Caribbean Nanny (closed)

[coyotepondering]

Sir Jon remained behind Megan, allowing her time to reach her rooms before he left for his own. In his quarters Sir Jon removed his jacket and vest, leaving himself in his white shirt and brown pants with his leather shoes clicking on the wooden floors. From his bathing chamber Jon retrieved the basic items needed, soft towels, a jar of skin cream and a basin of cool water. Sir Jon carried the tray of items down the hallway until he came to Megan’s door. The door was shut and Sir Jon balanced the tray on his palm to knock.

When no reply came Sir Jon opened the door, finding Megan looking away from him, standing at the french windows, the afternoon breeze coming in and ruffling her dress around her. He gazed for a second at her hair fluttering in the breeze before he shut the door behind him. Striding over to Megan he placed the tray on the floor next to where she stood. He stood there before a moment, measuring her stillness and judging it to be forced, an act of will somewhere overriding shame and fear. Sir Jon reached out to hold her shoulders and with a careful caress he leaned down and placed his beared cheek against the back of her neck. Holding her by her shoulders Sir Jon breathed against her neck.

“Megan,” she felt his words form against her as his jaw moved, “In the years since Mary’s passing I have not so much as touched the lips of a woman though my status affords me the interest of many. And many are beautiful. But for all the temptations of the flesh, no woman has excited my heart. Its strength is what keeps me going for my children who I will see become the man and woman Mary wanted them to be. But there is a little reserved strength there for someone else too. For my own happiness. And until you, it was untapped.”

With that Sir Jon knelt felt a spasm in Megan’s chest, as if she was forcing herself to speak, as if she might cry and Sir Jon silenced her, “Hush. I have a duty.”

With that Sir Jon began slowly raising Megan’s skirts until they reached her waist and he unveiled the now familiar sight of her bloomers. “I’m sorry that this is necessary Megan. I would not invade your modesty were it not.”

With that Sir Jon bound up her skirts behind her back with pins he had brought with him. So, there stood Megan, facing out the french windows over the courtyard, her skirts arrayed in front of her normally and Sir Jon hidden behind them. Were anyone to walk in the courtyard they would see Megan standing in the sun, with nothing amiss.

Reaching around Sir Jon found the tie for Megan’s bloomers and pulled the knot free, letting them fall loose. Her legs did not move to aid him. Grasping the bloomers in his hands he tugged gently, drawing them down to Megan’s thighs and as he continued to pull, to her ankles. Obviously keeping herself still only through a force of will, Sir Jon paused only to murmur, “beautiful, you’re beautiful,” as he saw the backs of her thighs and the cheeks, bright red with his many hand strikes.

Taking a small cotton towel in hand Sir Jon dipped it in the water and placed the soft cloth against her skin. For a second he looked at the distinct difference between the white cloth and her bright red flesh. Holding it gingerly Sir Jon let the cool water seep from the cloth onto her cheeks and drip down her thigh. He moved the cloth across her cheeks, ever conscious of not pressing against her too harshly. The washing only consisted of a few tentative brushes with the water cloth before Sir Jon set it down and brought up a dry towel. Megan felt the change over of cloths as she stared out into the yard and felt the breeze against her. She was surprised that he did not touch her but took care to touch only with the cloth and then only with the barest caress, so different from the strong hand of earlier. With a few moments the cloth took up the stray water, running in drops and rivulets down Megan’s legs. The drops reflected the color of her skin, appearing red on her firm globes and turning pale on her thighs but the drying cloth guided by Sir Jon’s hands sought out and caught each one.

Setting all of the towels aside, Sir Jon reached for the glass jar and pulled the top off. Megan thought she smelled something from it but wasn’t sure. She turned for the first time and looked down behind her shoulders to where Sir Jon kneeled on one knee to see him reaching into a jar to extract a creamy material, dripping with oil onto his fingers. He spoke as he worked the substance, unaware that she was now watching his fingers.

“I will have to touch you now Megan. This is a cream paste, like the ones you may be familiar with for skin care but made for medicinal purposes. It has the familiar elements you may know as well as cocoanut oil. I will have to rub it into you skin.” Sir Jon’s face turned up and exposed his concern. His were warm and blue like pools under a autumn sky, reflecting the sun. He stood slowly, capturing Megan’s eyes.

“Understand Megan, I don’t want to touch you right now. Not like this. I don’t want your fear or your...” Sir Jon paused, searching for a word as he reached out and stroked Megan’s cheek, accidentally smearing her cheeks with cocoanut oil so that the sweet smell struck her, “...your abhorrence.”

Megan held his eyes, and was surprised to find her voice rough but strong, “Go ahead Sir.”

So, Sir Jon kneeled again and reached out, his finger tips touching Megan’s bare flesh and pressed forward , rubbing the cold cream into Megan’s skin as she sucked her breath in. At once she felt the cold against her hot skin, the sensitivity ignite a flash of pain and the pressure of his fingers correlated to a sudden sense of weakness in her legs and shallowness of breath. His fingers slid forward until his fingers stretched across her skin lengthwise and then rolled back and pushed forward again, spreading the cream more. Using his other hand Sir Jon began the same motions on Megan’s other cheek, creating a mirror of finger length cream marks against the red skin. Removing his hand Sir Jon gathered more cream and oil onto his fingers and spread it as a mass from his finger tips along the edges of Megan’s cheeks in a rolling motion. A think coating of white cream and glistening oil soon stood out across her buttocks and Sir Jon laid both his hands flat and in a slow gentle motion rubbed it in, in small circles forcing the red sensitive flesh to accept it as he held her buttocks firm. As he pressed forward with his palms Megan gripped the window sill feeling both pain and the feeling that betrayed her before.

But as Sir Jon finished he did not touch her, he did not run his hand along her thighs, he simply washed his hands and resealed the jar. She felt him unpin her dress and begin to lower it but suddenly he paused and she felt his lips on the space immediately above her buttocks at the base of her spine. It was a quick kiss as a parent might give to a hurt child but in an intimate place and then he withdrew and lowered her skirts. Gathering the tray Sir Jon backed out, leaving Megan standing at the window, appearing perfectly normal but very conscious that Sir Jon had forgotten to raise her bloomers.

 

[McKenna]

.

 

[coyotepondering]

He heard his own footsteps clap loudly against the floor boards as Sir Jon returned to his quarters. Placing each item away Sir Jon lingered on the jar of cream before returning it his cabinet and locking it with the small bronze key he kept on his chain. Looking into the mirror Sir Jon felt his shoulders slump as if the weight of years had accumulated on him in hours.

Closing his eyes Sir Jon drew a breath and held it as his fists clenched into balls and he felt his nails dig into his palms. As they felt ready to pierce his own skin he relaxed and let some of the tension bleed off. He repeated it a dozen times, feeling none the better but more in control, more rooted. But each time he did he didn’t feel the puncturing of the skin. Instead his skin remembered the feel of Megan’s, and her trembling, and Sir Jon couldn’t wipe part of his memory without forgetting all of it and that he wouldn’t do.

If she left now..... if she left us...... But the thought was a lie in a very delicate way. He was too scared still to admit that he was terrified of her leaving him .

Refilling the wash basin Sir Jon ran his hands in again. Already clean but still smelling of the cocoanut oil, sir Jon ran his hands in again and again. A knock interrupted him and Sir Jon reached out for the towel while calling over his shoulder for the person to enter.

Abel stepped inside, “Sir, the young master and mistress are home from the church.”

Sir Jon turned to speak to Abel, still drying his hands. “Thank you Abel. Would you tell the kitchen staff that Miss Harrison won’t be joining us for dinner but that they should prepare a tray for her. I’ll take it to her later.”

“Yes Sir, thank you.” Abel bowed as he backed out. He stopped at the door step, “Oh, and Sir, dinner will be ready by six unless you would prefer to delay it.”

“No, that will be fine.” Sir Jon left behind Abel, but continued straight past the stairs to his children’s rooms. Pushing open the door to Jon’s he found it empty and he stepped down one more to Miranda’s and pushed it open to find her helping Jon fold his dress pants which he had obviously changed out of already into simpler cotton trousers. Sir Jon leaned against the door frame, grinning as he watched them. It warmed a part of him that felt cold.

But his presence didn’t remain masked for long as Jon Jr saw him and came bounding over to hug his waist. Sir Jon patted his son’s head, “Hi there Junior. How was the cleaning?”

His son grinned up at him with that turn of his lips that reminded Sir Jon of Mary. “It was really excellent, Daddy. Chris and Mike were there from the town and after we cleaned the pews the Pastor said that we could play cricket! So, we did and I was first batting and..”

Jon was cut off as Miranda bounded over once the things she was folding were put away and jumped up, knowing that her father would catch her, which he did. She was getting a little big for jumping at Sir Jon but he would cherish these hugs as long as he could and did so now, holding her to him.

“And you honey?”

“I had fun too Pappy.” As always Miranda said more silently than she could with chatter.

Sir Jon lowered her weight, “Very well. I just wanted to see you both back. I’ll want to hear more about the game, Junior,” Sir Jon stroked his son’s hair who was obviously looking forward to telling about it. “Now, Miss Harrison won’t be joining us tonight but we will still eat at six.”

Jon Jr looked apprehensive as Sir Jon spoke but it was Miranda who verbalized the question. “Is she all right?” Miranda’s face fell down into a worried pout, making her eyes seem large and tender.

“Yes dear,” Sir Jon smiled and let his the back of his hand stroke her cheek in a reassuring gesture. “Miss Harrison is fine. She isn’t feeling well but should be fine by morning.”

“Like a tummy ache?” Jon Jr offered.

“Something like that. But even less serious. She just needs to rest.”

Miranda seemed a little solemn but lightened as Sir Jon spoke. She did not take any illness lightly as life had already been harsh to her. “We should go say good evening to her, right?”

“That would be proper dear but let’s not. I don’t think she would be up for company right now. But,” he added, seeing her a little crestfallen, “you can both write her notes, wishing her better. That’s very proper too. Bring them to dinner with you and you can leave put the cards under her door as you go to bed.”

Both his children responded with a chorus of affirmatives so Sir Jon sat with them and discussed what they wanted to write. After helping them get started and showing them the formal style he kissed both on the forehead and wandered out as they set to it. Several hours passed before Sir Jon realized that it was time for dinner as he was engrossed the day’s reports from the fields and docks. Abel was knocking on the den’s door.

“Dinner is ready Sir, as is Miss Harrison’s tray. We can keep it warm until after dinner if you prefer.”

“No, Abel, I’ll take it up immediately.” Sir Jon rose from his chair and pulled his jacket on, finding that Abel already had the tray ready at the foot of the stairs so that Sir Jon could take the tray up and return immediately.

“We will wait to ring the bell, Sir.”

“No Abel. Go ahead, and summon the children. I’ll join them shortly.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Abel had already turned before Sir Jon began his ascent. Sir Jon made his way to Megan’s room and went through the motions of setting a pillow for her and setting her food out. His heart felt heavy as he searched her eyes and voice for any sign and was at least mollified that she didn’t recoil from him. He latched onto that small hope before leaving.

Returning down stairs Sir Jon made his own way to eat and found the bottle of cognac already set out. It occurred to Sir Jon that he could hardly have found a better man servant than Able anywhere on Downy Street. The food was also good but the taste seemed dull. He listened with interest to his son’s cricket game and his daughter sent him glances that he read into. She had enjoyed herself too and had probably gossiped with the local girls. He would ask her more when her brother wasn’t around. But both were in good spirits and, when asked, handed over their notes for him to read and approve.

But as much as Sir Jon loved his children and loved hearing their day, tiredness was over taking him. He felt the strength ebb from him as he kissed both good night and watched them deliver their notes under Megan’s door. Jon Jr even knocked and called out good night to her before heading to his room. As they passed on down the hall, Sir Jon pulled on the door behind him, leaving the weight of the door to draw itself closed.

His hands moved slowly, finding each button of his vest cumbersome and the simple motion of lifting his shirt off tiresome. Setting each article aside for the maids to take away, Sir Jon stood there and reached out for the wash cloth and soaked it in the wash basin. He began to run it over his skin, washing off the traces of sweat he had accumulated under his suit and his skin jumped in response to the cool water. Sir Jon ran the cloth over his face and felt the water seep into his beard and he opened his lips to let the water drip onto them and moisten them.

Sir Jon’s hands felt rough against his own skin but the smooth cloth reminded him of Megan’s skin and he wished .... he wished for something that he didn’t have. His chest heaved as he remembered again the feel of her skin under his hand and how she shuddered. Feeling himself suddenly surge with a breathe and vigor Sir Jon’s hand snaked down to grasp his shaft and pump it once. His voice caught in his throat as he pumped again, his fingers rough and squeezing the head at the end of his shaft as he pulled the skin forward and back.

 

[McKenna]

.

 

[coyotepondering]

Ahead of Sir Jon was the wash basin. He lowered his towel and draped it over the lip of the basin. A long mirror was fixed to the wall and Jon gazed into it, actually looking at himself for more than simple grooming. His body was still strong but his years of status had allowed him to develop a little softness in places. In his hand he held his manhood and let his fingertips pull on the skin, pulling the circumcised skin over the head of his shaft and back again. The feeling evoked a tension in his sack immediately. After Mary had passed away Sir Jon often relieved himself, thinking of her. But as time went on her absence evoked less longing and more pain, causing the desires to ebb.

Now Sir Jon felt the need again and felt the weight pull down between his legs as his sack hung heavily there. There was little doubt as to why he felt it. Looking in the he mirror he saw Megan’s eyes rather than his own. Closing his eyes and squeezing them tightly she followed his thoughts and he also felt her weight against his lap. The memory of her heat and the feeling of his hand touching her made Jon surge in his own hand. A low guttural urging sounded from his throat, short and intense, shaking his frame.

From another angle, such as an inadvertent audience watching from the door way, Sir Jon might have simply appeared lost in thought had it not been for the mirror’s reflection. He drew a deep breath in and held it as his head rolled backwards to rest, his closed eyes directed to the ceiling. His jaw was set squarely, unmoving in dedication to whatever thought he was focusing on. His hand was visible in the mirror, its fingers wrapped around his shaft.

His fist moved, intently drawing the skin back and forth along the length. His thumb snuck out from his fist and rubbed the crown, tracing it with his nail as the very slight pain made his hips jerk forward, pushing into his own hand. Unconsciously, Sir Jon’s leg stance widened as the pace became more frantic. His hand pulled back on each stroke, colliding into his pubic hair. His breath became ragged in his chest. While unaware of his visitor Sir Jon stopped and released his manhood. Relaxing his shoulders, he reached down below and grasped his sack, kneading the skin between his fingers, letting the soft sensation keep him aroused while the immediacy faded.

After a moment of interlude his hand returned, his fingertips grasping the head tightly and squeezing, milking it. A quick pace resumed as he stroked his shaft and his breath began to stutter in short gasps. From her position Megan could hear him, the tenor of his voice unchanged but the sounds more like an exerted animal than the terse but cultured dialect she associated with Sir Jon. Each gasp was accompanied by a ragged catching of breath in his throat.

“Megan...” The word drifted out from his throat as if it took no breath, unaffected by the violent heaves of his lungs.

“Megan.” Sir Jon said it again, an expression made of emotion, soft and tender. He said it as he pulled on his shaft and the crown began to throb.

A dozen more strokes brought Jon to crisis and a single white drop of milk like fluid appeared at the head of his shaft and was quickly smeared across his crown by the rapidly stroking hand. Megan could see the tension betrayed in his thighs, as the muscles contracted, and the first shot of his seed erupted within seconds.

“Grrrrgh.” The sound was low and sonorous like a drawn out growl that escaped with the last breath of Sir Jon’s lungs. Each eruption that followed the first fell like the first did into the wash basin until they floated like a half dozen evidences of his spent need. Letting his breathing relax Sir Jon looked down and dipped his washcloth into the basin, stirring the water and removing the evidence.

A forlorn look had overtaken his features after the intensity of the spending had passed as he turned to the undressed bed and blew out the bedside candle before climbing in.

 

[McKenna]

.

 

[coyotepondering]

Sir Jon stood in front of Megan, dressed in a hastily donned robe. Had sleep clung it him it was driven away by her brazen, and nervous, display. The only light in the room came from the moon which shone through the French windows. Candles would have improved visibility but neither Megan nor Sir Jon seemed to notice. They held each other’s eyes through the shadows. She found his eyes as blue specks in the dark, framed by the moon behind him, discerning and clear. He found her eyes reflecting the moon light, like grass lit by the moon between the branches of a thickly canopied tree.

Sir Jon saw strength there, strength he hadn’t seen earlier and a pleading that both made him weak and aroused hope in him. He acknowledged her with a smile, “Yes, Miss Harrison. Megan. I will do this for you.”

Kneeling, Sir Jon knew that Megan’s eyes tracked him as he opened the jar and took a mass of the cream onto his fingers. Fragrant with oils, Sir Jon reached his hand forward to smear the material into Megan’s skin. Her flesh was warm with both flush and remaining sting. Rubbing firmly, it only took a moment to perform the act and cover the skin but Sir Jon paused and deliberated. He moved tenderly and softly, prolonging contact but touching nowhere indiscriminately. Invisible hesitations trailed his hands. Sir Jon knew that the feeling of his hands on Megan had the illusion of confidence but it was only the discipline of intent that provided that. He wanted her to know that she was safe with him.

His fingers ran down to her thighs and held them, rubbing the oil into the tops where he had struck her there as well. He ran his palms back up and over her cheeks towards her back but were stopped by the restriction of her skirts where she held them so that they wouldn’t rub against her tenderness. Standing, Sir Jon pressed against Megan, holding her to him by her thighs and once, briefly, kissed her neck. Then he took Megan by her arms and turned her around, letting his hands trace down her arms to her skirts as she looked into his face.

“Remove your skirts Megan.”

His eyes remained unmoving but firm as her hands hesitated at the ties. Long seconds passed as Sir Jon stepped back from Megan patiently waited for her to obey. Looking into the space that his dark robe melted into, the room defined by light and shadow, Megan Harrison soon found her hands animated and releasing her skirts. The thick skirts, thinned by several layers for the humid climate, fell in a pool around her feet as soon as her fists unclenched. She was left with her bodice at loose ends, threads dangling that would normally be discretely hidden and her legs bare. Embarrassed, Megan shifted her legs, as if to hide that center joining of her untanned delicate thighs but instead drew Sir Jon’s gaze there. She blushed, following his gaze. Sir Jon could see heat flush across her and her throat clench. Jon himself felt like he had drunk too much warm wine.

Megan found her voice, “Sir, I don’t think this is appropriate.”

“I am going to take you to bed tonight," was the simple reply. Megan shivered slightly, her lip trembling as she peered at her employer and now he was proposing, lover.

Sir Jon leaned in and kissed her face and cheek. “No Megan. I can read your eyes. I am not going to take you as I would a wife. Tonight I am going to hold you. Lay with me Megan and I’ll hold you on your side so that you do not roll over onto your bottom and further wound it. I will wake you at dawn and apply more oil. I will return you to your room unseen so that no one misses you. I will not promise to not steal a kiss in the morning but I will protect you.”

As he spoke Sir Jon embraced Megan, taking her into his arms and holder her chin up so that her lips were barely an inch from his. As he spoke the tips of his lips brushed hers and his breath washed her face. He pulled back to see her eyes.

“Let me take care of you tonight Megan.”

 

[McKenna]

.

 

[coyotepondering]

Sir Jon looked at Megan, his heart slowing as his blood crept up to his skin and flushed it. Megan’s sheer chemise was stretched over her ample bosom, which drew Sir Jon’s eyes as he stepped forward. He crossed from shadow into moon light as Megan watched him. His darkened skin appeared bronzed in the soft light and his beard was like as a mask of shadows over his features, absorbing the light except where a few greying hairs reflected it.

To Sir Jon the moon was like a sun and the pale light that spilled in around Megan lit every detail for his eyes to seek out. Her chest heaved with her breathing and face was anxious and a little delirious. Her eyes tried to be hard and sure but the softness was exposed to him. Torn between his honor bound promise and his own desire Sir Jon reached out to Megan and took her hand in his. Slipping his fingers between her’s Sir Jon let their palms rest against each others, flat and warm. Jon felt a dampness on her palm, the slightest hint of moisture at it moved against his. Their skin rubbed as they stood in the moonlight.

Strangely, Sir Jon felt his honor hold his will with ease. No temptation rode through him to take her though he knew the pleasure he would take from it and knew she would allow it. He felt her quivers communicated through her fingers and knew she was ill at ease but wanted to please.

I love you. The thought didn’t find his voice but he knew it to be true at last. He wanted to protect and take care of Megan.

Still, Megan’s unspecified question hung in the air and needed answering. Jon responded with his lips. He cocked his head and leaned down, brushing his lips over her cheek and kissing it softly.

Letting his bare feet roll over the wooden grain of the floor, Sir Jon moved backwards, drawing Megan with him, hands interlocked. He made his way to the bed, looking over his shoulder to watch Megan move. Her hips shifted under the thin cloth that acted as the only physical defense of her modesty. She blushed suddenly, reminded of how close Sir Jon was, of how capable he was of ending her virtue. Jon watched her hips shift and imagined his hands running up her thighs to lift the chemise as it revealed her in the moon light. He wanted to lean forward and kiss her stomach and let his tongue play in her navel. Though Sir Jon knew that his thoughts were invisible to Megan he imagined that she could read some of it in his eyes, which he made no effort to disguise.

Returning to the bed Sir Jon slid the robe off his shoulders and then let gravity pull it down his arms. Catching it from falling, he threw it over the wicker back of a nearby chair. Underneath he only had a long cotton shirt that did little for hiding his frame or preserving his own modesty, as it was old and threadbare. It hung comfortably on him. Megan found herself surprised at its simplicity and the contrast from the immaculate prim suits he wore.

Her hands reached out tentatively and stroked his chest, her fingertips riding up and running against the hairs of Jon’s chest that emerged from the top of the shirt.

“Put your arms around my neck Megan.” Sir Jon looked to Megan. She seemed surprised at the command but slowly obeyed. “And hold firm.” No sooner had Megan done this than Sir Jon reached down and placed one arm under her thighs, avoiding her sensitive bottom and another under her back. Lifting her legs Sir Jon took her in his arms and lifted her. Holding her weight in his arms, Sir Jon walked onto the canopied bed and strode to its center, leaning back to balance as he lowered himself to his knees.

Settling down Sir Jon fell backwards onto the bedding, letting Megan’s weight fall on top of him, her chest pressed firmly into his, her face nearly touching his. She looked for a cue but got none. Sir Jon simply lay there and watched her for a few moments before reaching up to caress her cheek and stroke her hair.

“You’re beautiful,” he said and meant it, captivated by the delicate look of apprehension and unruly strands of hair that slid over her brow.

Tentatively Megan lay down on her side and Sir Jon snaked an arm around her and pulled her close. He felt her weight against him and the mashing of her firm breasts. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her onto her side, her arm draping over his chest. His fingers found their place and held firm on her hip. As Megan settled her face into the crook of Jon’s shoulder, she felt his beard brush her face.

Sir Jon held her, letting her hip settle against his as she rested on her side. Her arm absently ran over his chest as he leaned over to kiss her cheek again. He let his lips smear across her cheek as he kissed her and then did so again. His tongue ran a lazy swipe to her ear, caressing her with its tip.

“Now Megan,” his voice was rich with sleep and arousal in her ear, “tell me about where you grew up and where you lived. Or ask me anything you like. Before dawn comes and I return you to your rooms let me know about the woman I’ve taken to my bed.” Sir Jon left it unsaid that this was his wedding bed.

 

[McKenna]

.

 

[coyotepondering]

"Will that happen when I am intimate with a man? Like what happens between a man and his wife?" Megan’s voice was nearly a whisper as she finished her thought, "Like what happens between the men and women in the book I took from your study..."

The silence stretched between Megan’s question and Sir Jon’s response. She could feel his chest pulse beneath her cheek and hand while he pondered her question. Outside the window the night deepened and the sounds of the jungle just barely pushed back from the manor erupted in bursts. Sir Jon observed it as well.

“Sometimes I wake early and just listen to the birds, singing for mates and eating the fruit of the trees. Have you ever watched any of the large beaked birds attacking a fruit? They tear open its flesh and drink the sweet juices out, letting the seeds fall on the earth. If you haven’t seen them yet we have hummingbirds colored like a rainbow here, impossibly bright.”

Megan looked up with a soft gaze and sharp eyes, questioning. Finally she could not long bear it and asked, “I hope that I haven’t offended.”

Sir Jon smiled, “No. You haven’t. I am merely trying to decide how to answer your question.”

Again the silence deepened, made more profound rather than relieved by the life in the jungle and its intrusions into the bedroom. Megan and Sir Jon lay awake in the night and listened to each other breath while the question kept its presence like a thread breath sharing the air. Sir Jon’s mind wandered over what was really a silly question but his mind still could not reconcile with the gravity it held - the implication of Megan’s admission.

Time slowed between them. Megan’s leg felt restless and her toes scratched against Jon’s leg. Her fingers found a tuft of hair of his chest and toyed with it. In turn, his fingers massaged her hip. The question finally spilled forth in response was short and odd.

“Do you like dogs Megan?”

Megan’s head shifted up and looked at Sir Jon, wondering why this latest tangent but something in his eyes did not suggest a wandering thought. He was serious and intent upon her face.

“Yes. I do like dogs, sir.”

“Then I’m sure you’ve watched them and watched others with them. Have the families you have been with owned dogs?”

“Yes sir. My last one had several black Labrador that I was especially fond of.”

“Doubtlessly you noticed that the relationship between a hound and its master varies greatly. But unlike a man a dog is rarely capable of dishonestly. Cunning yes, but not dishonest. The moment of absolute truth comes when they meet. A dog’s eyes will swell, its tail will wag, it may bound, a thousand things may betray it but it will show its love for its master.”


“I, I understand all of that Sir Jon...”

“Jon, please Megan, call me Jon.” He lay his hand on top of hers.

She blushed, “OK, Jon. Um.. I understand that but how does that reflect on my question?”

Sir Jon smiled indulgently, “Everything.” He stroked her hair, curling it around his finger and laying it back against her cheek. His fingers stroked where she remembered the touch of his lips on her cheek.

“When a woman achieves her pleasure, at least if she is honest and unrestrained in it, it s a moment of honesty. And just as dogs are of different temperament so are women of different passions. And just as a dog may inexplicably love one master and ignore others of a house so may a woman find that one man pleases her above others. So, I do not know how you will feel Megan. But if you felt pleasure when I felt myself compelled to touch you, I think you will again.”

“And, in the book? Will we...?” Megan’s voice was partially smothered by Sir Jon’s shoulder, which cradled her.

“Perhaps. Yes, if it pleases you. Many of those do please me Megan and I think will please you.”

“And I will feel that moment of pleasure again?”

“No, Megan. That was a passing sensation, blurred my the confusion of the moment..” Sir Jon reached down and lifted her chin again with his finger. “If you will remain with me and share my bed and ...” Sir Jon appeared troubled, unsure of his next choice of words “... and more. My days and nights. I think I can please you Megan. In many ways. Perhaps in all.”

In the shadows outside the window they could both hear birds tearing up the fruit and screaming for their mates.

 

[McKenna]

.

 

[coyotepondering]

Sir Jon let the corner of his lips curl as his fingers closed more firmly around Megan’s making her fingers press down upon his skin and feeling it slide over the rigidity beneath it before he pulled her hand away. Leaning down he kissed her cheek and brought her hand up to kiss her fingertips.

“I do Megan, I do.”

Sir Jon let her hand go and it wavered, pulling back and finally resting again on her side. Megan was flustered and confused.

“But, then why?” What does he want from me? Why reject me?

Sir Jon reached over and trailed his hand over her arm and down to her hand where he caressed it with his rough fingers.

“I’d rather you brought your hand back to my chest Megan. I like feeling your fingers there. I like knowing that you enjoy touching me.” Sir Jon’s voice was soft and measured. He looked into her dark eyes, barely visible in the moonlight. Only the center of her eyes, as they darted to him, betrayed any layering to her thoughts.

Megan did return her hand and let her finger tips trace the line of his pectorals.

“Then why did you take my hand away?” Sir Jon then noticed, something resembling hurt and disappointment in her voice.

“Because Megan, tonight is too fragile to bear the weight of that. Today has been maddening and precious. I hope that you still feel in the days to come as you feel tonight but I will only act on my passions if I have no cause to fear that you will regret it. But I hope for that day soon.” Sir Jon smiled again and with a smirk in his tones said, “My nights are filled with images of my waking you from our bed with kisses on your lips and my hands on your hips.”

Megan sighed and let her cheek bear down again on Sir Jon’s shoulder. “I .... I think I would like that... Sir.” Megan could feel herself blush furiously.

Silence came again as the moon slowly reached its zenith and the room faded from being washed in soft silvery light to nearly dark. As it rose the canopy of the forest made a green plain in the dark to the lovers’ eyes. And as the night dragged on, fingers became less eager and sleep pulled over their eyes. And Sir Jon feel into a deep sleep with a foreign body pressed against him, his strength holding her hips to him. It was a sleep that he hadn’t known he was missing.

 

[McKenna]

.

 

[coyotepondering]

Sir Jon stepped through the sun drenched fields of the south western island. It had been a long morning of exposing his crop to inspection by a potential buyer and was already well past noon and the days’ heat had taken its toll on him. He dressed in a suit of light grey and walked beside a man whose own white suit showed a greater wealth than Sir Jon’s. As they strode Sir Jon walked confidently and often waited for his companion who stepped more delicately. The companion’s features and hair betrayed his birth as northern European but he had the same weathered look of Sir Jon’s of a life at sea and in the tropics. His suit was also richer and as yet unscruffed by being worn into comfort as Sir Jon’s was.

“Bleeker,” Sir Jon spoke, “you can not honestly expect me to take those costs. The summer has given us a meager stock of coffee. We should be raising costs and yet you’re saying that you will offer us less.”

“Ah, yes, Meneer Jon, but” the fat cheeked guest spoke in accented Dutch, “The South Americans are producing massive amounts of beans now and we have our pick.”

Silence moved between them as each considered their next words. “You have to sail further for those ports and sail further for less reliable partners.” His voice betrayed no passion, as if Sir Jon were civilly discussing politics rather than his own livelihood.

“The ways are not as uncharted and dealers as unknown as they once were Meneer Jon. If your prices can not compete I can not justify buying your wares. I represent parties who are very price conscious.” Bleeker’s voice was sympathetic but unmoving.

Sir Jon looked to the sky, shielding his eyes. “It has been a bad year. Two years, really.”

“I know Jon. I used to buy from Meneer Fleming in Tenapuna but all he sells now is lumber and orchids.”

Sir Jon nodded, “He’s lucky, the mountains have been spared some of the drought we’ve suffered from.”

“And he has lowered his costs.”

“He’s lowered them by unreasonable means, Meneer Bleeker. He cuts pay until families are hungry.”

“Ah, but they still work because others can take the work. That is capitalism is it not Meneer Jon?” There as a glint of victory in his eyes at this point but it withered as he turned to look into the steel of Sir Jon’s eyes.

“I can not speak for growing orchids, Bleeker, but I do not think that coffee tastes better for the tears of its tenders.”

Meneer Bleeker seemed to weigh something in his mind. “You know that I will still buy your goods Meneer Jon. You are correct in that you are a known commodity. Unlike the new governors on the main lands. And you are reliable.”

Sir Jon smiled, as if he were granting a concession and slapped his friends’ shoulder. “Good. I was sure we could reach an accommodation. And I might be able to lower some prices during next season. Why don’t you come to my house tomorrow before you leave and eat with us. You will see that despite a few lean years we can entertain a guest.”

“I suspect your board will still be rather full, Jon. It would be my pleasure to eat with you before I have to return to a life of salted meats and barreled water.”

“Now, don’t fib an old sailor, Meneer Bleeker. I know wine holds up quite well on that journey.” Sir Jon grinned as he replied.

“Hahaha, that is true. Besides I have an ulterior purpose in coming to dinner. I have heard that you have a lovely new houseguest.”

“Miss Harrison, yes. However, I consider her family, not a guest.”

“Well, I look forward to meeting the charming Miss Harrison then.”

As they reached the carriages on the edges of the fields Sir Jon saw Bleeker off with a shake of the hand and a commitment to have him for dinner tomorrow. Sir Jon simply rode on the carriage bench with Abel rather than inside.

“Did it go well Sir?”

“Yes, Abel, it did.” Sir Jon did not elaborate but after a moment added, “We will have Mister Bleeker over tomorrow for dinner. Lets make a small social of it. Invite the a few families, the local growers and the foremens’ families.”

“Including the Schronenbergs?”

Sir Jon visibly sighed, “Yes, even them.”

No more was said as the carriage rode on and eventually pulled behind the manor house as dusk was appearing on the horizon. Sir Jon stepped off as Able detached the horses and strode in. His strength had seeped from him during the ride from the fields, leaving his mind distressed and ill at ease. For another crop bearing his ability to keep his people paid, clothed, fed, and sheltered was secure but each season was a new struggle.

With a stride that grew more powerful as he moved Sir Jon took the stairs to the second floor and made his way to Megan’s quarters. He didn’t knock but entered unannounced and let the door fall shut behind him.

“Sir!” Megan was reading by the window, her hair let down and her bodice partially undone to keep cool. She grabbed at it to preserve her modesty and then blushed aware of how silly it was but still she kept her hand there.

Sir Jon simply walked to her and ignored the declaration and instead reached out to her, pulling a shocked and unmoving Megan against him, his hands on her arms. Looking down Sir Jon brushed a strand from her face and kissed Megan, letting his lips briefly touch Megan’s, the skin brushing before he pulled back and moistened his lips with his tongue. As Megan’s wide eyes watched him Sir Jon leaned down and touched her lips with his again and grabbed her upper lip with his lips and tugged on it as he pulled away. Suddenly Megan’s weight went a little limp and Sir Jon grabbed her waist and held her, cradling her against him as he found her lips again and held hers against his and softly kissed her.

As he held Megan the light surrounding them turned orange and gold as the sun set. Then Megan heard a voice and she realized that is was Sir Jon whispering against her lips...

I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

And for a moment Sir Jon held Megan and there was silence. He knew that later they would talk about the dinner party, about her getting to meet local families and a chance for Jon Jr. And Miranda to practice their etiquette. But for now, Sir Jon had been able to come home to her and bathed in that peace as he held her.

 

[McKenna]

.

 

[coyotepondering]

Sir Jon peered at Megan’s trembling lip, caught between her teeth. It was a sweet gesture that reminded him of a school girl and made him want to cherish her sweetness. Caressing her chin with his fingertips Sir Jon lifted her chin with his fingers, leveling her eyes with his. With her faced tilted up and angled Sir Jon stroked her cheek without softening the expression of annoyance that was set on features.

“I am not angry with you Megan. I am glad you wish to use my library but I will admit that I am not accustomed to anyone, even maid staff, from entering it without my express permission. Nor would I wish them to.”

“I... I....” Megan faltered, nervous and taken aback by the reproach.

“I can smell it on you Megan. You must have been there some time.”

“I was looking for something to read .... I spent some time trying to find something. I’m sorry and won’t do so again,” her voice sounded weak and felt guilty, not for finding a book but for the real reason she had been there.

Sir Jon softened as he listened to the timbre of her voice, “No Megan. Simply ask when you wish to enter, though I suppose that is not always feasible.” Sir Jon paused in thought. “Very well Megan, you have my permission to enter the study when you need to, in order to access the books, especially as relates to anything for tutoring.”

“I will try to ask you first..... Jon.” His Christian name seemed strange to her ears, but Megan forced herself to refer to her employer in the familiar that he wished.

“Very good.” Sir Jon smiled but did not release her chin. Instead he stroked her cheek with a single fingertip and leaned down to tap her lips with his.

“I... I do apologize sir,” she said as he pulled back from her lips.

“No, no apologies now.” Sir Jon stroked his fingers back along her cheek, stroking the back of her neck, pulling a few strands of her loose hair with his fingers. “Now, let us see what book you borrowed so that I know what’s missing.” He smiled warmly.

Megan reluctantly pulled away to walk to her dresser and returned to find Sir Jon seated in a large chair by the window, looking out over the yard, waiting for her. Megan stood before Sir Jon and handed him the book, feeling out of place and standing, waiting for him. Sir Jon flipped open the leather cover and flipped through the color plates though it was obvious from the fact that his eyes rarely left her face that he knew what it held quite well.

A moment of silence passed as Sir Jon let his fingers linger on a few of the plates, the pages balanced delicately, defying gravity as he held them suspended. The plate currently resting its tip on his index finger was of a mulatto man, scimitar raised high against a towering beast with red skin and goat horns. Behind him a dozen nude maidens were chained together to a great casket with a lock made of gold holding it fast.

“I recognized the title,” Megan said, “and thought that Jon Jr might enjoy some of the tales for his reading lessons. He has been a little behind. Maybe a little adventure would help him.” Megan’s hands were grasped firmly and properly in front of her.

Sir Jon simply held a single raised eye to her. “You have a talent for finding my more ribald volumes Megan. Sir Marlowe’s translation of A Thousand and One Nights is quite explicit.” With a grin he closed the volume and placed it gingerly on a nearby table, “Still, you might find it entertaining. For Jon I think we can find a more sedate volume on my shelves.”

Megan did not reply but looked at Sr Jon, a little embarrassed that she had again chosen such a book and a little unsure of what he wanted. He merely sat there, looking up at her as he leaned back in the chair, hands firmly on the armrest. After a moment of silence, Sir Jon laid his hand on his knee, “Come Megan, join me for a moment.”

Megan cautiously moved to sit on Sir Jon’s knee but suddenly felt his hands on her hips, lifting her and moving her firmly sideways onto his lap, her legs draped over his. His hands wrapped around her waist. His hands came up to her chest where he stroked the sides of her breasts through the material of her bodice. Megan could feel the pressure of his fingers through the garment and looked to his eye, to find already peering at her face, seeking out the depths of her eyes, as if unconcerned with own fingers.

With one hand Sir Jon pulled aside the loose bodice and leaned down, kissing firmly the skin directly above Megan’s breast. Beneath her, she could feel his arousal. He returned to her face and against briefly touched her lips with his.

“Megan?” His voice was soft and wrapped in care for her and for the measure of time they were sharing. His fingers touched her with urgent care. “I treasure holding you but we must discuss something before tomorrow.”

“Yes sir?” She responded to his query, give his voice her attention.

“I need to know something Megan. I need to know what your heart holds. Is it that you want to be my mistress or something more? I could make you very happy as a mistress I suppose, but I want you for a lover. I ... well, there is a great deal to say there about what that means but first I need to know what you wish.”

 

[McKenna]

.

 

[coyotepondering]

Sir Jon studied Megan’s words. Hidden behind her faltering tone was a resolute will and a tenderness unsure of its place. The light stole across the room as the sun fell and they spoke. Each remained guarded while in intimate embrace. His manner betrayed no emotion except for a weight to his jaw that sagged, adding gravity and concern to his face. He felt his will commanded to action as he watched her and she him. It was a duel of wills conducted in silence where Sir Jon knew his sincerity was being measured.

“Megan,” Sir Jon stroked her chin, “what I am offering you ... to be honest I am not sure what I am offering you. I am not some oracle that knows how the days will unfold. I only know my heart but my affections for you must be tempered by the needs of my children and the estate. My responsibilities are firm”

Sir Jon let those words sit as Megan nodded and acknowledged what he said.

“The reason I asked you this Megan is that we are having a party tomorrow and there will be many local guests. I wanted to know how you would attend. I can not introduce you as the lady of the house but I would like to bear you in on my arm. And if I do, tongues will scatter loose tales.”

“Would that be appropriate?” Megan asked.

Sir Jon chuckled, “You will find that we handle social matters with a bit more ease here than they do in London but yes, it is proper. However, unless we take measures to appear entirely discrete there will be rumor mongers and even then I wouldn’t put it past a few of the pedigreed scoundrels to invent cause to gossip.”

“I ..”

Sir Jon interrupted, “Do not speak hastily, Megan. Understand, my responsibilities are complicated and I can not endanger them. What I am offering you is my heart that only struck these cadences of erratic bursts that pained my chest like this once before... with Mary. What I am offering you is my hope that one day I can let spill out all of the affection I hold for you and my pledge to treasure every moment of stolen time until then I can share with you.”

 

[McKenna]

.

 

[coyotepondering]

Sir Jon cupped Megan’s cheek in his palm as she looked away. He was conscious of her breathing and her shifting on his lap, of her darting eyes and the scent of sea breeze that came in through the window. And he was aware of her fingers on him and irrational urges that triggered, nearly violently in his mind. But with deep, precise breaths, he brought his mind back to the moment and to her words.

“Trifle? Really, Megan, you frustrate me in equal measure that you please me. If I was inclined to trifle with you I would shower you with gifts and honeyed words and play the suitor and bed you. That is not my inclination.”

Sir Jon gathered his breath, “Look at me Megan.” He paused, waiting and when she still did not move, “Megan. Turn to face me. Immediately.” His voice firmed, still soft but rigid and uncompromising in tone.” “I will not speak to your cheek, not on this matter.”

Megan slowly turned back to him, her eyes large and full of emotion.

“I’m not going to read you Megan, I’m going to tell you something and I want you to remember my words. I do not want your discretion. I want to take you on my arm and make it clear that I cherish you. But I have children and an estate. But in time that estate will not see a new Nanny as a mistress and in time those children will understand the same, and perhaps see a mother. You are not an entanglement in my life, you are joy but I am too entrenched in my duties to think only of myself or even of you. If it were otherwise I would do otherwise but this is the truth. But in time, in time, if your affections do not fade.... these things can be.”

Sir Jon left his statement hanging. He would not tell her that, to lead her in promises that sounded too much like gilded flattery.

 

[McKenna]

.

 

[coyotepondering]

Sir Jon looked to Megan’s eyes and matched his blue to her green and sought their depths. His hands reached down to her arms. One slid lower, down over her shoulder blades, coming to hold her lower back while the other slid up over her shoulder and the loose edge of her dress until he held Megan’s neck. Over her shoulder he saw the sunlight break through the window as the day shifted from day to night and the shadow of the building lengthened over the lawn.

“Of course you may kiss me Miss Harrison and you may even call me Sir if it is comfortable on your lips, accompanying a kiss.”

Sir Jon then pulled Megan to him, very conscious of her weight on his lap and the uncomfortable growth in his lap that she surely felt against her thigh. Megan’s loose bodice shifted as Jon’s arms tightened around her to hold her to him. As they came to touch Megan’s eyes closed and Sir Jon brought her face to his. She could feel his breath on her and knew he was close but still shivered when she realized that his lips were brushing against her’s as he spoke and his voice’s breath was washing over her lips.

“Now Megan, kiss me.”

Megan Harrison sucked in her breath, as if steeling herself and then her lips came forward that tiny fraction of an inch that was needed and met his. Her inexperience was plain in her searching lips but her eagerness was matched by Sir Jon’s strength and as her lips sucked at his, his fingers tightened on her. Megan’s lips grabbed his upper one and nipped at his, tasting his skin, the taste of his sweat and the earthen fields still on him. Sir Jon relished her softness, against his lips and under his hands.

Sir Jon suddenly broke the kiss and trailed his lips down to her chin, and Megan felt his beard, still damp with humidity, tickle her skin and held her breath, wondering if his lips might go further down her neck. Jon felt her body stiffen as she tensed with held breath and suddenly returned to her lips.

“Wrap your arms around me and kiss me again Megan.”

Nearly attacking his lips, Megan leaned forward to pull her arms around Sir Jon’s neck. As she did so his tongue darted out and caressed her lips, parting them slightly and stealing a taste before returning.

“Another kiss Megan? Keep in mind dinner is soon and I want you to plan to take the children out tomorrow morning to town.”

“Sir?” Megan, quickly fell back to thinking of him as Sir Jon, the employer but could quite understand why she would take the children to town.

“Buy them new clothes for the party. They can practice their social skills. We can hold off their normal lessons as I want you to coach them both. And clothe yourself. I’m sure you brought nice things with you but its nice to have something new and my account is good with anybody in town. Buy the best as I intend to have most of my dances with you Miss Harrison.”

Sir Jon smirked and traced her lips with his thumb, moistening his finger with her breath’s mist and trailing it along her cheek.

“But we have a few minutes if you want to kiss me again Megan.” Sir Jon continued to grin and his hand slid down from her lower back, his palm just barely caressing over her buttocks as he spoke. He watched the goose bumps form on her skin and the blush stir as she remembered the last time he touched her there.

 

[McKenna]

.

 

[coyotepondering]

Sir Jon held his hands above Megan’s hips, his hands firmly grasping her waist as he leaned forward to place his lips on her skin. She was warm, flushed and slightly sweaty with the very faint aroma of scented skin oils she had used in a morning bath. His lips dragged over her skin as he took languid kisses. His lips relished the texture of her skin, only beginning to darken even after weeks in the Carribean sun. The tops of Megan’s breasts, the fleshy swell of her bosom, were exposed to Sir Jon’s kisses as he licked at them.

Sir Jon looked into Megan’s eyes, past the rosy flush of her cheeks. The light was dimming to the point of obscuring the figures that sat intertwined in the large chair in the quiet room. Rather than light a lamp, Sir Jon sought the glimpses of Megan exposed between shadows cast by her hair and the tilt of her head. The only light came from the window. He could still make out the swell of her chest and the outline of her figure and the red of her lips. Grinning lightly Sir Jon leaned back down and pressed his lips to the skin, kissing her again and again, alternating between breasts. The bare chest continued down to the edge of her chemise, just barely covering her rigid nipples and it was there his kisses trailed, along the edge of the cloth. Megan sighed feeling his lips spread across her flesh barely half an inch from her nipple before he pulled his head up and leaned back.

Gingerly and firmly he spoke, “Stand up Megan. Pull up your skirts and return to my lap.” Megan slowly rose and did as Sir Jon commanded, hiking them to her knees. “No Megan, hold the skirts up to your waist and don’t let them drop.”

Megan did so, feeling the blush of embarrassment as well as arousal. She did not know why she submitted so willingly when Sir Jon spoke but it pleased her to follow his command. As Megan carefully placed one knee onto the chair Sir Jon held her steady so that she could climb astride him as she held her skirts up. As she found her purchase and leaned back onto her legs Sir Jon reached out and grasped her thigh with his calloused hand and held it firmly, massaging the tender skin with his fingers through her bloomers. Megan could feel the tops of his fingers brush the material of her bloomers over her crotch and fire shot up through her skin as the material rubbed her lower lips, in proxy of his adjacent fingers.

His other arm pulled around Megan’s waist and pulled her close to him, drawing her chest to his. Without preamble Sir Jon lowered his lips to Megan’s left nipple and drew it into her mouth through her chemise. Immediately she felt the warmth and wetness of his mouth soak her breast and the chemise did nothing to shield her from the sensation. Had it not been for Sir Jon holding her, Megan might have fallen from his lap. He withdrew an inch, raking his teeth over the nipple as he smiled thinly. Megan’s panting grew loudly in his ears as it was the only sound contesting the distant noises of the jungle.

But as Sir Jon returned to Megan’s chest and his lips pulled her right nipple between them they heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. Slowly Sir Jon withdrew his mouth though he rubbed Megan’s thigh as he did.

“That is surely Able, coming to tell us that tea is ready.”


“Ye... yes, sir. I suppose it is,” Megan gasped, catching her breath as Sir Jon’s hand brushed her sex and as she could still feel the pressure of his lips on her breast.

“If he knocks, tell him to go away.”

“Very well sir.”

The knock came a moment later as Sir Jon returned to Megan’s left breast, letting his long fingers and worn hands to firmly massage her breast. Cupping the breast he held the nipple out to run his tongue over it at the same moment that Able’s voice came through the muffling door.

“Ma’am?”

“I’m .... not decent, Able. What is it?”

Megan did her best to control her voice but Sir Jon had grasped her chemise and pulled it down, baring her right breast so that he could circle her nipple with the tip of his tongue, occasionally brushing it and leaving it moist with his saliva. Megan’s back arched rigidly, pushing her breast into Sir Jon’s face but he rose up, ignoring her body’s plea for him to draw her breast into his mouth. Instead he ran his hand that rested against her back up to her head. Running his fingers through her auburn tresses he pulled her head back, baring her neck for him to kiss from her collar to her chin.

“Tea is ready ma’am. The children are also playing outside and said you allowed them.”

“Yes, yes, I did. Th.. th, thank you, Able. I’ll be down.” Megan stammered again as Sir Jon continued to assault her neck, leaning so that her exposed breasts, still moist and warm from his mouth rubbed against the cotton of his suit. In the meantime his hand had moved from her thigh to her sex and cupped her crotch, his fingers outlining the rough edges of Megan’s sex through the pantaloons.

“Good girl, Megan.” Sir Jon spoke in her ear as she reached her arms around him and grinded down, out of instinct, against his hand.

A single moan escaped from Megan, drawn out and low, drawing on all the air in her lungs when Sir Jon stilled his hand and kissed her cheek. The kiss was tender and long, like he would kiss a child but although inactive she could still feel the mass of his fingers on her burning sex. Then, with his palm flat on her sex Sir Jon began to rub Megan and continued for minutes until he felt a hard nub at the apex of her lips harden and suddenly her light gasping stopped as she held her breath. Then she began to whimper, softly until it became a moan as she lay against Jon’s shoulder and her thighs clasped his hand. Her body shook unlike before and tired she allowed herself to collapse against Sir Jon, her breath ragged in his ear.

“Une petite mort. The French call it the small death.” He whispered to her. “You asked me what it will be like. It will be like that but much stronger I think.”

“I don’t know if I shall survive that, Sir... um, Jon.”

“If you can not become accustomed to calling me Jon, then Sir will suffice as I said, Megan. But not both honorific and Christian name. I think it wastes breath on your pretty lips.” Sir Jon traced her lips with his thumb as he said this.

Megan lay recovering from her small death and stirred as Sir Jon removed his hands from her.

“Now up Megan, clean up and come down to tea. I’m sure the children will want to hear about the party from you.” Megan rose and adjusted her dressing, suddenly a little embarrassed to be undone in front of a man but Sir Jon stopped and watched her, smiling.

Stepping back to her, Sir Jon placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheek again. “Tomorrow, if you’ve pleased me, I will reward you Megan. But you will have to earn your reward to discover it.”

With that Sir Jon turned and left and Megan could hear his measured steps heading to his own rooms, undoubtably to wash for tea himself.