Private Passions

by Felicia Greene

  She sat dreaming in the corner of the coffee house, idly stirring her cup of milk as workmen bustled around her. They would adjust the broken window by Christmas, so her father said—until then, layers of brown paper kept the winter chill from blowing over her face.

  It was cold everywhere in December. But whenever she thought of Nikau, and his eyes, and his strong arms… Jane felt warm. Warm and glowing, as if a lamp had been lit.

  She wouldn’t come. Nikau stood outside the entrance to Vauxhall Gardens, a light flurry of snow settling onto his hat, trying to steel himself against the disappointment he felt was inevitable. It was too cold, too early, too risky… what on earth had possessed him, demanding this of her? Was it a way of proving to himself, however foolishly, that she liked him for more than his differences?

  She wouldn’t come. She definitely wouldn’t come. And then, as if by a miracle, there she was.

  Nikau knew he couldn’t greet her as he wanted to; couldn’t take her in his arms, or kiss her, or even take her hand. But he smiled, smiled widely as she approached, not caring if he looked like a moonstruck calf. Anyone had to look like a moonstruck calf, looking at Jane Maldon—shining like a silver birch in the snowy sunlight, her breath rising in frosty clouds, bundled up warm and safe in what looked like every shawl in the house.

  She deserved furs; furs and diamonds and her very own sleigh. As Nikau didn’t have those things to hand, he offered her a slight bow—and smiled even wider when she bobbed a minute, near-invisible curtsey.

  They paid silently for their separate tickets, one after the other, Nikau keeping an eye on her as they entered the crowded gardens. As the crowd thinned they walked side to side, a safe five feet apart… but looking at one another with shy, intimate glances that filled him with illicit heat.

  Finally, finally, five feet became four. Then three. Jane’s hand moved idly to her basket, which looked to be full of filberts, and pulled a pencil and paper from the pile of nuts.

  Mr. Roera. His name in her handwriting made Nikau’s heart flutter. How nice to see you in daylight, and with nothing exploding around us. It was the parkesine factory, as it happens—Father told me.

  Nikau pulled his carefully-chosen pencil and paper from his waistcoat pocket, trying to look at her and write at the same time. Thank you for meeting me.

  Oh, but we haven’t met. Jane winked. We are merely two strangers walking side by side, not talking about any number of things. Not looking at the different amusements, not lingering by the spiced wine stalls, and not telling one another secrets.

  The idea of telling Jane secrets was intoxicating. Nikau wrote with a smile, discreetly holding it up. I’ve never been so happy to be a stranger.

  Jane’s smile was all he needed as a response. All he needed, in fact, to feel as if he were walking on air.

  The first half-hour was paradise. Nikau barely saw the frost-covered trees, the frozen lake; he was far too focused on Jane, the way she moved, the small sly comments she wrote to him that made him laugh. The way she laughed, even at his most pedestrian observations—the small things he learned about her with each passing minute. She loved dark green ribbons, and squawking ducks, and roasted chestnuts in newspaper. She smiled like a dream.

  But as the time passed, his anxious mind began to get the better of him. The other pleasure-seekers, the groups of giggling girls and laughing men and elderly couples, walking together… perhaps they were staring. Perhaps they were beginning to suspect that he and Jane were doing more than simply walking side by side.

  He spent so long scanning the passers-by, trying to decipher the expressions of strangers, that he almost missed the flash of paper in Jane’s hand. He looked around, trying to come back to himself, struck anew at her loveliness.

  You seem inordinately worried about people looking at us. Jane held up the paper with a rueful smile.

  Of course I am. A Maori man and an English woman is going to attract attention. Nikau paused before continuing. Most of it negative.

  Jane took to her paper with an impatient huff, scribbling so quickly Nikau struggled to read her handwriting. Have you ever considered that people are looking at us because you are clearly rich, and I am clearly not? This is London. Not some country backwater. Gossips are more interested in the cut of your coat than the colour of your skin.

  Be that as it may. Nikau almost ripped the paper as he wrote. We should be cautious. And I am much less rich than you think.

  You’re rich enough for the vast majority of passers-by to consider you their better. Me included. Jane rolled her eyes. And there’s a difference between caution, and fear.

  Nikau sighed, trying to control his irritation. It offends me greatly that you consider my respect for your reputation as fear. He saw Jane wilt beside him, and felt a stab of regret. I would never want you to be damaged by proximity to me.

  With all due respect… I have no reputation of any great value. My relative poverty excludes me from the concerns of the higher-minded, and my deafness takes care of the rest. Jane shrugged, smiling, but Nikau saw the tears filling her eyes. It may suggest my… annoyance, last night. I cannot help but think the worst of people. I am hardly exalted.

  Nikau stared. He spoke aloud, forgetting himself, the pencil lying useless in his hand.

  ‘You have always been exalted to me. Always. Since the first moment of our acquaintance, and before it. Ever since I first set eyes on you.’ He reached out, as if to take her hand, but thought better of it. ‘Everyone should exalt you. Everyone.’

  He began to shake his head, irritated at his own foolishness, but Jane’s cool palm on his knuckles stopped him. Her touch, thrilling and unexpected in such a public place, filled him with a mixture of fear and excitement.

  She took up her pencil. I can read lips. Excuse me for not making you aware. Until now, it had never been relative to our acquaintance. She looked up at him, smiling shyly. Exalted?

  There was no hiding it now. ‘Utterly.’

  I see. Her smile became a little more mischievous. Even though I broke your window?

  ‘Break all the windows in the world.’ Nikau couldn’t help it; he spoke, finally, from the heart. ‘Goddesses can have all the whims they like.’

  Jane simply looked at him, her pencil silent.

  Nikau knew he had to have ruined it, with that foolish declaration. What manner of man called a woman a goddess in a public park? A man like him; obsessed with what he wanted, but apparently terrified of getting it.

  He almost gasped as Jane’s hand took his. Forbidden contact; nothing at all, of course, compared to what they had already done, but this—this was in public.

  He didn’t think he’d ever been with a woman who would touch him in daylight. Even to keep her balance on a wet or uneven road. It was wrong… but intoxicating.

  Then, just like that, the touch of her hand was gone. She was beckoning him onward, a purposeful smile on her face.

  Follow me. She scribbled the note down. There’s something I want to show you.

  Vauxhall temple was cool and hidden; a refuge from the chattering crowds. Jane slipped the key into the lock, giving the door a sharp push as it creaked open.

  She looked down at the bunch of keys with a wry smile. The Deaf Society had been given tours of any number of London’s prettiest locations—normally with a guide who couldn’t conceal his astonishment that deaf people could not only read lips, but also make informed comments.

  The guide for the hidden Vauxhall temple had been particularly patronising. So Jane, in a quiet burst of childish revenge, had stolen the temple key in the hour of permitted wandering around the grounds. She had paid for a copy to be made, quietly promising herself that she would use the temple as a solitary dreaming ground.

  The soft gold of the sandstone walls, the faded columns, gave her a rush of pleasure. A dreaming ground it was, undoubtedly… but not solitary. Not now that she had met Nikau.

  She ached for him. Ached in a trembling, deep-rooted way that she’d
never felt, not ever, for any man of her acquaintance. And if he kept looking at her with that vulnerable gaze, holding her hand, saying those delicious, unbelievable words… well. She was going to end up doing something scandalous in the street.

  Fortunately, she had a temple of her own to be scandalous in. She moved past Nikau as he took in the temple, locking the door before she could think better of it.

  She didn’t want to write down what she needed from him. She didn’t think she could write it—the words would probably singe the paper. She almost wanted to say it… but she couldn’t. Not yet.

  He understood her, even when she didn’t speak. He understood what she wanted, now, after her ridiculous display at the Maori house—and thank God, he didn’t condemn her for it.

  Slowly, hardly daring to meet Nikau’s eyes, she walked towards him. She let her hands rest on the collar of his coat, stroking along the fabric… moving to the base of his throat, up his strong neck, finally caressing his cheekbones. Her fingertips on his bare skin brought the same jolt that she’d felt the first time; fiery, immediate, blissful.

  His dark eyes lingered on her face. Jane leaned closer, her expression all the invitation she could give.

  Slowly, slowly… yes. His lips on hers, that marvellous warmth, all over again. He held the key to her body now; how she urged to reveal it all to him… but there was something she had to clarify first.

  She took up her pencil, smiling at Nikau’s frustrated frown. Now before you decide to be offended, sir, let me make one thing extremely clear. She laughed, almost dropping her pencil as Nikau’s teeth gently grazed her earlobe. I have brought you here not because I am ashamed of you—not at all—but because even a woman of my lowly station cannot do these things in a public street.

  Nikau turned her face to his. ‘What things?’ His teasing smile brought a sweet, dancing heat to Jane’s body, flowing to her extremities. ‘Tell me. Or better yet, show me.’

  Someone sings a different tune. She pulled her pencil away as Nikau’s thumb stroked along her wrist. You seemed terribly reticent out in the park.

  ‘Out in the park, you maddening woman, I am bound by propriety.’ Nikau’s eyes burned. ‘You’ve brought me to a place where I am… unbound.’

  Maddening woman? No longer a goddess, I see.

  ‘Oh, no. You are a goddess.’ Nikau’s lips on her temple made her shiver. ‘You talk with your hands… only goddesses can do that.’

  Oh yes, good believer. I talk with my hands, I read lips, and… and I can speak. Not that I ever do it. Jane wrote it offhandedly, deliberately not looking at Nikau’s face. I don’t think I will ever speak aloud to someone again. I… I worry about how I sound. Whether I speak too loudly, or too quietly—if my voice is too low, or too high. This did not come naturally. I was taught to distrust the sound of my own voice by cruel children, and crueller adults. If I think about it too much, I get fearfully angry—

  She stopped, shocked, as Nikau took hold of her wrist. Turning her hand palm-upwards, he kissed the pale underside of her wrist with grave intensity.

  ‘Don’t be angry, or in pain.’ He kissed her wrist again, his lips exquisitely sensitive against her skin. ‘Not here. Not with me.’

  Part of Jane, a bitter, icy part she tried to avoid thinking about, melted a little—as if Nikau’s words had brought spring to a wintry part of her. All she needed was his proximity, and his passion.

  She reached for him, kissing him more urgently than she had before, eagerly awaiting the raw, vibrant pleasure he had given her at the Maori centre—on his table, his hands and mouth entirely at her service. She didn’t want to be just the recipient this time, in the place she’d brought him to. She wanted to explore. To play.

  Smiling, sighing with pleasure at the feel of Nikau’s lips on her neck, she gently moved the both of them backwards. She only stopped when the cold stones of the temple walls pressed against her back—when all she could see, all she could feel, was Nikau.

  With a soft, needful rush, the game began. The sweet, delicious game that had begun on the sofa, the day of the explosion; the game that had consumed them both on the night of the Maori centre, full of kisses and touches and wordless longing. But this time, instead of merely accepting and encouraging Nikau’s attentions, Jane’s hands and lips were as active as Nikau’s own.

  Yes. How divine it was to graze her teeth against his neck, feeling him shiver at the sensation as his hands gripped her waist. How deliciously illicit it was to gently bite his bottom lip, welcoming with a sly laugh every single one of his fierce, responsive kisses, feeling his strength begin to overcome his reason. As Nikau’s hands began to move upwards, Jane felt the same strong pulse at her centre that had left her shaking before; the deep throb through her core that had her hurrying his fingers along.

  Quickly, impatiently, she unbuttoned her dress before he could reach it. Nikau tugged her chemise downward, reflecting her need for swiftness; his hands were on her breasts before the cold air could reach them, his thumbs teasing her nipples as his mouth left hot, lingering kisses over her neck.

  Jane gasped as he moved further downward, his tongue on her breasts. How could anything feel so wickedly, divinely good? She almost wanted to close her eyes; lean back and let him give her all the pleasure in the world. But curiosity still pricked at her—the desire to give him what he had given her.

  Slowly, haltingly, her hand moved downward. Moved down until, with a slight gasp, she found the bulge in his breeches that made Nikau tense as she touched it. Jane kept her hand tight against him, exploring… until Nikau’s palm closed over hers, stilling her fingers.

  Wordlessly, kissing her deeply, he freed his cock. Jane couldn’t resist smiling as she took his length in her hand, astonished at how rigid it was—at how smooth and potent it seemed. She ran his fingers along his shaft using only the lightest of touches, slowly increasing the pressure as Nikau bit his lip.

  She could understand now why there were so many warnings against this kind of conduct. It was far, far too good to stop.

  The kisses that came now were different to those that came before, now that her hand was stroking his cock. The sweetness was richer, now—darker. Jane sank further into Nikau’s arms, sighing with voluptuous contentment as his strong, warm body engulfed her, his lips coaxing a thousand new pleasures from her untrained mouth. Soft, gentle, teasingly exploratory; his tongue glanced against her own, once, twice, drawing forth new reserves of honeyed fire from every part of her.

  Here, now, she could give into the pleasure. She could explore him for herself, moaning with delight as his lips moved to her neck, lavishing attention on every part of her he could reach. She could run her hand along his shaft again and again, softly caressing the head of his cock, happiness filling her like wine at the flash of pure lust in Nikau’s eyes.

  When he broke away, gently removing her hand from his cock, Jane almost cried out aloud from frustration. She must have done something wrong, pushed for too much, too soon—but Nikau’s face, his eyes brimming over with want, told her that her fears were unfounded.

  ‘There’s something I want to do very much.’ He spoke slowly enough for Jane to read every syllable. ‘Stop me if you find it displeasing.’

  Jane nodded frantically. Could anything be displeasing, if Nikau did it? With his face, his manner, it was impossible. She pulled him to her, kissing him deeply, nodding once more as he put her hands on her hips.

  She looked down at him, puzzled, as he slowly knelt. His hands still tight on her hips, a look of reverence on his face, he smiled as he spoke.

  ‘Put your foot on my shoulder. Please.’

  Jane blinked, wondering for a moment if she had misread his lips. As a request, it didn’t make much sense… it would leave her most private place open to him. Exposed.

  A ripple of unexpected excitement ran through her at the thought. It wouldn’t hurt, to perform this one request. And from the look in Nikau’s eyes, perhaps the reward would be worth the risk. />
  Slowly, careful not to lose her balance, she lifted her leg. Balancing her black leather boot against Nikau’s shoulder, worrying for a moment that she would dirty his handsome coat, Jane gasped as Nikau’s hand moved to her thigh.

  He moved aside her petticoats, his palm warm on her bare skin. Jane closed her eyes, quivering a little at the boldness of his hand on her—and tensed, her eyes opening again, as she felt his mouth on her inner thigh.

  Oh, but it couldn’t be right. It couldn’t be right for him to kiss her there with such shameless, open longing—and it certainly couldn’t be right that it felt so marvellous. So good, so blindingly good, that Jane found her eyes were closing again. All the better to fully feel his lips on her; his kisses on her delicate skin. All the better to feel the hot, quick throbbing at her core; the silent pleading of her body.

  Higher and higher his kisses moved, leaving hot, sweet trails of sensation mapped on her body. He moved from one thigh to the other, his hands gently keeping her in place as he kissed and licked her—circling, but never quite reaching, exactly where Jane realised she wanted him to reach. Where she desperately needed him to reach, given the way her body trembled at his touch.

  She couldn’t order him to. She couldn’t sign it—her fingers would probably catch fire—and she certainly couldn’t write it. All she could do was strain her hips forward, mutely begging him to move higher… until, with a smile that made her weak at the knees, Nikau looked up at her.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes?’

  Jane nodded. Yes. Absolutely, completely, yes.

  In the next moment, his tongue parted her sex. Jane gasped, her back arching as pleasure raced through her body; raw, immediate, more powerful than anything she had ever felt. It was wrong, it had to be wrong—but every nerve in her body kept screaming that it was right, so right, and if he stopped before she wanted him to, there’d be trouble.

  She let her head rest against the cold wall of the temple, every slow stroke of Nikau’s tongue bringing another wave of pleasure. Her hands moved to his head, her fingers slowly tangling in his hair as his mouth moved over her slick, needy centre—coming back, again and again, to the tight bud of pure sensation where the heart of her need lay. Jane’s knees buckled as Nikau’s tongue flickered against her point of desire once, then twice, as gentle as he was merciless, seemingly knowing exactly how much pleasure to give her from moment to moment.