Chapter 1

His romantic demon coveted desperately these occasions when she would return from a surrepetitious visit with her ailing parents. She always contrived to arrive at sundown, in time for dinner, and he always went full out. The mussels ala Mama Low, the steak au poivre, the carrot cake. And afterwards, the long sweet night with no demands on tomorrow's time.

Jeb had the uniquely english beauty which came in a package, a tall, slender body with surprisingly heavy breasts, long legs, and chestnut hair which she was letting grow in a vain attempt to hide her lovely, sensual features. "A reasonably good looking girl gets a lot of attention, Jonathon, and I was never terribly certain of myself, as you have pointed out to me on occasion. I do think I have a sensual nature though. I must say I never expected you to be such a good fuck, you seemed so well controlled. Oh my, that's quite nice darling. Quite... ahhhhhhh... nice."

When they first got to their little shack, two rooms and a loo, their love making was frantic and enthralling, trying to make up for time lost. Even though he was recovering, his stocky body healing faster than his damaged, pugnacious face, she would mount him as he lay staring up at her, his heart full of need, and she would smile as they climbed a ladder of desire they were still not sure they had. He would prod her self examination, and his own, as they lay gasping together afterwards, while she would worry that she was hurting him. He would reassure her, even though she did indeed touch the wrong places some times, but he found he didn't care. She liked to imitate the arch, high handed conversation she had practiced with Roper, as a way of showing him her disdain for a past that haunted them both, but quixotically nurtured the obsession they felt for each other.

At least that was what Jonathon called it, obsession. He was somehow afraid to call it love, for not only did he fear his own understanding of their bond, he wasn't sure she understood it as something outside the usual affection she slipped into so easily. Jeb avoided even a mention of their feelings, instead letting him jibe her gently about little habits from the past, affectations which had become second nature to her, and as she realized their artificiality, she would bite her lip and whisper, "I'm trying darling. You know I am. And its working, don't you think? I feel much more, oh, open. I'm not afraid to show myself to you. Imagine, me, an aristocrat, with an army sergeant. Really, darling, we should invent a more interesting past for you. You could play the role of a Prussian cavalry officer and noble quite nicely I think. Though Jonathon, now really, you must learn to sit a horse. That would go with the story. A Prussian cavalry officer does not bounce."

There were certain times, however, when he couldn't imagine life without her. Although she was not a sailor, as he became well enough to take the twenty foot skiff out into the bay, she would sit beside him and squeal with pleasure when they were racing before the wind, tilted nearly into the sea. Her shirt plastered to those lovely tits, squinting into the spray, with an excited smile as she imagined the situation was dangerous, yet never seeming to be afraid. "I can tell when someone's good at something dear, and you are good at this." They would kiss as the wind whistled, and the salt water in their mouthes made the contact unforgettable. It was then that he thought about love.

But tonight was about lust. She had arrived a bit unkempt from her long drive, kissed him briefly, eyed the kitchen's contents, smiled her blazing smile to him, and said "I must shower and dress for you, my love. Give me fifteen minutes." But she would always take thirty, emerging from the bedroom in clinging outfits designed to provoke him. Tonight was a red strapless silk thing she had retrieved from home, he supposed. Her nipples, pubic bone, and navel were on vivid display. She walked in that longstepped way to the chair he was holding for her, put her hand on his face, and sat herself, wiggling her butt. Then she looked over her shoulder with her fuck me smile and whispered "Can you wait, darling? I think I can, but just barely." They had ruined a couple of meals when they couldn't.

But they ate a relaxed, elegant meal in the rustic confines of the small, yet well maintained cabin which had had a few improvements courtesy of the Whitehall budget of 1991. She told him about her parents, about a man she imagined might have been following her, and the lengths she went to escape him. She had written down the number, so that Burr could check during his next visit. He described a walk during which a couple of the locals, in their countryside way, had quizzed him about his relationship to Jack Linden, an alternate identity now wanted in several countries. "I visited three stores to find the meat. I wonder if Burr can bring in a good butcher." It was one of their jokes, for surely they owed their lives to Leonard Burr.

As she finished her second piece of cake, "Just a sliver, dear", they rose together and dumped their dishes into the small sink. He had the rest of the pots and pans already cleaned and put away, for he knew how intolerant she was of delay on evenings like this. He could hardly hide his erected cock, and she eyed it rather outrageously, then reached under her arm to unzip the dress. Her eyes hooded and she sighed as the bodice dropped to her waist, revealing those gorgeous breasts. They had another joke about moments like this, that her "aristocratic whore", or "oversexed duchess" persona emerged still intact.

She had gained a little weight in their hiding, and it had given her figure a new voluptuousness. Her tits had certainly grown slightly, and her hips, in spite of her constant riding, were more womanly. She had never been self conscious, and now as she leered at him, with her chest exposed, the nipples stiff in the cool air, and her hips rotating ever so slightly, he felt that surge of need, attraction, and desire she had always caused, and embraced her roughly.

She grunted as he collided with her, then kissed him with open mouthed passion, gasping, as he pinched a nipple with one hand and the other held her against him. They were nearly the same height when she wore heels, and the kiss went on and on, comfortable, erotic. As always, his head spun as they stood there, wanting each other even more than twelve months ago when they had arrived. "Come on, Jonathon. You have a long night ahead of you. And let me warn you, there are no knickers under this dress, in case you hadn't noticed, but there is a tampon inside me. You know I can't get near you without getting wet, don't you? Yes I know you do, you naughty man." After that, conversation stopped.

In the bedroom, on these occasions, they had a routine which suited them and never seemed stale.

As she approached the bed, she pushed the dress down her legs, not without difficulty, and threw herself down, legs spread, well short of the head. She reached down, extracted the tube of the tampon, and threw it at him as he tore off his clothes. He caught it and sucked the juice which had indeed been absorbed in it. It tasted like Jed. His heart soared again.