They were for a time. Sam rolled away and pulled Lucy into her arms.
A quiet hour passed. The storm blew over. Lucy pulled slightly away, the fingers of her free hand playing in Sam's hair.
"I don't need help mounting the horse..." she confessed spontaneously.
Sam smiled. "Of course you don't."
"If you knew that, why do you always help me?"
"You always ask. I have to do what my mistress asks of me." Sam rolled over onto her elbow.
"Then kiss me, Mr. Smith," Lucy said, testing Sam's assertion.
Sam kissed her.
"Touch me here," Lucy tried again, moving Sam's hands between her naked thighs.
Sam complied. But after a moment, Lucy found she could not concentrate on giving Sam orders. Sam's will seemed to grow as Lucy's dimmed and she sighed a new surrender. Sam kissed her slowly from her throat to her stomach, then moved down to put her tongue where Lucy had first placed her hand.
Lucy writhed and gasped for many minutes, finally arching her back sharply and crying out Sam's name as quietly as she could manage.
But Sam only held her tongue still, covering the wet knot between Lucy's legs with her hot breath. Lucy began to writhe again and Sam's tongue began to move. Another cry from Lucy and Sam pulled away.
"You are insatiable, girl," she said.
"Only for you, Sam," Lucy said.
And at last, they slept.
***
Sam was in the stable by 5:30 as usual, trying to keep her mind on her work. She had left Miss Lucinda the same way she had come, dropping softly to the ground outside the window and walking through the foggy dawn straight to the stallion’s paddock with his breakfast. She was glad for the spare boots she kept in the tack room but hoped it wasn't obvious to the stable boys that she'd spent the night in her clothes. Most fervidly she hoped no one had seen her come through Lucy's window.
She wasn't at all convinced that she had not made a terrible mistake. In fact, she was almost certain she had. But she couldn't bring herself to regret it. Her careful self was silenced for once by a more primitive influence. And she wasn't sorry. She would never be sorry. Not if she lived a hundred years.
Table of Contents
Copyright
Matinee Masquerade
Love Lessons
Portrait of Passion
Side Saddle
Victorian Passions: The Complete Collection of Four Stories under One Cover Page 7
