Meet Me In The Summer House

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“Meet me in the summer house,” she whispered, then fled into the garden, into the night air of sweet lilac, to wait for him.

She watched the other guests leave, and wondered when he would break free to run into her arms. She could still taste the claret on her lips. He had championed her right to drink with the guests. “She’s no longer a child – perhaps it’s time she had a drink with the grown-ups.”

Indeed she was no longer a child – she hadn’t really replaced her mother, but she’d been looking after the house for years now.

She crushed a rose to her soft lips, to her teeth of moonlit pearl. Her tongue sought him within it’s folds. Would his kiss be so soft, his tongue so knowing?

She smoothed the organza skirt of her dress – the one she’d chosen for his arrival – as she studied the perfect symmetry of her feet. “Look at you – all grown up and prettier every year!” he had said. The moon inched forward for a better view, criss-crossing her legs with a trellised shadow to ribbon and bind them there.

Then she heard his footsteps on the path, and every nerve took flight. Her heart started with the engine ignition, and leaped to the chase as his car pulled down the drive – though she found her legs were still bound where she sat when her father called her name.

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