When we arrived back at the house, I gave my coat and hats to the servants as usual. And we stood in the great hall, man and wife, at least in the eyes of the law.

I blinked at him. We had neither of us planned any further than this moment. Certainly, given that our marriage was not parentally sanctioned, we were not going to be able to indulge in the luxury of a honeymoon.

“Would you like to visit the library, Mr. Barlow?” I asked him, just as he said, “Are you in need of any refreshment?”

A cake would have been fitting for the occasion, but I had not prepared anything, and knew that he probably had not either.

We stood there like two statues, until he took my arm. “Come with me,” he managed, strain apparent in his voice.

And we fairly floated up the stairs, all the way to the hallway where my room was. But instead of turning down toward my room and Lillian’s, we went the other way, into the room that I knew to be Luke’s.

Once there, neither of us said a word. I wanted to take off my shoes, but there was nowhere to sit but the bed. And so I stood by the door, trying to get my boots off, wondering if I could possibly be inside Luke Barlow’s bedroom, and whether he could possibly be my husband.

Apparently so, because he soon tired of my efforts and, taking my hands, began to kiss them.

I snatched my hands away, tilting my face up towards his so that he had to kiss me.

And kiss me. And continue to kiss me.

We moved over to the bed as if drawn there by some mystical force, and fell inelegantly down. I was next to Luke, and then on top of him, and many minutes passed before we even thought to take off our shoes.

When we did, it was because Luke got off me, took his own shoes and stockings off, then insisted on removing mine. After he pulled down the stockings and revealed my feet, he kissed them without thinking.

I thought that we might be able to stay there all afternoon, rubbing against each other through too many layers of clothing. Though Luke was heavy, insistent in his caresses, he was not so bold as to raise my gown until I suggested it myself, after fumbling for several minutes as I attempted to undo his fall.

“Are you certain?” he asked, losing his breath as he looked on me, then down at the hard rod that he held in his right hand.

“Yes,” I murmured, putting my hand over Luke’s. After all, he required my help as we attempted to shift positions, and I had to guide him in.

However, he needed very little guiding after that. He began to drive me into the bed, so quickly that I wondered whether he was angry. But when he moved so that I could see his face, I noted how twisted it was, not angry but flush with passion. Then he held my shoulders and groaned, nearly crying as he died inside of me, trembling and hammering into me all the while. I cried out, too, his pounding awakening every jot of my desire.

It was only after Luke’s furious thrashing had subsided that we managed to find the leisure to remove our clothing. He did not undress me, but watched in fascination as I removed my gown, unlaced my stays, and threw off my shift. He touched my bosom with reverence, and I touched all of his body with amazement and admiration.

He bit his lip, as if he meant to ask me something, but then I could see him reconsider.

“What is it?” I asked, as we got underneath the covers, either to keep warm or to cover up the fact that we were each a little embarrassed by our bare figures.

“I thought,” he said, turning a little red. “Well, I thought that ladies underwent a similar transformation. But I have not seen that in you, and I hope that I have not been lacking.”

“A peak of pleasure, you mean?” I asked, smiling to see him so discomfited. “Well, yes, we do. Would you like to see it?”

“Yes,” he said, with such seriousness that I giggled.

“You shall,” I told him, looking into his eyes as I reached one hand down to the one area that I knew was critical to my delight.

At first, his eyes on me made me shy, and I turned onto my stomach, covering my eyes as I let my fingers tremble on the little hill of flesh that suddenly was in control of my voice, my thoughts, my entire body. But Luke, greedy for the sight and feel of me, pulled me over onto my side and began to kiss my neck, then stroke my hair.

After that, I knew I should not be able to last, and I had to put my beloved finger’s in my mouth to muffle my screams. Before I ended things with a few quick strokes, he drew me so close to him that I could scarcely breathe.

After he had seen and felt my first death, Luke could not wait for the next one, though he insisted that he wished to play a rather more central role in bringing it about.

And again, I had to draw on my superior knowledge of such practices, getting on my hands and knees before him.

He knew that he ought to get on his knees, but poked and prodded at me before I drew a hand around and brought his tackle inside. Once I had done that, it did not take long for both of us go catch the new rhythm, and for me to work my fingers up to the tiny bump of flesh that allowed me to join Luke in grunting and moaning. In fact, my ecstasy of a few minutes before did not seem to change anything about my body’s responsiveness. In fact, I was even more eager to be pleasured again.

And unlike when I was alone, my own joy was far less predictable. When Luke reached around to touch my neck, and shoulders, and bosom, I felt a new spark and could barely control myself.

“Wait,” I managed to whisper, but I did not even know whether I was speaking to my husband or to myself. Because I could not wait. In an instant, I was shaking with surprised joy, my body bouncing and clutching at my husband’s.

It was more than he could withstand. Instead of simply going pink and getting hard, as he had done when he watched me before, he growled and bounced against me with such fury that I was afraid we might both be injured.

It was then that I felt the strange sensations that I had noticed the first time, and when Luke took himself out of me, it was plain that he had simply been unable to withstand the sight.

“Oh, darling,” he growled, pulling me to him. “You are exquisite.”

I would have told him the same, but I decided that I preferred to kiss him instead, running my fingers over his prick and knowing that it would not retain its reduced size for long.

And he could not object.