As I opened my eyes the sun was streaming diagonally across the bed,
warming my legs under the thin sheet, and illuminating his exposed shoulder and
back. I blinked several times as my brain focused on the unfamiliar scene.
Ah, yes, not my bed.
No indeed, I was naked, and still a little surprised at being in the
Professor’s bed – let me rephrase that – not surprised at being naked, or in
his bed, or in his bed with him naked too, but surprised at being here still
the next morning. He usually gave delicately clear signals for when I should
return home to sleep, which was, after all, the hallmark of an affair for a
married woman. I didn’t like it, but I accepted it. Staying the night, sleeping
in his arms for more than minutes or even a stolen hour, and the prospect of
waking and having breakfast together, excited me.
Was I really so excited at the thought of breakfast with him?
I smiled to myself. My excitement was more at the sudden change of
routine. He never failed to surprise me. Thinking of him compelled me to roll
over and press myself against his back, nuzzling into his neck, my arm lazily
draped across his waist, stealing his sunlight for my own. He stirred sleepily,
taking my hand into both of his, pulling it up to lightly kiss then cradle
against his chest as he returned to his slumber, content. I squeezed closer
against his back, burying my face further into his neck, breathing him in,
letting my hair spill over us like tendrils of ticklish warm water. My hand
gently held between his chest and hands, we comfortably dozed, bathed in golden
light.
Curled against him, I pondered at my newly found satisfaction. It was
easy to smile at the memory of last night – roughly tender, slowly quickening,
and as always, innocently allowed to wickedly unfold. But the pleasure went
beyond the corporeal. There was some small satisfaction and pleasure in hearing
him suggest that I stay – yes, in the emotional war between us, I felt as if I
had my first victory – although one battle does not win a war. Indeed it was a
rare and suspicious surrender from a man who seemingly never wanted anything,
and certainly didn’t ask for anything, at least not on an emotional level. And
my battle spoils, a newly replete heart ready to burst with joy, still couldn’t
help but worry me.
The familiar surroundings by unfamiliar morning light left me too
curious to truly relax, and my mind continued to battle between joy and
suspicion. Sensing my unrest, the Professor sleepily rolled over towards me,
and taking care to not let go of my hand, he unashamedly placed it on - Oh! My
eyes widened, looking into his – amused and with a wicked glint. And I knew him
well enough by now to recognise something more, some further scheming in that
look – had he sacrificed this win to fare better in the next battle?
But those thoughts were for later, as I had in hand now a diversion
that confirmed another advantage of finding myself in his bed of a morning. It
was a hard problem, but I felt we were both eager to come at its solution. The
ability to speak in tongues started the negotiations; mine light and agile, his
– with equal lyricism – adding depth to the discourse. It was a numbers game,
and he soon left me wanting more. My opening offer remained low as it wrapped
him in a warmth of pink blankets, proposing a treaty of feather caresses and
beaded strings of kisses. But his stakes were raised and he countermanded with
the savagery of the arrowhead and its penetrating thrust of war. And so our
debate continued until all offers and counter-offers were exhausted.
As we topped the crumpled sheets, his warmth was as palpable as a
sunburst. But the glow I felt was not just sourced from this solitary fiery
star. My entire life had somehow moved from the dark and cool of deep space
towards the supernova that was Professor James Moriarty. Intellectually,
physically, emotionally, professionally – it all seemed to revolve around him.
And I couldn’t fathom how I could maintain these multiple orbits with the
obvious complications of a husband, and a Government assignment to gather incriminating
intelligence on him. And somewhere over the horizon, was a portentous
maelstrom. I could sense its dark gravity tug at me despite the sun
breathlessly illuminating the pleasure that was morning in all its glory.
We dozed a little longer, wrapped in sunshine, our limbs like ribbons
tying together bodies pleasantly satiated. After a while, I gently untangled
myself from his slumber and found my way to his shower to wash and dress. I put
some coffee on. The glorious aroma soon had him appear, sartorial in a dark
silk dressing gown, feet bare to the warmth of the sun-drenched tiles. He took
the proffered cup, continuing to hold and kiss my hand between sips of the
strong brew I knew he liked. Gently smiling, I moved my other hand to caress
the stubble on his cheek, before sliding it down his neck, letting my
fingertips explore under the lapel of his gown to caress the hair there, my
hand resting above his heart. How bizarre it was to be enacting such domestic
bliss with a man I knew to be a criminal mastermind!
“Can I fix you some breakfast, dear?”
I wondered what I could throw together in his little galley of a
kitchen. As if reading my mind he nodded and suggested I would find all the
ingredients to make some pancakes, if I would be kind enough to cook – and we
could have them with lemon and sugar. He then excused himself to shower and
reappeared fresh in a suit and tie just as I was ready to serve breakfast.
The tangy sweetness of lemon and sugar was simple – we were good at
simple, that much I had understood early on in our acquaintance. Let the sex
get as complicated as we wanted, but keep the relationship simple. It was a
formula that had worked well for so many months. And yet now something had
changed, for here we were, extending the intimacy to the early light of day.
There was more sunlight in his rooms than I had imagined, and more noise as the
students made their way to breakfast in the common hall. As I stood to clear
the table, I was wondering how I could exit with some decorum, when he
interrupted my train of thought to announce he had a gift for me.
Nonchalant, he moved into the next room and took from the top drawer
of his desk a large, dark green, leather box the size of a small plate, with an
unusual domed shape and gold leaf patterning around the edges. He placed it on
the table where my plate had been. It looked old, and expensive.
I looked at him, surprised. So this was the explanation for the
earlier twinkle in his eye. I had long thought myself his mistress. But first
the invitation to stay the night, and now a gift beyond the regular trinkets he
usually bought me seemed to suggest we were moving this relationship – where?
Where could it possibly go? I pushed these thoughts aside and focused on the
gift – I was quite sure it was jewellery… expensive jewellery.
Delighted, I reached for the clasp of the box. But his hand came down
gently over mine halting the revelation of its contents. As I looked at him,
perplexed, he coolly informed me that it came with accompanying questions. I
hesitated, frowning involuntarily, before catching myself and replacing it with
a more neutral visage.
“A gift with conditions?” I raised my eyebrows in scepticism, but he
shook his head briefly.
“A proposal – in threefold.” He seemed excited, or was it nervous? I
was unsure, not having seen him like this before.
He removed his hand and as I proceeded to open the box I saw that it
was a parure of beautifully crafted jewellery – in threefold. A necklace laid
out around the edge consisted of diamonds, many, many diamonds, beautifully arranged
on three tiers of curved arches of white gold stems with tiny carved ivy leaves
and diamond flowers. Within the loop of each arch dangled a small heart-shaped
diamond. I ran my fingers along the curves of dazzling white, which with a
little imagination, appeared as repetitions of the letter ‘M’, and finished in
a central magnificent teardrop diamond pendant. Matching earrings presented four loops of diamonds on three
strands - a slightly larger diamond loop in the centre separated two outer
stems finishing in dangling diamonds, with a matching diamond at the end of the
central stem; the three ivy-carved stems also subtly suggesting an ‘M’. But shining brightest of all, was a magnificent
diamond heart-shaped ring mounted on a white gold delicate ivy leaf pattern,
scattered with smaller diamond flowers. I couldn’t help myself, and regretted
it the moment it happened – but I gasped!
His eyes were twinkling almost as brightly as the box’s contents, clearly
pleased with my involuntary reaction to the set. I was not sure which to try on
first. They were all so beautiful and elegant; he had judged my taste well -
the vintage look, the lavishness, but still delicately understated – well as
delicate as so many diamonds could ever be! He made the decision for me by
reaching into the box and taking out the necklace.
As he moved to stand behind me, I felt him gently brush my hair, not
yet coiffed into its usual bun, across to my far shoulder. He lowered the brilliant
intertwining pattern of jewels around my neck. His breath tickled as he leant
closer over me to do up the clasp and I felt the weight of the gems settling
like a yoke around me. His arms encircled my waist pulling me against him, and
I leant back into him, one hand tracing the arches and loops of the heavy
jewels, as if to reassure myself that I was not dreaming. He took my hand,
returning it with his to my waist, pulled me in a little closer, and continued my
path of exploration around the necklace with his lips instead. I tilted my head
to better allow his caresses on my skin along the inside line of the jewels, around
my neck, kissing slowly up to my ear where he softly whispered:
“You told me once, Madame, you wore the mantle of an angel of contrition.
I would have you wear a different mantle, my Vixen. For you are too good for
the angels; with your mind, you would make a splendid accessory, both before
and after the fact.”
As his meaning sunk in, the shock registered on my face, and I hoped
he hadn’t seen it. “You… you want me to work for you, darling?” Quickly
recovering my composure and remembering all the things about him I shouldn’t
know, I added “As an assistant at the University?”
A low wheezing rasp, that I suddenly realised was a laugh, was
followed by more tickling of his breath on my neck and ear, interspersed with
lingering kisses, each longer with the growing heat of passion usually reserved
for dead of night. “I know … what you do … Vixen … and I think … you know …
exactly ... what I do … and you ... are no assistant ... you would be … my…
second… in command …”
I was unsure if the rising heat I felt was from his kisses or his blatant
honesty. Turning in his arms, I searched his face for clarification. His
admission to not just being a university professor, to knowing about my
mission, his desire for a second in command, his offer of the role to me – it
was so much to take in. With the shock of the revelation behind me, I realised
that I was – what? – flattered, curious, enthusiastic, excited, guilty,
worried, but above all tempted – oh so tempted… an overload of emotions I did
not expect amongst my battle spoils when I awoke in his bed this morning.
His eyes, ever watchful, bore into me - seeking my answer.
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