“To my surprise, though, he stopped me, grasping my hand through the fabric. “Thought you wanted help,” I said. “Touch yourself, a nighean,” he said softly. That was a trifle disconcerting, particularly given that we were standing in an overgrown garden no more than twenty feet from an alleyway much patronized by militiamen looking for a place to get quietly drunk. Still… I leaned back against the wall and obligingly pulled the shift above my knee. I held it there, gently stroking the skin of my... inner thigh—which was, in fact, very soft. I drew the other hand up the line of my stays, to the top, where my breasts swelled out against the thin, damp cotton. His eyes were heavy; he was still half drunk with fatigue but becoming more alert by the moment. He made a small interrogative sound. “Ever hear the one about sauce for the gander?” I said, twiddling thoughtfully with the string that held the neckline of my shift. “What?” That had brought him out of the haze; he was starkly awake, bloodshot eyes wide open.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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