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O’Toole.” In disbelief, she left the carriage and made her way to the servants entrance while Charles remained behind to confer with the coachmen. Rose rang the bell and waited. Her thoughts were so jumbled by her meeting with Charles that when Kathleen opened the door Rose merely blinked at her in a daze. “Well, don’t stand there like a dozy cow,” Kathleen hugged her and ushered Rose inside a vast kitchen. Rose hardly had another second to dwell on the bewildering meeting with Charles Bordune III as she took in the scene before her. Two scullery maids and a chef busied themselves preparing a feast. Copper pots hung from the ceiling. The scent of something scrumptious filled the air. Potatoes, beets, and turnips were piled high on a counter. The chef carefully removed a steaming blueberry pie from an oven. A scullery maid brushed melted butter, thyme, and sage on the crackling bronzed skin of a roasting turkey. The chef and maids paused to study the poor bedraggled creature standing. You let your hand fall between my legs and I instantly felt the differences in temperature. Your hand, draw to the heat, slipped one finger out and touched my wetness. You slipped a second one in as my heart beat faster. You rose up and lowered yourself to go deeper inside me. Your frozen breasts and hard nipples still wet, I lapped up the rain. I nibbled your neck and ears and I heard your breathing getting harder. You rose up and this time brought me with you, so that we were sitting facing each other, our breasts pressed against one another’s, while you remained inside me. My breathing rhythmically began following yours and our panting was but whispers in the storm. We rocked back and forth and my hips rolled in pleasure as your palm massaged my clit. As if on cue, you bent down and warmed my clit with your tongue. Left and right, up and down, left and right, up and down, left and right, up and down. I grabbed your hair to brace myself. Circling, flicking, tipping, I couldn’t bare.
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