and the grey light after the brighter white of the snow did little to lift my spirits.

I made a concerted effort to forget it was Christmas. I contemplated picking up the phone and calling Jeanne, Christmas possibly the perfect time to begin my attempt at reconciliation with my sister. At the same time though, I didn’t relish the prospect of an uncomfortable conversation, nor feeling like an intrusion in her family Christmas. Jeanne had a peculiar way of making me feel inadequate, and I decided I preferred loneliness to a conversation that would undermine my fragile self-confidence. There was really no one else to call. My father lived in London these days and would no doubt be spending the day with some of his many friends—the friends who had always meant more to him than his family.

At lunchtime I ate a bowl of piping hot tomato soup and a cheese sandwich. I followed it with my one concession to Christmas, a large slice of Christmas cake. I’d bought the best quality the supermarket had. The fruity, spicy, moist cake with the almost sickly sweetness of marzipan and icing was one of my favourite tastes all year. The first mouthful was wonderful, and for a moment, I felt a little festive spirit and almost wished I’d found some other way to mark the day. I’d let Winter down by not at least having a Christmas tree or a holly wreath. Next year I’d do better.

Next year. Three hundred and sixty-five days. So much could happen in that time. Next Christmas was way into the future, a date by which I hoped the major renovation work at Winter would be complete. Yet last Christmas seemed such a short time ago. How had so many terrible and life-changing things happened in the intervening time? I’d lost everything I’d thought was important—my own sense of myself included—in the space of just those few hundred days.

I discarded the last mouthful of Christmas cake uneaten, suddenly slightly nauseous. I’d lost so much. How could I ever hope to get such things back? I knew I’d still not entirely come to terms with the way in which the entire foundation of my life had crumbled. Next year I would hang a holly wreath on Winter’s grand front door. What else would I be doing? Would I be alone still? Would I be eating dinner with friends? A lover? Would Winter be complete? Would I? Another three hundred and sixty-five days would bring about changes, undoubtedly. I had to hold on to the strength of my optimism and know they would be for the best.

I made some tea and sat in my Victorian dining chair clutching the warm mug. I was reminded suddenly of the story of Dickens’s A Christmas Carol and the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Yet to Come. What would such spirits show me, were they to arrive in Winter now and take me on a journey of self-exploration? My past was the loss of a happiness that, while not perfect, was at least comfortable and secure. My present was simple enough. Alone on Christmas Day in a ramshackle country house, subject to wildly fluctuating emotions. What would the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come show me though? I thought of Ebenezer Scrooge’s vision of his miserable, lonely end. If I was to expire here and now, who would know? The thought made me shudder, and I made a vow there and then, whatever the coming year brought, it would be better. I would begin to make sensible decisions and have faith in myself once again.

The wood of the great staircase creaked loudly, for no apparent reason, as it often did. I imagined the house was trying to talk to me. I wished Winter could tell me its stories, that the walls could talk, as the cliché went. Now these walls sheltered me impassively. I was reassured to believe Winter and I were facing the future together, a team.

I took a sip of my tea and paced around the hallway restlessly, coming to a stop in the shadow of the stairs close to the entrance to the Saloon. I looked through the open door. Distracting myself with thoughts about how I would decorate and furnish what would eventually be a spectacularly beautiful room presented itself as a good way to regain my focus. I was about to step inside when a loud knock on the front door made me jump and almost spill my tea.

My mind raced as I considered who could possibly be calling on me in the early afternoon of Christmas Day. My first assumption was Maggie Potter, and I wondered how on earth I would explain to her why I was alone, eating soup and Christmas cake, when I’d claimed to have friends visiting me. I contemplated not answering the knock. Then I wondered why Maggie, with her farmhouse family Christmas, would be here at all, unless it was something urgent. I hastily put my tea on the table and crossed the hall to the door.

When I opened the door, beginning to worry, it was to find Anna looking at me expectantly. A combination of elation and terror almost made me close the door again and pretend I’d not seen her.

“Merry Christmas, Ros,” she said, with a genuine smile.

“Merry Christmas,” I replied automatically. “What are you doing here?” My pounding heart wiped out my ability to be polite.

“Very welcoming, I’m sure,” she remarked caustically, though her eyes were still unusually warm. “Especially since I come bearing gifts.” She raised her hands. One held what was clearly a wine bottle, wrapped in exquisitely beautiful golden wrapping paper. In her other was a flat box, also neatly gift-wrapped, which looked likely to contain chocolates. In the same hand she was gripping the handles of a cheap white plastic bag. I looked from the gifts back to her face. Her blue eyes burned into mine with a greater intensity than I’d seen there even when she’d spoken about her beloved architecture. Why was this stunning woman standing on my doorstep with wine and chocolates? I knew what it seemed to mean, but that was more than I dared allow myself to hope for.

“Thank you,” I managed to stammer. “I don’t have anything for you. In fact I don’t have very much at all in the way of celebrating Christmas.”

“Against your religion?”

“No, I just didn’t expect visitors, and I didn’t see much point buying anything special for just me.”

“I didn’t either, but then I thought, why just let Christmas go by without marking it? I had a feeling I’d find you here on your own.”

“You did?” I wondered how she knew enough of me to have guessed. Anna was still very much a conundrum to me, even more so now. I asked the most obvious question first. “You were on your own today too?”

“Yes. My parents live in West Sussex and my brother’s in Cambridge. Too far to travel.”

“Oh, I see.” I was surprised she didn’t have legions of admiring friends with whom to spend the day. I also knew by now Anna wouldn’t venture much more information about herself without my asking first. “What about friends?”

“I saw some of my friends for dinner last night, and I had one or two invitations for today. But I told them I had other plans.” There was no way to misinterpret her meaning. Her plan was to visit me at Winter.

“You planned to come to Winter?” I was unsure how far I should push the questions. What if I didn’t like the answers?

“Yes. I thought the old house might like a bit of company.” Her tone was ironic and beneath the words her true meaning more than apparent. She wanted to see me. Now she wanted me to acknowledge that I understood, as she looked at me with a question in her eyes. I took a deep breath and realised I couldn’t find the words. I wasn’t ready to launch myself into this quite just yet. But I couldn’t help being ridiculously glad she was on my doorstep.

“I’m sure Winter’s very pleased to see you.” I knew that response was awkward and tried to balance it with a smile. A vague shadow of disappointment flickered over Anna’s expression, and I cursed myself for not knowing how to handle this any better. Why could neither of us seem to manage to talk frankly about this? Did she really plan to visit me alone on Christmas Day? With what intentions? The thought she was here to see me because she had any intentions at all towards me circled in my mind until I found I not only accepted it but also grew excited by it.

“Are you going to let me in?” she asked, recalling me to the moment and the realisation we hadn’t moved from the doorway. I stepped back, and she passed through, handing me the gift-wrapped bottle and box, though she kept her grip on the mysterious plastic bag.

“Thank you,” I said, catching the scent of her perfume. Not her usual Tabac Blond today but a more sweetly delicious scent I couldn’t place, which somehow suited her even more. I watched as she hung her leather shoulder bag over the end of the banister and removed her black coat and green scarf. The sudden vision of Anna in clothing other than her professional suit astonished me. She was wearing black velvet trousers that hugged her hips and thighs sleek and close. They partly covered shoes not unlike her usual flat brogues, but these were classically styled in black and white leather. Her shirt was made of deepest blue silk, the buttons shimmering mother-of-pearl, and was open at the neck far enough to reveal a considerable expanse of the smooth pale skin of her throat and chest. I swallowed hard.

“You’re welcome.” She gestured at the gifts as I held them awkwardly. “I couldn’t come empty handed. Open them.” I looked at the expensive wrapping and allowed myself to smile. I wondered if I was perhaps dreaming the extraordinary and thrilling turn my afternoon had suddenly taken. The gifts felt rather too solid in my hands for this to be a dream. I focused on the gifts, and concentrated on the unwrapping. I began with the bottle. To tear the exquisite paper was a terrible thing, but I did so all the same to reveal a small bottle of beautiful golden wine. I peered at the black and gold label, knowing instinctively the wine was high quality. It was Italian. “Frescobaldi Pomino Vin Santo,” I read out loud.

“It’s my favourite dessert wine,” Anna said.

“It looks lovely.” I wondered just how generous the gift was.

“Less than forty quid too.” It was as if Anna was reading my mind. She was clearly amused, which was unusual, for Anna was rarely clearly anything. All of her expressions and moods seemed somehow more accessible to me this afternoon, even if she did not articulate them.

“Oh, cheap then,” I replied with a smile.

“I wouldn’t bring you expensive wine, Ros, you wouldn’t appreciate it.” Her mouth twitched as she tried to make her expression supercilious. I laughed out loud, delighted by the humorous side of Anna once again. My earlier depressed mood was rapidly receding, along with my bewilderment at her sudden arrival, as I simply began to enjoy her company.

It was very easy to enjoy her company.

I tore the paper from the rectangular gift, discovering chocolates, as I had guessed. I looked at the stylish box more closely.

“You buy your chocolates from Harrods?”

“I know, predictable isn’t it?” she replied, with a deadpan expression. “In my defence, I only use their online shop occasionally. It’s just I adore those chocolates in particular. They have wonderful vintage fillings like violet crème and stem ginger.”

“Thank you. They sound lovely.” I was impressed despite myself. “In return, I can offer you a slice of the best Christmas cake from the very exclusive supermarket in the next village.”

“I’ll pass on that delight for now, thank you,” she replied. “I’d actually rather like you to open the wine.”

“I love the sound of that.” I rummaged in the box in which I kept my utensils and found my corkscrew.

“I was hoping you’d have one. I wasn’t sure.”

“I brought as many things up here as I could think of,” I replied. “I don’t have real wine glasses though. Will this be okay?” I showed her a small tumbler.

“I’m sure I can manage. It will taste just the same.” Though the words could be sarcastic or condescending, I had no trouble interpreting Anna’s more light-hearted meaning now. Perhaps I was growing used to her, or maybe it was because she was more relaxed and therefore less guarded. Whichever, the pleasure it gave me made it difficult not to smile. Her previous discomfort had apparently vanished, but there was an air of heightened emotion about her, as though the smallest part of her control had slipped, or been pushed aside. And I responded to it.

I opened the wine with a pop and poured out our drinks. Thick, sticky, amber wine that looked as though it would taste of pure honey trickled into the glasses. I passed one to Anna, and she raised it in a toast. “To Winter Manor, I think,” she said.

I clinked my glass against hers, “To Winter. And Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” We each took a sip of our wine. My taste buds were dazzled by a sweet, spicy fruitiness, silky and smooth on my tongue. “What do you think of my choice?” she asked, watching my reaction.

“It’s delicious,” I told her.

“You should be getting apricots, dried nuts, and cinnamon.” She paused and raised an eyebrow as she waited for my reaction. When I just stared at her and wondered what to say, her face relaxed and she laughed. “Though, if I’m honest, I got that from the label. As much as I enjoy a good wine, I can never place the flavours I can taste.”

“No, that would just be pretentious,” I said wryly.

“Yes. Just like shopping at Harrods,” she said in the same tone.

I took another sip of the wine, and noticed she was drinking hers rather quickly. The unusual excitement emanating from her made it seem there was something more she wanted to say. A pleasant tension, with none of the awkwardness there had been between us before, hung in the air. I was about to tell her to take a seat, since she had been standing since she entered, when my eyes fell on that anomalous plastic bag she’d been carrying, which now rested on the bottom step of the staircase. I looked at her with curiosity.

“So, what’s in the bag?”

“My other gift.” I saw a hint of challenge in her eyes and wondered what on earth had put that gleam there. My body surged in response.

“What is it?” I asked, unable to look away from her.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Of course I do. Is it expensive?”

“Not at all. I didn’t pay a penny for this one.” Her mysterious remark only intrigued me further.

“Now I really have to know.” The atmosphere between us grew charged. My legs were a little weak as I gazed at her.

“Okay then,” she said, going to pick up the bag. She opened it and I saw green leaves. “This was growing on an apple tree at the bottom of my garden.”

“You brought me a plant?” I asked, surprised and perhaps even disappointed. Then I caught her expression and grew warmer without knowing the reason.

“This is more than just a plant,” she said, pulling it out of its plastic wrapping. I saw at once it was a large clump of mistletoe, complete with white berries.

I said nothing, I simply looked from the distinctive foliage in her hand and back to her face. She was watching me keenly, with a touch of nervousness maybe, but mostly a mischievous playfulness suffusing her features. “It is Christmas, after all,” she said.

“It is.” My throat had seized up, and the words were almost a croak.

“And it’s nice to have a few traditions.”

“Yes.”

Anna took a few paces towards me, eyes still intently on mine, and raised the whole clump of mistletoe into the air above her head. I followed it with my eyes, until she spoke and my gaze jolted back to her face. “What do you say, Ros?” she said, her tone challenging. “Shall we honour the tradition?”

I covered the remaining distance between us slowly. The couple of inches in height difference meant I had to tilt my head back slightly to maintain eye contact. There was her perfume again, citrus and jasmine, heady like incense, intoxicating. Her shoulders were rising and falling with her deep breaths, and the ice blue of her eyes had mellowed to a softer indigo. As I moved closer, her breath was warm and carried the spiced sweetness of the wine. Our faces were almost touching now, our breath mingling. We paused, as if we both wanted to linger in the last instant of dizzying anticipation. At the same moment, we moved that small distance closer and our lips brushed. Hers were satin soft, and my own melted into them.

We both pulled back, the Christmas tradition of a kiss under the mistletoe satisfied. But I stared into her eyes, still, and our breaths came together, fast and deep. The short distance between our parted, tantalised lips was charged with electricity. For a long moment time stopped, and I knew she was going to kiss me again. The mistletoe brushed my arm as she let it drop to the floor, slipping one hand around my waist and pulling my body to hers as our mouths collided, this time with bruising intensity. Her hot lips parted against mine, her tongue slipping over my lips, demanding entrance to my mouth. I opened my mouth for her and allowed my tongue to twine with hers. I wrapped my arms around her slender body, running my hands over the cool silk of her shirt, which quickly warmed under my touch. One of her hands tangled in my hair, pulling me deeper into her kiss, as I pressed into her mouth, needing to taste her, to explore her.

She made a deep, throaty sound of arousal, so remarkable a departure from her usual restraint, hearing it made my temperature increase further still. I couldn’t hesitate to consider what I was doing, I just wanted her with a real insatiable hunger. Her hands pulled me tighter to her body, and I felt the pressure of the swell of her breasts against my own chest, her thighs fitting close to mine, as I slid my hands lower, yanking her shirt out of the waistband of her trousers, desperate to have access to the skin underneath. I pushed one hand under the fine silk and felt, even more perfect, the flesh of her smooth, warm back. As I traced her spine she shuddered, her hand twisting tighter in my hair and her kiss becoming ferocious. Her free hand slid over the curve of my hip, caressed my buttocks, and she trailed it up my body to reach my braless breast, barely shielded from the squeezing of her strong fingers by my thin T-shirt. I felt my nipple harden as she rolled it between her thumb and forefinger, and a huge wave of pleasure swept through me.

She was pulling at my cardigan, and the air was cold on my arms as she removed it and threw it onto the floor. I moved my hands over the perfect expanse of her back, my fingers encountering the clasp of her sports bra. I fumbled with it eagerly, satisfied when it released and was no longer a barrier to my caresses. We were still kissing, with mutual passion, as I began to unfasten the buttons which held the front of her shirt. I quickly had them all loose and pushed my hands inside and beneath the undone bra, feeling the pliable weight of her perfectly firm breasts, stroking my fingers over them, weak with arousal as her nipples stiffened under my touch and she made that animal sound in her throat again.

Our hands continued to explore as our kiss subsided to a gentler intensity, slower but more deeply satisfying. I felt her reach down to loosen the fastening of my jeans. Apparently it resisted her efforts, and she eased her mouth away from mine to look down at what she was doing. She undid the button and zipper and ran her hands slowly over the place where the waistband had previously covered my hips. I gasped with the pleasure of her touch, at the consuming strength of my desire to have her move that touch lower.

She looked into my eyes, her own dilated pupils larger still through the lenses of her glasses, which rested on cheeks flushed a beautiful rose pink. She took a deep breath and leaned her forehead against mine.

“What are we doing?” It wasn’t an expression of any real doubt, more of pleasant surprise.

“You brought the mistletoe, you tell me.” My lips were so close to hers, I just wanted to kiss her again.

“I think this goes beyond a Christmas tradition.”

“Just when I thought I’d found one I like.” I couldn’t resist pressing my lips to hers. She responded with her own kiss, then pulled back once more, smiling slightly.

“So this is okay?”

“Do I seem like it’s not?”

“Is this okay too?” She slid her hand into my open jeans and cupped my sex through the thin fabric of my underwear. I caught my breath.

“Oh, yes.” My entire focus centred where her hand was pressing gently.

Anna smiled a teasing smile. “Shall we drink some more wine?” She slid her hand out of my jeans and moved half a pace away from me. Strangely, though I missed the contact, I wasn’t disappointed. I didn’t want to rush anything with Anna. Pausing to drink delicious wine and savour the anticipation was a perfect suggestion.

I reached for my glass as Anna did the same. The silky-sweet liquid was perfection in my burning mouth. We were watching each other now, and I knew her gaze, at once playful and a little shy, mirrored my own. She took another sip of her wine and I watched the way it moistened her lips until she licked over them with her tongue. The pressure between my thighs was becoming exquisitely uncomfortable, urging me to seek relief. Yet it was fun to slow things down.

“Would you like a chocolate?”

“Love one,” Anna said. I could see in her expression she was pleased we were playing the same waiting game with each other. I reached for the box and opened it. The neat rows of chocolate were confectionary perfection, each an individual work of art. The warm smell of rich cocoa reached my nostrils. I offered the box to Anna. “Lucky dip,” she said, choosing one at random and slipping it between her lips. “Mmm, rose crème.” Even those words sounded unbearably erotic to me. “Your turn.”

I chose my own chocolate and put it on my hot tongue, letting it melt a little before I chewed to discover the centre. “Caramel,” I told her, as the bittersweet taste of burnt sugar crept over my taste buds. I reached for her, and our mouths met for the briefest of moments, a chocolate-sweetened kiss that left me wanting much, much more.

Anna smiled a smile suggesting she was feeling exactly as I was and sat down on the edge of my camp bed. She gestured to her side and indicated that I should join her. “It won’t take the weight. Stand up a moment.” She did as I asked and I grabbed the sleeping bag and extra blankets I’d been using and pulled them onto the floor, spreading them out.  “Do you mind slumming it on the floor?”

“Not if you get me some more wine.” Anna lowered herself gracefully onto the blankets.

I reached for the bottle and topped up both of our glasses. I sank down next to her on the floor. She took a sip of her wine and leaned in to kiss me, flooding my mouth with the sweetness of the wine once more. I put my own glass to the side untouched, and she did the same, as we reached for each other again. She easily pulled my T-shirt over my head and trailed her tongue down to my nipple, sucking hard when she reached her target. I felt a warning twinge between my thighs and pushed her back. I didn’t want this delicious anticipation to end anytime soon.

I fell on her throat, kissing and running my tongue over her warm skin. Her pulse throbbed close to my lips, and I nipped her skin gently with my teeth. She moaned and reached for my head, pushing me lower until I was nibbling softly on the warm flesh of her breasts. I smelled the combination of perfume, like fresh lemon and heavy leather all at once, mixed with the essence that was so uniquely Anna. Determined to play her at her own teasing game, I pulled back.

“You’re wearing different perfume.”

“You must have a very sensitive nose.”

“I love to smell you.”

“You’ve been smelling me since the first day we met.”

“True.” I blushed a little at the knowledge she had noticed. “What’s this perfume?”

“It’s called Jicky, it’s French, and it was created in eighteen eighty-nine.” Her tone was flirtatious and alluring, as though the innocent words were a tease.

“Is it very expensive?”

“Incredibly.” She sounded as though she relished every syllable of the word, rolling it around in her mouth.

“Is everything you own expensive?”

“Absolutely. I have high standards, you see, as I’ve told you before.” It was impossible to miss the seductive challenge in her words.

“Do you really?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s hope I live up to them.”

“So far, so good.”

We could have spoken about anything in those moments, and it would have been intensely erotic. The effect of this conversation was to turn my insides into magma which I knew would have to erupt before long.

Anna seemed to be studying my breasts. She dipped a long finger into her wine and reached out to rub her moist fingertip over my swollen nipple. My chest rose and fell heavily, since it was perfectly clear her mouth would soon follow her finger. Her tongue swept firmly over my hardened flesh, and then her lips began to tease. I ran one hand through her smooth, soft hair, as my other stroked over her shoulder to her back.

When she sat up again, her glasses were slightly askew. I grinned and straightened them for her. She was truly beautiful, and I had to kiss her again. I pulled her to me firmly and pressed my mouth to hers, my tongue penetrating her, as she kissed me back with just as much enthusiasm.

She moaned louder this time, and I felt light-headed. We’d reached the point of no return, there would be no more teasing or drinking wine. Suddenly her kiss strengthened as she snatched control from me and pushed forward, forcing me onto my back on the floor. I submitted willingly, her mouth still on mine, feeling the warmth and weight of her lean body above me.

I reached down to loosen her trousers, slipping my hand inside far enough to feel she was completely shaven. I was so close to touching her wet heat when she stopped me. “Not yet.” She sat back and helped me out of my jeans and underwear, her eyes all over my newly exposed nakedness. She trailed a finger from my breasts, circled my navel, and slowly slid it between my thighs where I knew she would feel the copious evidence of my arousal. She took her glistening finger and slipped it between her lips, her eyes on mine. I could barely breathe. “Better than the wine.”

“Even the expensive wine?”

“Absolutely, but I’d like another taste, to be sure.” Her hands pressed against the inside of my thighs as she moved between them, bending her head lower. For an excruciatingly long time there was only that pressure of her warm hands on my legs and the caress of her breath against my swelling wetness. Then her mouth was on me, gentle teasing mounting gradually into firmer sweeps of her tongue. When she took me between her lips and sucked, I was lost.

“Oh God, Anna…” I cried, as the intense focus of painful, hot arousal burst and overwhelmed my whole body. She didn’t move her mouth away, drawing out my climax with her tongue until I was nothing but a shuddering mess. Then she curled her body around to lie with her cheek on my stomach, as I tried to recover my breath. I ran a hand over her shoulders, which were still enveloped in the silk of her shirt, and stroked her hair. When I could finally speak again, I murmured, “Well, you’ve certainly set a high standard.”

She raised her head and smiled her satisfaction at me.

“Don’t you think you can live up to it?”

“I didn’t say that. I have faith in myself.” Spurred to confidence by everything that had passed so far, I reached for her waistband. “Take these off.” Her naked figure was smooth and sleek, all of her skin pale pink and irresistible.

“Now come up here, I’ve wanted to taste you for nearly as long as I’ve been smelling you. Let me prove I can meet your standards.” Pleasure and aroused anticipation dominating her expression, she knelt over me and bent to kiss my mouth. She parted her thighs and put one knee next to each of my shoulders. Her thighs were warm on my cheeks as she lowered her body slowly, and I reached for her with my tongue. Her taste was far more intoxicating than any wine, and I lost myself in proving I had it in me to far exceed the standard she had laid down.

We were occupied with each other until well after it was dark outside. Anna agreed, twice in a row, I did live up to her standards and set out to raise the bar herself. I thought about nothing and nobody else, captivated by how intense Anna’s usually carefully hidden passions could be once unleashed. Sensations and urges I’d thought dead in me were revived, stronger than I’d ever known them before.

We finished the wine, ate half of the chocolates together, and fulfilled our physical desires in as many ways as we could think of. Eventually, still entwined and on the floor, we pulled one of the blankets over us and relaxed. It wasn’t long before Anna was asleep, one leg slung over my body, breathing steadily. Listening to her breaths, my mind thinking lazily over everything we had done, I was soothed into sleep myself.