The rest of the evening passed in a haze of wine, laughter, staged performances, and slurred, drunken conversations.
By the time Philip and I retired to his chamber, my betrothed was well-relaxed, loosened by drink and comfort.
For the first time in my life, I did not mind the sloppy drunken kisses or the clumsy groping, simply because they came from him.
“I have been looking forward to this moment,” he mumbled, half-stumbling us toward the bed.
“Me too,” I said breathlessly.
We undressed quickly, clothes thrown aside, fumbling and eager.
There was very little foreplay, only hurried touches between desperate breaths before he urged me onto my hands and knees, getting behind my back quickly.
Before I could fully process that this was truly, finally happening… my betrothed worked
