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Frederick is still awake when she returns to their quarters. The hour is unreasonable even by her standards, and doubly so for him, who reliably wakes at dawn.
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Robin says.
“I wanted to.”
Her husband sets his book down (her book, really) and rises from his chair. Love and guilt twist in Robin’s chest when he kisses the top of her head. He’d waited long enough for her before, and while a few extra hours at the library pales in comparison to a year of mourning, she has made him wait for her again.
“You have ink on your hands,” Frederick says, rubbing his thumb over a dark smear on the side of her palm.
She watches him settle into their bed, and his expression is peaceful as he pulls the covers back for her. It would be easier, she thinks, if he complained. But he doesn’t. She stares at his face, at the hard line of his nose, at the wrinkles that have started to form at the corners of his eyes.
She does not deserve him.
She has come too close to divinity to be devout, but the thought feels blasphemous. It feels like doubt, and how can she doubt him when he believed in her, despite his better judgment? On the other hand, when she takes stock of herself, she can’t find anything here that’s worth his sorrow.
“Robin?”
She leans over him and presses her mouth to his. He returns the kiss, though she feels his surprise when her tongue pushes against his lips. Then hesitation becomes invitation, and she accepts it greedily. She slides her hand beneath the hem of his shirt and onto his hip. His skin is warm.
“Can we stay up a little longer?” she asks.
“I don’t think I could sleep now if I tried.”
Her hair falls around his face, pooling on the pillow, and Frederick takes a lock of it in his hand. She waits for him to tug it, but he doesn’t. He just holds it, and his fondness breaks her heart.
“I’m thinking about cutting it,” Robin says. “I want to wear it short like yours.”
“I’m sure it would look very charming.”
He kisses her jaw, then the soft patch of neck beneath her ear.
“But do you prefer it long?” she asks.
“You’re very beautiful.”
He would make a good diplomat, she thinks as Frederick lays her on her back. Then again, he says what he believes. At the very least, he makes her feel like he believes it.
He kisses her as he rubs her breast through her nightgown. His touch is gentle, almost polite, and she wishes he’d behave less like a guest in her body. Robin grabs his wrist and pushes his hand against her. He takes the hint, squeezes, then licks her mouth when she sighs.
Like a dog, she can’t help but think. She nips at his bottom lip and feels a chuckle roll through him.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. I was only thinking that no one would expect you to be so carnivorous.”
“But you know better.”
“I do,” he says proudly. “I think you would eat me whole, if you could.”
It’s a dangerous proposition. But Frederick is cupping the inside of her thigh now, so she tries not to dwell on it. He parts her legs, hikes up her skirt, and slides his hand beneath her smallclothes.
“Are my hands cold?” he asks when she flinches.
“Just a little,” Robin says, although they aren’t. “Warm them up?”
He does, pressing his fingers between her folds and rubbing at her entrance. As he touches her, she wonders why he hasn’t taken her smallclothes off. He often leaves them on—not that she particularly minds. At first, Robin assumed it was his odd sense of modesty (as if there was anything “modest” about his hand between her legs). Now, she’s not so sure. If anything, playing at such boundaries feels deeply immodest, like he’s maintaining a line just to cross it.
“Frederick, you’re kind of a pervert,” she decides.
“A bold statement from someone in your position.” He presses her clit, and she tries to grind against his fingers. “You seem to be enjoying it well enough. Or would you rather I stop?”
Robin knows the game, knows that this is the part where she’s supposed to beg. She also knows it’s more her game than his. Is this what he wants? Or is he indulging her again?
She glances at the untouched tent in his pants.
“Yeah, actually. Let me up.”
He does, and she straddles him before he has a chance to be disappointed. She grinds down on him, watching as his brow creases with pleasure and frustration. Then she leans forward and kisses his chin, rough with the beginnings of stubble.
“Let me take care of you,” she says.
She keeps her weight on Frederick’s crotch as she unbuttons his shirt. She traces a faded scar that begins on his shoulder and ends on his right breast, most of it hidden beneath thick hair. It’s a credit to his self-discipline that he remains as still as he does, although his face goes scarlet when Robin begins to grope his chest. He’s far more sensitive than she is.
“Please don’t tease me,” Frederick says.
“How am I teasing you?”
“You—”
She tugged his nipple and felt his cock twitch beneath her.
“Do you not like it?”
“It’s…embarrassing.”
“You were playing with mine not too long ago.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“You’re…” He doesn’t finish the thought. It’s probably for the best. “Please touch me anywhere else.”
“Anywhere?” she asks, shifting her weight.
“Yes.”
She slides down his body and unbuttons Frederick’s pants. He’s fully hard now, his cock flushed and hot in her hand. His breath tightens as she strokes him, his hands grasping at the sheets.
Cute, Robin thinks. She leans down and presses a kiss below his navel, then on the tip of his cock. His palm catches her shoulder before she can go any further.
“You don’t have to do that,” he says.
“I don’t,” she agrees. “But do you want me to? I’d like to taste you, if you’ll let me.”
His face burning, Frederick withdraws his hand and slowly sinks back into the pillows. He won’t look her in the eye, but it’s enough.
“Thank you,” Robin says. Then she lowers her mouth onto him.
She can’t take him all (she learned this the hard way and promised to never try again), but what she manages is effective. Frederick shuts his eyes and claps a hand over his mouth. Robin seriously doubts it’s that good, since this is a skill she doesn’t get to practice often, but she’s happy not to have an audience. She’s drooling more than is pretty.
“You’re so tense,” she says, resting her jaw. “Relax.”
She splays her hand over his stomach and feels the muscles tighten further.
“You are shameless,” Frederick says. She knows he doesn’t really mean it—it’s just one of those things you say in moments like this—but she likes it. It makes her feel powerful in a way she hasn’t felt since she quit the battlefield. She wishes it were true. Maybe tonight, it is.
“Let’s find out how shameless I can be.”
Robin sheds her nightgown and pulls her smallclothes from her hips. Frederick, poor thing, tries to keep his eyes on her face, which only makes it more obvious when his gaze slips downward. Her body is nothing special, so it’s nice of him to be impressed. She rewards him by rubbing herself against his cock. She’s still wet from his earlier work, and she slides against him easily. It’s good, but not as good as the ruined look on Frederick’s face. His hands twitch, and she can tell that he wants to grab her hips.
“You want me that badly?” she asks. “Truly?”
“Yes.” His eyes, usually blade-sharp, are glassy with desire. “Always.”
How could she possibly deserve him?
“You’re the sweetest man,” Robin says, positioning herself over him. “I shouldn’t keep you waiting.”
She sinks onto him, savoring the stretch, the heat, the way his eyes screw shut and the breath rushes out of him.
“Gods…”
She leans forward, feels him slip nearly all the way out of her, and gently flicks his nose. Frederick’s eyes snap open, and confused indignation washes across his face. He opens his mouth to say something, and Robin slams her hips down. The sound that leaks out of him is unlike any she’s heard from him before, and the base of Robin’s brain tingles.
“You’re so pretty,” she moans as she rides him. “You look so good like this. You feel so good like this.”
“You’re—ngh!—teasing me again.”
“But I mean it.”
And she does. He’s never been more gorgeous than he is now between her legs, his face and chest flushed. She wishes she could make him see it. Instead, she takes Frederick’s hands and places them on her hips. He’s been still until now—obedient without her asking him to be—but it’s all the invitation he needs. His fingers bite into her skin, and he thrusts into her so roughly that she almost loses her balance. She throws her arms around his neck, holding on as he fucks her.
“Robin!”
Her name is laced with desperation. She enjoys it far more than she should.
“I’m here,” she says, her voice high and breathless. “I’m right here. Oh gods, that’s perfect!”
“Robin, I…May I—”
“Yes.” Her fingers tighten in his hair. “You can do whatever you want.”
He pulls her flush against him, and Robin kisses his neck as he comes. She likes the way he shivers beneath her, likes the way she can feel his heat spreading inside her.
You’re so precious, she thinks. And somehow, you’re mine.
“Thank you,” Frederick says when he catches his breath.
“You don’t have to thank me. At least, not with your words.”
He kisses her forehead, then rolls her on her back and rubs her cunt until she comes.
“I love you,” he says, his fingers still inside her.
“Even though I’m ruining your sleep schedule?”
“It’s worth ruining.”
Suddenly, she has the ridiculous urge to cry. She tucks her face into the pillow as Frederick wipes his fingers
“Let me clean you up,” he says, but she shakes her head.
“I like it.”
She expects him to insist. Instead, he lies down behind her and slide his arms around her waist. His hand brushes over her stomach.
“I love you, too,” Robin says. “Do you want to go again?”
Frederick hugs her closer and presses his lips to the back of her neck.
“I meant every word of what I said,” he tells her. “I’m glad I stayed up. I’m glad I waited for you. But Robin, you have to let me sleep.”