A Compromised Innocent

And she wanted to allow him the liberty of a kiss, despite the admonishments they schooled young girls in. She wanted to know his taste, wanted to feel his lips upon hers, to know the touch of a man. She trembled at the bold thought.

“May I?” he said again, and he stroked the back of a single finger down her cheek to her jaw.

“Oh, yes.”

She didn’t have to wonder any longer, for he pressed his lips to hers before she was even done with the words. It was a sweet kiss, tender and slow, a gentle exploration that set a deep tremor loose within her, not unlike the chills that accompany a fever.

All too soon, it was over. Wainsborough pulled his head back and stared at her in the moonlight. Her hand was still clasped to his forearm, a sustained connection between them.

Words escaped her as she stood there trembling, inhaling the scent of him and wishing the kiss had never ended. She caught the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth and peeked up at him, wondering if it would be too forward of her to lean in and encourage another.

Was she supposed to say something in the quiet, private moment? Thank him? Never having been kissed before, a budding worry unfurled in her stomach.

“Sweet,” he finally whispered then he released her hand, only to slip his arms around her waist and pull her close. Then his lips claimed hers once again.

This was an entirely different kiss, as dissimilar from the first one as night to day. It was consuming, stealing thought and time and place.