Chapter 9: The First Night

He was not late.

I heard the knock at ten, one soft rap, and I opened the door in the borrowed nightgown the guards' laundress had sent.

Dashiell stood in the corridor with his hands at his sides.

He had washed, and his hair was damp, and he did not say a word.

"Come in," I said. "Close it."

He closed it.

The lamp was low, and the bed was turned down, and my heart was going so hard I thought he could hear it.

He probably could.

"I've never done this with anyone," I said. "I want you to know that first."

"I know."

"You can smell it."

"I can smell that you're afraid," he said. "And I can smell that you want me. Both are in the room."

"Then kneel."

I said it quietly.

For a heartbeat, I thought he might refuse.

He went down on both knees on the rug, slowly, with his eyes on my face and the gold coming up in them.

This time it was not an order.

It was a gift, and I knew the difference now.

I sat on the edge of the bed.

"Take off my slippers."

He did it with great care, his palms warm on my ankles.

"Now my nightgown."

He pulled it up over my thighs and my hips and my ribs.

I raised my arms, and the cloth went over my head, and he set it aside carefully.

He looked at me for a long moment and said nothing at all.

"Elowen."

"Hands behind you."

He put them behind his back.

I took his face in my hands and kissed him.

Then I leaned back on the pillows and drew him in with one finger.

"Show me what you're good for."

He bent, and his mouth found the inside of my knee, and then my thigh, and I felt every nerve in me tighten.

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