Percival novel · Chapter 6 of 24

Chapter 6: The Right Room

The furnace was fixed by nightfall, and my garret was warm for the first time in two days.

My room is at the top of the north stair, under the roof, with a window that looks out over the pines.

It holds a narrow bed, a desk, a woolen rug, and one straight wooden chair that I stole from the reading room years ago.

There is a brass number on the door.

It reads 41, and I checked it twice.

At nine o'clock there was a knock, very soft.

I opened the door in my nightgown with my hair still damp, and the royal adviser of the Eastern Wolves stood on my threshold with his hands behind his back.

He had not changed his waistcoat.

"You said tonight," Percival said.

"I did."

"I have been standing on the stairs for ten minutes."

"Why?"

"I was afraid it was a lie." His mouth twisted. "It would have been well within your rights."

"Come in."

He came in and ducked under the beam without being told.

I shut the door, turned the key, and pointed at the chair.

"Sit."

He sat.

It was too small for him, and his knees came up high, and he put his hands on the arms and waited.

"Don't touch," I said. "Not until I say."

"Understood."

"Say it back."

"I will not touch you until you tell me to." His voice was rough already. "I find I would obey a great deal more than that."

"I know. I've noticed."

I walked to the edge of my bed, which stood a yard from his knees.

I sat on the quilt.

The lamp on my desk threw soft gold across the room and across his face.

"Last night," I said, "I didn't get to look at you properly."

"You have looked at me all day."

"Not like this."

I lifted the hem of my nightgown over my knees, slowly, and watched his eyes follow it.

I pushed it higher, over my thighs.

I was wearing nothing under it.

His fingers closed hard on the arms of the chair.

"June."

"What are you looking at?"

"The inside of your left thigh." His voice cracked. "There is a small mole, and I want to put my tongue on it."

"What else?"

"I can see that you are wet. I can smell it. The whole room smells like you."

I leaned back on my elbows.

"Maybe I'm not wet," I said.

His jaw clenched.

"You are lying."

"Am I?"

"I cannot tell by the thread. I can tell by my nose, and by the way your thighs are shining in the lamp. Do not lie to me about this, June, I may die."

I laughed softly, and I let my knees fall open.

His breath left him in a hiss.

"All right," I said. "I'm wet. I've been wet since the stairs."

"Thank God."

I slid one hand down my stomach and between my legs.

My fingers found my clit, and I let out a long breath.

Percival made a sound.

"Tell me what you'd do," I said.

"If I were permitted?"

"If you were permitted."

I stroked slowly, in circles, and his eyes followed my hand.

"I would kneel on your rug," he said, in a low, unsteady voice. "I would put my hands on your knees and open them wider. I would put my mouth on you until you begged."

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