Free The Winter Folly by Lulu Taylor Page B

against the darkness, wondering what she was supposed to do.
    He was rubbing himself against her body, she realised, and one hand was stroking her behind, following the curve of her buttocks down and then up again, softly at first and then with more force.
Then he began to move his hips against her. Something hard prodded her in the buttocks as his stroking grew rougher, and the heavy breathing in her ear where he was pressing his face into her neck
louder.
    ‘Help me, can’t you?’ he muttered.
    ‘What shall I do?’
    ‘Pull up your nightdress.’
    She hesitated. So this was it. That thing they had talked about was going to happen to her now. It was hard to imagine that it might possibly be heaven, but there was still time, she supposed,
for the bliss to begin. If only she weren’t so frightened. Reaching down, she slipped her nightgown up as best she could and lay still again, feeling exposed. Now Laurence’s hand was on
her bare bottom and he was stroking and pinching her there.
    ‘Do you like it?’ he murmured in her ear between his panting breaths. ‘Is this nice?’
    ‘Yes,’ she said miserably, and he responded by pinching her a little harder and saying, ‘Good, good.’
    Now his hand moved suddenly around her hip and onto her belly. She gasped but managed to stifle it. No one had touched her here since the doctor had pressed her to check for appendicitis when
she was twelve. Aunt Felicity had given her hot-water bottles to press against herself when her period pains came, but had never looked. And now this man’s hand was on her – not just
any man, her
husband
– and to her horror, it was heading downwards, towards the private place between her legs where no one but she had ever been.
    Long thin fingers that felt like knobbly sticks probed her. She bit her teeth down into her lip and concentrated on letting no sounds escape her, though she wanted to say
Stop! Don’t
do that!
and push him away. But the hard scrabbling on her tender flesh went on, as though he was searching for something underneath her. She realised that the prodding in her buttocks was
getting more pronounced and then a moment later, after Laurence had fumbled with his pyjama bottoms, she knew with a hot, appalled certainty what was poking at her.
    What am I supposed to do?
she wondered, agonised. She had no idea. She had never imagined that this might happen with her facing away from her husband. Now he was sliding his hand
between her thighs and trying to press them apart. It felt vaguely ludicrous.
    ‘Can’t you help a bit more?’ he panted in her ear, and she obediently raised her leg. The hot-tipped prodding thing was at her buttocks, prying between them. She was in a
curdle of mortification and confusion, afraid of whatever it was that was supposed to happen next.
    ‘Turn around,’ he said.
    She wriggled round, hampered by the nightdress twirled around her waist, until she was on her back.
    ‘Move your legs apart and I’ll go between them.’
    ‘All right,’ she said in a small, fearful voice. She was grateful for the cloak of darkness as she let her legs fall open, revealing the soft heart between them. She couldn’t
see him at all but she could smell Pears soap and a musty oil scent that might be his hair cream, and she could feel the warmth of his body, though his skin was still cool to touch. He was kneeling
between her thighs now and as she glanced down, she saw something long and thin rearing out from his groin, and quickly looked away, her breath coming in fast, frightened pants. Surely this would
hurt her, it must.
    ‘I’m going to try now,’ he said.
    She shut her eyes as he lay down on her. He was not much taller than she was and almost as slim. His cool skin was virtually hairless and he didn’t weigh much as he let his body rest on
hers. Then she felt it.
    ‘Why . . . can’t . . . I . . .’ He spoke through clenched teeth. ‘What’s happening? What’s wrong?’
    ‘I don’t know,’