Page 80 of Dearest Beast
Something that he was incapable of giving her and something shewas not certain she could give back herself. Or more that she could not. Not if she wanted to keep her sanity. She was not capable of living in his world, and he’d not want to live in hers, a fact she could not forget.
“You were otherwise occupied,” she managed to protest when he moved off her again, while she worked to banish the other thoughts, the dangerous ones, from her mind.
“It’s all right,” he whispered, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. “I don’t…”
She pushed herself up on the mattress, a plan formulating in her head. This time it was her turn to move over his body. What a body it was. Even with far too many garments for her liking.
“No, but perhaps you need this,” she whispered as she unbuttoned his falls, freeing him. Suddenly she was no longer tired. Familiar desire spread through her limbs, energizing her, as she first stroked him with her hand then bending forward.
“What are you—” he started as she took him in her mouth. “Yes,” he groaned as power surged through her, mixing with the lust now swimming over her senses. Gently at first, then harder and fast, she swirled her tongue around him, delighting in his reaction.
Hedidneed her.
This powerful, sought-after, near prince of a man.
At least now. In these moments.
And that was something she could savor. Even celebrate.
“Oh yes,” he whispered, tangling his fingers in her hair, which had come loose from her braid. “Darling—” he breathed, and she paused.
“Who?” she asked.
“Rebecca,” he moaned.
Smiling to herself, she started again, taking him fully now.
“Yes,” he cried. “There we go—I—” Whatever else he was going to say was swallowed by his groan. “Come here,” he murmured, pulling her to his side after he finished. “Just lie with me for a moment,” he whispered as she placed her ear against his chest, his firm, steady heartbeats lulling her, until she fell fast asleep.
Rebecca smoothed the pleats of her new dark green wool gown beneath the impressively white lace tablecloth in Roger’s brother David’s dining room.
She should never have come. Never have agreed to join the family for Shabbos luncheon. She’d had a surprisingly amiable week since Fannie’s disappearance and its aftermath and thus had no reason to tempt the evil eye.
The house, while still not particularly organized, had somehow seemed less, well, somber. While no nurse nor governess had been hired, Roger’s own efforts to assist his staff had resulted in far better behavior from both children. So much so that both were nearly pleasant when they interacted. Particularly Fannie, who was admittedly bright and seemed to have a keen sense of curiosity that could be quite endearing, especially when she wasn’t attempting to act superior.
Additionally, news of Rebecca’s location had spread, and while she could not fully practice her profession, she’d been busy enough providing ointments, teas, and tinctures while fielding questions regarding anything and everything from irregular courses to painful intercourse to how long one should bleed after terminating a pregnancy.
Even Fannie’s occasional “assistance”—really, monologues—punctuated with questions and requests to stir or add had not been displeasing.
Thus it had been hard to refuse the child when she—not Roger—had asked her to join the family that afternoon, rather cleverly reminding her that she’d only be walking two blocks.
Besides, Papa can thread his arm through yours, like this, the girl had explained, positioning them both before either could protest.See, you’re not touching now, but if you do fall, he shall catch you.
After that, well, it was almost impossible to say no. Fortunately, there was no slipping on the way over. Though from the moment she arrived, her stomach had become increasingly unsettled.
It was not the fault of David and his family. While she’d always suspected that they looked down upon her, and they certainly would not approve of her exploits with Roger, from the moment she arrived, they’d been nothing but gracious hosts. Roger’s sister-in-law, a rather attractive dark-haired woman in her forties, was especially kind, complimenting her Shabbos gown with expertly feigned sincerity.
“Perfect with your skin,” Nina Berab declared after the blessings had been said and the group started to pass around the various dishes. “The beading on the sleeves is elegant yet subtle. You have excellent taste.” Her accent was so flawless, one would never have known that she’d been born in Amsterdam, not Grosvenor Square.
“I believe that’s the dressmaker,” Rebecca reminded the woman as she served herself a piece of cold fried cod with lemon.
“You didn’t send it back, and thus it is yours,” the woman declared, placing a bit of stewed chicken and rice with roasted eggs upon her own plate. “Now, I hope you don’t mind that I’ve seated myself next to you,” she continued, glancing at her husband and Roger, who were deep into a debate regarding a new proposal to the Commission of Delegates to build a synagogue in the western part of the city.
“It shall weaken unity,” Roger declared.
“Most certainly,” David agreed.
“Friedland and Pollack are delusional if they think only people of their status will attend,” Roger continued. “Can you imagine what shall happen when gentiles who’ve only been exposed to Jews like us see, well…” He shook his head, that familiar superior expression Rebecca had nearly forgotten existed coming over his face.
