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The Greatest Escape [MrAdam]

There was a wicked sort of delight in Estelle when she heard him moan — though Robert had been the one to make the rule, she was no less excited by the sound of his honest pleasure. After a whole evening of holding back, stealing touches only when no one else could see and waiting for him to appease every other guest, she felt an overwhelming urge to claim his full attention. Part of it was selfish, to be sure. He was everything she could have wanted, but there was more than that to her desire. She could think of no one who deserved to drown in pleasure more than him. Just for a little while, he ought to escape from all his duties toward family, friends, and country and feel only the devotion of a lover bent on pleasing him.

It was difficult, though, staying focused. When he'd held her earlier, she'd wanted nothing more than to remain in the comfort of his arms. Now that she'd finally had a taste of him, she didn't want to stop kissing him. Even as he spoke, she couldn't quite keep her lips off him, grazing that sly, pink satin over his cheek and down his jaw. He could feel her naughty smile at any talk of her enticements and the denouncement of logic, along with the pouty huff of her cheek when 'terrible maid' left his mouth.

"Oh, was this part of your hiring process all along, Your Grace?" Estelle nuzzled her way under his chin, pressing another kiss flush against his neck. "See what happens if you lock the lady in your chambers for a spell, then count how long she'll last before the urge to undress you overtakes her?"

Her fingers spidered their way up the center of his chest before getting stuck between him and the pillowy press of her breasts. She seemed to hesitate there a moment, simply enjoying the rise and fall of his chest against hers before deciding that her hands would simply get in the way.

So it was that she dipped her head lower until her teeth caught on the knot of his cravat. It took a little digging, but she knew exactly where to tug to pull the fabric loose. She almost yanked it completely free, but part of it remained draped over his shoulder whilst she triumphantly held up the other end of the fabric — flush between her lips.

She didn't say a word further, of course, always curious to see what Robin would do next. Was he going to be fussy and demand that she retie it again just so she could 'learn' how to take it off properly? Or would he find some other use for the faux mouse his kitten had caught for him?

Whatever the case, the gleam in her eyes made the silent promise that young Leafy had only been a peep into all the defiance she'd grown so beautifully into.
 
"May I remind you, Lady Estelle, that I didn't even have to whisk you away to my chambers, never mind lock you in, before you were completely overwhelmed by your urge to undress me? All it took was a secluded stairwell, my dashing ducal good looks, whatever enchantments they put into my cologne, and... oh, and an emotional reunion after over a decade, but it was mainly the other stuff, I'm sure. To be fair... if you hadn't kept your mask on, I might have been completely overwhelmed by my urge to undress you. In any case, I-"

Robin's chirping trailed off as Leafy started to try to unfasten his cravat with her teeth. He chuckled indulgently, amused, enjoying both her efforts and the renewed press of her breasts against his firm chest, only a few layers between them. He didn't believe the feat would be possible - she would only be able to exert force in one direction at a time - but it was fun to watch. As her fingers on the bedpost had made him wonder what else they might be capable of, he now wondered about the potential delights of those lips.

To his surprise, she managed to work it free, and was staring up at him with the dark green fabric between her lips. She looked suddenly feline, and either ridiculously hot, hotly ridiculous, or a combination of both. She looked very pleased with herself, as well she should. He found himself laughing at her, fond laughter of surprise and delight.

"Who's a clever kitty cat?" he asked, stroking her hair as if she were a treasured pet. "I'm genuinely impressed. I've no idea how you managed that."

He took the loose end from other his shoulder in one hand.
"Give" he commanded, again, as if she were a pet, instructing her to let him take the other end of the cravat from her mouth. An end in each hand, he draped the material over her head and behind her back, pulling on the ends to tighten the material around her waist to pull her close.

"Got you" he announced, "You're mine now. If I recall correctly, that gives me the right to tickle you mercilessly, but I may have even more diabolical intentions. Though I can't help wondering... " he paused, licking his lips before continuing, voice like warm honey, "are you still as tick-ell-ish, Leafy? Do you still squeal and gasp and wriggle and giggle so sweetly, now I'm old enough to understand why I like doing it?"

He wasn't really sure what he was saying, or where he was going with any of this. He was feeling silly and giddy, and it wasn't because of the wine. He was sure, however, that he was enjoying this immensely.
 
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Estelle had started to concoct all manner of responses to his teasing — the least of which was just a little nibble on his neck — but something about kitty cat made her completely lose her trail of thought. It wasn't just the words, but the way he said them, the way he looked at her while his fingers stroked through her hair. Logically, she could see the evolution of young Robin's teasing as he matured into a man, moving from innocent nicknames to sultry, even possessive monikers. The mature warmth in his laughter as he made his simple command, however, the merciless spark of mischief that told her he knew exactly what he was doing — that was new and somehow unexpected.

She'd been talked down to countless times. Part of it was her lower station in relation to the gentlemen who liked to distract themselves with a pretty dancer, but there was no doubt they put their pleasure well before any thought of her. Sometimes it still managed to come from a kind place, avid 'art enthusiasts' so caught up in their delight of her that they forgot she, too, was a living creature with base needs of her own. What made Robin's teasing feel so strange was that it was clearly different from everything else she had experienced, and despite having coaxed it out of him herself, she wasn't quite sure what to do with it.

Indeed, how was she supposed to react to the primal spark of delight this little game had introduced? It tugged sharply at her gut, made her tremble like a mouse caught outside its hide-hole. How could a few words and a pet render her powerless just like that? Her lips actually pressed tighter together with something approaching a nervous mewl.

"Give," he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world to treat her like a stray kitten. There was no doubt, no hesitation in the gesture. When had he mastered that tone, gentle and firm in equal measure?

Well, she certainly hesitated. If she obeyed him, she couldn't help feeling that she'd give up something even more important. It wasn't like her to surrender control even when playing around. She'd mastered intimacy with men precisely because it kept her from feeling vulnerable. Knowing how to persuade and position men, letting them think they were the ones in control while keeping them weak with pleasure she was well-versed in giving – she didn't leave room for a partner to probe her in turn, to see the embarrassing, far less controlled parts of her she pretended not to have.

There was a long moment where she went rigid in his arms, her cheeks pink with humiliating warmth. With wide, helpless eyes, she met his gaze and searched for the certainty she couldn't grasp. Was the Leafy who would have squealed, purred, and nuzzled him ever really safe, even when it was just the two of them?

Despite her hesitation, however, there had only ever been one path to take. She couldn't say no to Robin, not when he was smiling like that at her, delighted and bolstered by her affections. Her chin dipped demurely forward as she opened her mouth, allowing the rich green fabric to fall into his hand.

Really, though, she should have known the actual trap was just ahead. When he used the fabric to tug her close, it wasn't quite like any of their earlier embraces. The soft plush of her thighs was flush against the unyielding firmness of his, once again sending a hot flash of pleasure through her. This time the sensation lingered, warming her womanhood into a sticky little mess. She could feel his every breath against her, each playful threat making the air between them thick with sultry promises.

Estelle couldn't keep from squirming, her hips struggling around his silk-clad vise. Of course there was no escape. Either she'd commit treason and lie to her duke or she'd tell the truth and he'd fall upon it like a wolf. All that time ago, back in the long grass where they'd hid together, what would she say after being so thoroughly cornered?

"I w-wasn't…" She licked her own lips, suddenly feeling dry. "I wasn't ticklish back then, you just brought it out of me! This is cheating." Gods help her, even the talk of tickling made goosebumps rise along her arms. Something tingled across her skin when she so much as thought about his fingertips, which she'd been spared only because he was playing with his food. For now.
 
Robert wasn't quite sure how he'd done it, or even quite what he'd done. But he liked it very much, and it felt like a victory. And it felt like Estelle was his prize, not his vanquished foe. Treating her as a treasured pet... calling her 'kitty cat'... that did something. It... well... it seemed a lot like finding out where someone was ticklish. That super sensitive part of their... what... psyche? Soul? Libido? Where they were vulnerable to more pleasure than they were ready to handle.

And knowing where she was ticklish granted him power... power to be used with subtlety and care and grace. Doubling the effort or focus tended to halve the effect. A buffoon would keep calling her that, over and over. Would keep tickling, over and over, tickling harder and harder in a vain attempt to recreate the first glorious reaction even as the last embers of it flickered away to nothing. How much better to have your 'prey' knowing that you know a weakness, and could exploit it at any moment without warning. Much more satisfying to use it sparingly, let anticipation work its magic, and keep the advantage of surprise when the time comes. In any case, she might be ticklish in other places too.

Estelle blushed adorably... and he suspected that a woman who could brazenly offer him every delight she had to offer without blushing - as far as he could tell under the mask - was not easily discomforted. She looked like Estelle... only... it was Leafy's voice he could hear... complaining, arguing that black was white, accusing him of cheating and the world of being unfair and unreasonable in not arranging itself as she wished it. She had changed utterly and had not changed a bit.

Robert laughed, delighted, joyous. A laugh of recognition, pleasure, amusement.
"'This is cheating!'" he repeated, teasing, imitating her tone and intonation, though without the vocal range to mimic her properly, "Cheating, am I? Leafy? Really? Well... perhaps you're right" he sighed, "perhaps I am cheating. Sometimes it feels like being Duke is cheating. Sometimes it feels like being me is cheating. I mean, it's all so preposterously unfair. Why me, eh? Why do I get to be me? I'm glad I'm me... I'd be awful at being anyone else."

"I'm intrigued by your claim that you weren't tick-ell-ish, though, Leafy. That I 'brought it out of you'! How could that be, I wonder?"
He leaned forward, whispering into her ear, nipping her earlobe.
"Perhaps I have magic fingers, what do you think?"

Robert couldn't very well demonstrate while holding both ends of his cravat. He let it go and instead slipped his right arm around her waist, pressing her just as closely against him, and perhaps a little more firmly than before. With his left hand now free, he gently trailed his fingertips over the swell of her backside, a light touch through the silk of her slip. He slowly, almost absently, trailed his fingers up and down. Just his fingertips and no more, just over one cheek, intending to tease rather than tickle.

He sighed with satisfaction at the sensation.
"You know, I...." he started, trailing off as if reflecting on something. Misdirection. A change of tone.
"... didn't tell you to stop undressing me...."
He grinned suddenly, and gave her a firm, open-handed tap across her rear.
".... now did I?"
 
His mimicry earned him a near-instant huff. Even after all the years between them, it seemed he still knew exactly how to rile her, moving straight from mockery to unbearable pride. It was one thing to be a man with a title, but he was wholly aware of his other (admittedly significant) charms. It gave her the irrepressible urge to pinch him, to stomp on his foot, to do something utterly childish just so she could wipe the smugness of his face. It was the only way she knew how to react to a Robin who was too right for his own good.

Her hands crawled upward with predatory intention, all but clawing up his shirt. They made it all the way to his collar as he gloated, tucking under the stiff fabric until her cool fingers met the warmth of his bare neck. If she moved her head just so, she'd have the perfect hold on him for the nip of teeth he deserved, except —

Except he was already one move ahead. Seamlessly, always with that effortless, infuriating grace, he shifted, tilting her mouth away from their mark as his lips found her ear. Tick-ell-ish stuck in her ear like warm honey, the very inflection of his playful voice running yet another shudder through her. She hated it, she loved it, how he chewed on the logic of her words one bite at a time. It felt as though she'd delivered a poisonous tart to him, and he was casually nibbling through it, waiting for the perfect moment to stop and pop the deadly center of it into her mouth instead.

His ridiculous question prompted a breathy little whimper from her — of course she couldn't deny the ridiculous claim, because the only other 'truth' could be that she was lying. If her head was clear, if he wasn't stirring up more of that tender warmth inside her, she might have found something equally playful to toss back at him. Something about how he must have made a pact with something truly wicked to obtain such power, and how that made him a bad duke, or perhaps he simply had a corruptive touch that had ruined gods only knew how many poor, innocent women.

But he was warm, inviting, irresistible — what were a few little thorns when his smile was tickling at her skin? Rather than answering him with a proper argument, she hummed her agreement. Yes, he had a magic touch, and she wanted more of it.

She made the mistake of letting herself relax, allowing her head to loll against his. Her thumbs gently rubbed along his collar bones, fingers lazily caught in his collar. A part of her was starting to worry that perhaps she wasn't making enough noise, that the wonderful drift of his fingertips needed to be more loudly appreciated, but then there was that rule of his. Slowly, she found herself leaning more heavily against him, one thigh peeking out from the cut of her slip. Her satin-clad foot toyed with his boot, moving upward as her knee hitched itself higher against the outside of his leg, playing with the idea of splitting herself over his thigh. If he leaned forward just a little, then…

And then his hand came down on her rump. She squeaked with indignant surprise, annoyed with herself for falling for yet another feint. Her body, however, it was her body that was the true traitor. Her hips moved on their own, fidgeting under the grasp of his fingers before angling themselves up and out so he could feel more of that tight, shapely curve. Perfect proportions had always been the ideal for her profession, but she liked the way he made her feel softer, more supple and feminine against his teasing.

Desire fought with pride as she found herself gazing up at him once again. There had been a time when little Robin would never have taken such a tone with her, ordering her to follow his commands. It had been a bit awkwardly initially — the boy had been taught to treat servants with decency, but also indifference. As soon as she had found his weakness, however, as soon as she figured out the boy was a man of theory and feeling before action and justice, she had been able to get away with near everything. She could shove him, stick her tongue out at him, say a loud and gratifying 'no!' when it felt right to do so. Rather than tattling on her or brow-beating her with his title, he'd fight and argue back and sometimes, very occasionally, even look a bit guilty.

The Robin she'd met at the ball, though, he'd learned a few things. When she glared back at him with an increasingly red flush to her cheeks, she was absolutely certain he knew exactly what he shouldn't. She was positively aching to hear good girl, to be his good maid who he wanted and needed more than any other servant. How long would it take? How much further did she have to tear into her own pride before he'd finally say the words?

Well, they both knew a good maid wouldn't neglect her master's orders. Estelle bit her lip as she lowered her head, fingers struggling to find the buttons of his vest. "N-No, no you didn't."

Being pressed so close to him as she was, her own fingers had to dig up against the softness of her belly as they found and undid those awful things one by one. Of course his shirt was tucked into his trousers, but once she tugged the former free and felt his — gods be good.

Little, no, Big Robin had abs. She'd known his education had included swordsmanship and other physically-minded activities to round out his training, but knowing and feeling were entirely different things. Perhaps it wasn't even the firm physicality of him that was impressive so much as it was the shock of him being naked at all. Her always-nose-in-a-book friend, her kind master, had a lean but very nicely toned, well, everything.

Surely he could forgive such a surprising distraction? Rather than continuing to unbutton him, her fingers spread and slid under the bottom of his shirt. She tried to assuage him with kisses, angling his face up and away as her lips found his jaw and started suckling.
 
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Was it Robert's own inclinations and instincts that led him to start to steer towards a different course, or did Estelle seduce him into it? Perhaps there is never a clear, unambiguous answer to such questions, as even the most introspective people with the greatest self-knowledge will always find mysteries in their mixture of motivations. He knew he had been... 'unkind' was the wrong word... so was 'teasing'... except perhaps - ironically - in the sense of childish behaviour and interactions where the purpose is to rile and provoke, within certain acceptable boundaries. He knew - or at least was pretty confident - that he hadn't been cruel. But he had been provocative. Calling her 'kitty cat'... treating her like a pet. Ordering her to undress him, chiding her for not doing so, and then slapping her rear. He wouldn't have done any of it if he didn't think she'd enjoy it too, but he was aware that he risked sailing too close to the wind. Going too far, too fast, along a route less travelled. Time to return to more conventional delights, though they were no less delightful.

Perhaps it was that awareness that perhaps he had pushed far enough for now that caused him to pull back... though not pull away. Though it was equally probable that it was Estelle. First, the feel of her thigh gliding gently outside his own, her foot resting on his boot. A movement like that just begged for an answering hand on her backside and a forearm pressed against her leg to help her balance, and a subtle shift to press his thigh between her legs to encourage her to press firmer and raise her leg further. Robert had always loved this... it was a remarkably unchaste manoeuvre, considering it could be undertaken fully clothed. If he hadn't planned to spank her, he would have accepted her invitation immediately, and with alacrity. And after he had spanked her, his hand stayed rather than withdrew, caressing the curves now presented to him as a kind of offering. He slid his hand along her thigh, almost back to the knee, and then subtly moved as if to lift her foot from the floor, inviting her to continue with her previous plan.

At the same time, he loved being undressed so slowly and sensually. Loved the feel of her hands on his chest, and somehow, for some reason, it felt better because they were under his shirt, rather than directly on bare skin. He loved the feeling of being enjoyed and appreciated. He loved her attentions, and it was time to show some proper appreciation of her efforts. Robert was not a hypocrite... he didn't break his own rule about faking or exaggerating pleasure. Rather, he now devoted himself more fully to those pleasures, letting the little games they'd been playing fall away. For now, at least. His eyes were closed and his head lolled back to give Estelle as much access to his jaw and his neck as she wanted... this was another weakness of his. His neck, his jaw.... his collarbones too, though she hadn't got to those yet.

"You're... really good at that, Leafy" he murmured, his breath catching halfway through.
He sighed deeply, and from time to time sought her lips with his, only to break the kiss and tilt his head back once more.

It was time to return the favour. He kissed her lips once more, a little more deeply, and a little more assertively this time. He broke away, and moved to kiss her neck, planting firm kisses down one side of her neck, along her collar bones, and then back up the other side, back to her lips. He kissed her gently at first, then more firmly, more deeply, more passionately. Kissing was so underrated, but not by Robert. He shifted a little as he kissed her, partly so that his chest would move against hers, and partly so that his thigh - still pressed between hers- would do likewise as his hand roamed over and over the curve of her waist, hip, and backside.
 
Every time Estelle thought they'd found the greatest comfort possible, just when she was ready to surrender completely to the warmth and wonderful sensations, Robin somehow found a way to draw her in even further. The water's fine, his hands assured her, why don't you step a little deeper, lean a little closer? He could feel the indulgent smile on her lips flush against his neck when he grasped her dainty derriere, the press of his fingers dimpling the softness of her before the firmness of lean muscle pressed back. Her leg had a similar quality, lissome enough to be fragile, but possessed of a subtle kind of strength. She didn't wobble, effortlessly raising her thigh higher until she had perfectly framed herself against him.

There was just one problem — she'd greatly underestimated quite how it would feel to have him against that part of her. With the way her slip was hitched up along with her leg, there was nothing at all between her skin and his trousers. All at once, the feminine silk of her pressed up against the hard shape of his thigh, the fine fabric of his pants catching much, much too close to a tender little bud that was yet to make his acquaintance. She gasped, trembling with sharp pangs of pleasure.

And what did he do? He cupped his fingers along the bottom of her thigh and slid his way along her stocking until he had even better leverage just under her knee. Estelle couldn't stop trembling, still caught up in the raw, delightful press of his thigh. She moaned, her mouth embarrassingly wet as her kiss against the base of his neck grew lazy with pleasure.

What did it matter if she was mussing his trousers with the slick evidence of her arousal? Like scratching an itch or blinking away a speck of dust, it was the most basic reaction to grind her hips up against him.

Under his shirt, her fingers reflexively curled, scritching gently down his skin until they found his belt. Her blood ran even hotter at the thoughts that trickled through her mind, reminded by every pass of his fingertips along her curves that he was so close to stroking something else. It would take so little effort, just a dip of his hand… or perhaps if he was free of those increasingly annoying trousers…

He said something. She felt it more than heard it, half-lidded eyes flicking up to his. It was nice to hear his praise, but for once she didn't weigh it against everything else in her mind — like how many times he had no doubt said exactly that to other women. He liked her kissing, and that was enough. Well, at least it was until his lips found hers again.

Something shifted between them, as if he, too, could sense her burgeoning desire for something more. His lips weren't content merely to speak silent poetry, opening her wider, demanding the curl of her tongue. The excitement he'd stirred up between her legs grew in intensity, making her wriggle and gasp against him. She needed to feel more of him, but that blasted shirt was in the way! Her fingers were more unreliable than ever as she tried to grasp at the buttons, crinkling his shirt as she grasped at it.

Why were his lips so… distracting? They were so soft, playful and satiny against her skin. And then she'd feel his breath roll over the delicate skin of her neck and down the shyer planes of her chest, ticklish enough to make her giggle. The roll of his tongue was the finishing touch, leaving her damp and buzzing for another pass. Between the delight of every kiss, the sultry trace of his hands, and the very direct nuzzling of his thigh, she was lost.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice begged her to have just a modicum more of resistance, of grace. She wasn't supposed to melt like this, not so weakly and easily. Indeed, she could already hear the bright sharpness of his teasing. "Do you remember your first ball, Leafy? You were so overcome that you started humping my leg before we even made it to the bed. And the sound you made when I heard you cum for the first time…"

No, no, no. Not like this. Estelle whimpered when his lips found her again, her whole face flushed with all sorts of confusing, wonderful sensations. She didn't want him to stop, but surrendering like this, so soon, wouldn't it be a disappointment to him? There was a fitting irony to the moment, given how many times she'd done exactly this to her lovers, all with far less regard for who she was pleasing. It was her role to give and theirs to take, and she'd gotten so used to the transactional nature of such intimacy that she'd quite forgotten how it felt, how it could feel to be at the tender mercy of a lover who wanted to hear her moan with honest, earnest delight.

Again, he hitched her up closer. Again, her whole body tightened with reflexive pleasure. A long, breathy "Mmm-ngggh!" was his last warning that his eager little maid was about to come undone. All before she could even get his shirt off!
 
Robert did not realise just how close she was, almost until it happened. He knew where his thigh must be pressing, and could hear and feel the consequences. He could feel her starting to tremble against him, hear her moan with pleasure. As he kissed her lips, it seemed to him that she kissed him with a new and deeper intensity. He could feel her moving against him with extra urgency, wanting more of every sensation, which it was his pleasure to give. He'd joked - or half-joked, anyway - about her being owed some pleasure after having been deprived recently, but Robert had no idea how right he was.

It wasn't until her whole body suddenly tensed, and she half-moaned, half-sighed with pleasure, that he knew. He had pulsed his thigh forward still more, and pulled her onto him still harder, and her response had been instant. He'd been contemplating seeing whether he could move the shoulder straps of her shift off her shoulders with just his teeth, but that could wait. Robert could have stopped what he was doing, backed off, done something else, delighted her in another way. But he sensed she was close now, and he didn't want to deny her or tease her. Not this first time. Robert resisted temptation to break the kiss, to see the expression on her face, the look in her eyes as she climaxed in his arms. Instead, he changed nothing... kept doing what he was doing, kept the rhythm and pace the same as before... if it had taken her this far, he would continue, and it would carry her over the edge.

And... spirits, but this made Robert feel amazing. To give such pleasure, to share such pleasure... to arouse such a beauty so quickly and so completely. What a gift to experience together, to share. It made him feel powerful, strong, capable, skilled. And he'd barely got started in terms of what he'd like to do with his new lover. He gave her what he sensed she wanted for as long as she wanted it, ready to catch her afterwards - literally or metaphorically - guiding and supporting through her climax and into the floaty feeling afterwards. He held her tight, kissed her forehead, letting her luxuriate until the afterglow reached its zenith, and she started to slowly float back down to earth. There was no hurry, no rush. He said nothing... he did not want to intrude, and he certainly had no intention of teasing her. Not yet, anyway. Not until she had returned from the float.

Robert waited until she looked up at him, until she was ready.
"In the future, Estelle... when I call you 'Leafy'," he murmured in her ear, grinning, "It's no longer anything to do with your obsession with tea"
He paused. A beat.

"It'll be because of how you wonderfully you tremble when you cum."
 
Estelle was helpless to resist the delights that claimed her. It was more than the tease between her legs, whose every drag made the base of her spine tingle, more than the satin pressure of lips against her skin. Inexplicably, it felt as though despite all her previous entanglements, this was the one she had saved herself for. She hadn't consciously held anything back, not in the physical sense. No, Robert was, once again, the one to blame for bringing it out of her.

But what was it? She couldn't suss it out, not when he was kissing, squeezing, and caressing her like that. The pleasure of every little indulgence all built up until she simply couldn't contain it, a tight moan overtaking her with a shudder. She hadn't climaxed like this before, a slow and steady pulse of delight that kept her hips in thoughtless motion. Her thighs began to tremble, breath hot and fast until she'd quite spent herself. Of all the ways to seduce him, to endear herself to him, why… this? Why now?

By the time she'd found her own head again, it was too late to contemplate the damage. Her lazy gaze found his eyes, the latter bright with mischief. Before she could even shake her head or beg him not to say a word, he was already poised for another tease.

He didn't get to just… change the meaning of her name like that! And yet she couldn't deny his cleverness, the humiliated but no less delighted part of her that would be happy to reminded of exactly this moment every time he simply said her name. There was no more Robin-esque form of revenge she could think of.

"Y-You… You are s-so…" Estelle pouted, grasping at the back of his neck so she could drag his face against the crook of her shoulder. She couldn't bear to see more of that wicked, thigh-melting smile, her own face so red and soft with tender emotion it was a wonder she hadn't turned entirely into pudding.

"It's unfair." She nuzzled her cheek fiercely against his hair, squeezing him tightly in her grasp. "You were supposed to sweep me up like a princess and take me in your bed, not snack on me in the doorway. I should have kissed you, way back then. I should have been the first to steal that from you."
 
"Oh, it's unfair, is it, Leafy?" he asked, stressing her nickname, seeing how it sounded now that he had hijacked it and crewed it with new meaning.
"My terrible maid is complaining about not being given the full 'princess' treatment... cumming in the doorway like.... well... like a frisky little kitty cat. Well, yes, I suppose I'm at least partially to blame for that. How dare I give you pleasure, and how dare you be so irresistible? Don't think that was me snacking on you, though..."
He paused, and whispered into her ear, even though there was no-one else to hear.
"... when I'm snacking, I make a point of unwrapping my sugared candies first. Also..."

He pulled away again and planted a fond kiss on her neck.
"You're not a snack, Leafy. You're a.... you're a banquet. I've not even started yet. You've not even started yet. That was a mere amuse bouche, and although my bouche is very much amused, we've barely scratched the surface. We have everything.... every course still to sample. The one where you're my Princess and your pleasure is my only desire. The one where you're my terrible maid who needs a sound spanking and only gets a scandalously revealing uniform to wear. The one where you're the mysterious lady at the masked ball who literally throws herself at the Handsome Duke, promising to delight him in every way. The one where you're my lost childhood friend, and we read books and eat macarons and talk about everything and nothing. The one where I rescue you from a foul swine masquerading as a nobleman. The one where I give you nothing but luxurious silks to wear and keep you chained up in my bedchamber. The one where you finally finish helping me out of my shirt."

"I'm glad you didn't kiss me back then, though" he added, thinking, "I think young Robin would have found it weird and a bit gross. I know better now, of course. I fear I could only have disappointed you back then. If you want a first, you were the first girl who ever defeated me at wrestling... first and only, I should think."

"Now... Estelle... come and sit with me in my luxuriously comfortable and entirely oversized bed and eat macarons until you're ready for the princessing of your life."
 
Leafy. Kitty Cat. Sugared Candy-Snack. His every word was a weapon, a tease that made the softest part of her quiver. Had she always been so weak, or had he infected her with his viciously honeyed charm from the very beginning? Estelle could distinctly recall the cooing of maids when young Robin beamed at them, and he had learned early on that he could get away with near anything so long as he flashed that smile. When he'd tried to use such tricks on her, she'd simply pinch his cheeks or call him a preening chicklet, but now —

Now his lips were on her neck, the masculine tenor of his voice hot on her skin. She was well and truly helpless against his sunny advances, already pleasured into a wet mess and yet still moaning softly for more. He incited her, made her crave his touch so much she couldn't imagine a world where she wasn't in his arms.

Part of her was alarmed beyond measure. She'd known what she'd wanted well before arriving to Robert's estate, but how could she have accounted for what she'd become after meeting him again? Estelle didn't recognize the woman reflected back in Robert's bright, smoldering gaze, that weak, simpering creature that trembled merely because he said her name. All her life she'd known two things; greedy half-breeds would only ever be punished, and the one person she could rely upon was herself. Robert had certainly grown into a fine duke and gentleman, and that was why his family and its overbearing heritage would always come first.

She could flirt with fantasy, indulge in it like a fine dessert. Once the cake was eaten, however, she'd have to turn her mind back to more substantial food. Not for one moment, not one fleeting second, could she afford to fall headfirst and helplessly into someone else's arms.

And yet that was exactly where she found herself! She wanted all of it — to be his princess, his maid, his friend, his slave. What point was there in resisting delight when she was already drowning in it?

"Is disappointment so awful a thing?" Estelle smiled up at Robin, her fingers idly stroking the tender little hairs at the back of his scalp. "You would have been you, and I could have cherished the memory of my boldness all the same. This, this suave, impossibly smooth nobleman you've become was once my precious, terribly unrefined friend, and I won't have you holding that childishness against him."

Her hands slid down from his neck at last, finally unbuttoning his crinkled shirt. She leaned closer again, humming when the scant silk of her slip brushed up against his bare skin. "You know, I quite forgot all about the macarons. Do you have all your sweets handfed to you, or am I a special case?"
 
"But you surely... I mean, now, of course you want to kiss me. You're only human, and I appear to be irritatingly irresistible. But back then, you can't possibly have wanted to... I mean, I was probably..." he paused, searching for the right word, "... pretty. I was probably pretty... cute, maybe, before the adolescence fairy came along with her magic wand to mess with my voice and make me sprout hair in... places... and grow faster than my sense of balance could cope with. But you back then wouldn't really have wanted to kiss me, would you? For the story, maybe... that's something to tell people..." He tailed off into a shrug, happy to return to the present.

He smiled appreciatively as Estelle finished unbuttoning his shirt, tilting his head back a little, standing up a little straighter, trying to help... probably needlessly. Robert quickly and efficiently shrugged himself out of his jacket and threw it casually over a clothes horse. His waistcoat followed quickly. Robert wasn't so careless with his fine clothing that he'd just fling it on the floor, but neither was he going to take his time with coat hangers. That was someone else's job. His silk shirt he left on, even though it was now completely unfastened. It wasn't doing that much for him in terms of modesty, but he rather liked the look. Less 'smart casual' and more 'naked casual'. He draped the untied cravat lazily around his neck, leaving it just hanging loose... might come in useful later. He levered each dancing shoe off with pressure from the other foot, and half-propelled them, half kicked them into a corner of the room.

"You, Estelle" he said, deciding to safe 'Leafy' for later, "are always and everywhere and in every way a special case. Sometimes I have sweets hand fed, sometimes I have to go hunting for them, and sometimes - believe it or not - they deliberately throw themselves under my feet. 'Eat me, eat me' they cry. Of course, afterwards they deny that they did any such thing, and blame my sweet tooth and my incorrigible appetites. If I'm going to be snacking, Estelle, I'll need to find a way to... burn off all that energy... otherwise..." He tapped his stomach. "I might not be as gorgeous any more, and that will never do."

Robert turned back to the bed, and for the first time saw the volume that Estelle had been perusing. He rolled his eyes.
"Did you learn anything new from that?" Robert asked, "I did. Learned things I didn't want to know. Things that can't be unlearned. Because..."
He paused, eyes widening in mock horror.
"That's not my book. It was in the suite when I moved in, which can only mean.... yeah. That."

Robert grimaced, grinned, and half vaulted onto the bed, bouncing over to the far side to allow Estelle space to join him. He picked up the tray, only slightly disturbed by his landing.
"Macaron?"
 
You can't possibly have, he said, and yet! The truth was writ plain on her face as she averted her gaze from him. She was glad that he didn't seem to be of a mood for pressing the topic — for her, the pain was still far too close to the surface. An ugly feeling of guilt still followed the memory of Maybell tearing up the paper with Robin <3 Leafy scrawled on it. She'd been so young, only just realizing the tenderly budding affection she'd felt toward her dearest friend, only to be told she was a perverse devil ruining everything sacred about a servant's loyalty. Had even a day passed after that incident before she was told she'd be sent home for good?

Perhaps she ought to celebrate Robin's ignorance — the depth of young Estelle's feelings was a tender thing, and she didn't want him thinking less of her for something so deep into the past. If she let herself wonder, if she wandered along the path of 'what if he had loved me, too,' there would be nothing at the end except for disappointment. Their separation had been, and always would be, inevitable.

For now, however… Robert was a vision on the bed, utterly perfect in disarray and smiling with that mix of teasing and sultry intent that had already melted Gods only knew how many hearts. She approached much more slowly, stooping over the bed before crawling toward him. Her lower regions still ached for more attention, her inner thighs slippery with anticipation, but she was not going to give him the satisfaction of being pined after.

Indeed, she was the image of a lady as she arranged herself on the bed, legs folded mermaid-style as she took her place in front of him. Only their knees touched as she reached for the offered platter of macarons, hand hovering over the decadent choices available. Should she go for the red one that looked like it had cholate filling, or would the white chocolate one with blueberries be even better? The thought of sharing was suddenly much less attractive.

"What a difficult life you lead, bearing the temptation of sweets that become sentient enough to speak just so they may have the pleasure of your full attention. The vigor with which you must train in order to maintain yourself must be taxing in the extreme." Estelle plucked up the red macaron, leaning forward to hold it up to his lips. "Rest assured, Your Grace, I will be certain to put you through your paces."

When he brought her attention to the book, she snorted and narrowed her eyes. "I learned a number of things while you were taking your time mooning over all your pretty guests, yes. To be honest, my memory of the man… well. I should think such a salacious read was your grandfather's, or perhaps his grandfather, or his great-great grandfather. Whatever the case, curiosity and execution are two entirely different affairs."
 
"No" he said, firmly, shaking his head a little too vigorously, for extra emphasis. "You're quite mistaken about that, Leafy. My pretty guests were mooning over me. One of the more tedious aspects of being Duke is that I have to permit them to do so. They feel awfully slighted if I don't. What a wonderful ball, my dear Duke. Such an honour to be invited. Such a spectacle! As if I had anything even the least bit to do with any of it! Let there be a masked ball... just as there is every year... and lo, there was a masked ball. Any questions? The food? The decor? The music? The intricacies of the guest list? I don't know... ask my mother."

"No, Leafy" he continued, snuggling a little closer to her, reaching to tap her delicately on the tip of her nose. "I'd much rather be mooned over by... well, if not my guest exactly, then Baron Lineham's former-plus-one... he's minus-one now, which I suppose must mean that overall... he's nothing... that wretch is a big fat zero. I don't even want to think about him, and I'm sure you don't. Speaking of things I don't want to think about... I'm going to choose to believe that you're probably right about the provenance of that book... must be my great-grandfather... yes, he's the oldest relative I don't remember... he's safe enough. Doesn't matter that this was never his room" Robert placed his fingers in his ears, "la la la la la, that's what I think."

Robert took a bite of the proffered red macaron.
"I mean, don't get me wrong", he continued, mouth full. He paused just long enough to finish, "This is good. These are good. I mean, really good. If I ever, ever get so spoilt that I don't realise how good these are, then... I don't know. Do something. Make me eat ordinary pastries for a month. But sometimes.... all these little treats... even with their own mixture of flavours and character and uniqueness....."

He paused, and blinked. Suddenly more thoughtful and serious.
"Sometimes I just yearn for... I don't know... something a little more substantial? Or would you just berate me for being spoiled and selfish, and wanting everything? Spirits, I know someone needs to."
 
It was far too easy for him to ease a smile out of her — the bright, playful sort of smirk that followed the tap of his finger on her nose. She was tempted to bite into him, to say something about how being crestfallen over hollow flattery was definitely the concern of someone much too spoiled. That, however, felt a little too ungrateful. There was a glimmer of young Robin in his words, always spoken with a careful jest to diminish the seriousness of his real feelings. A man who had everything didn't have permission to be miserable; she'd seen it a hundred times over.

"Is that really what you want, Robin?" Estelle promptly decided it was time to stop resisting the urge to be properly cuddled. She leaned forward, one hand on his thigh and the other lifting her scant skirt out of the way so she could shift about until she was snuggled up against his side. There was that warmth again, the steady warmth of his figure against the soft delicacy of hers.

"I would gladly berate you over everything you surely take for granted, and how you haven't suffered nearly enough for everything you have ever done wrong. And you would probably even listen through all of it, not once thinking you should toss this ungrateful hussy off the nearest balcony. I'm still coming to terms with the fact that you truly are a gentleman." Estelle allowed herself a little giggle, one arm sneaking under his shirt. Her hand spread over his back as she leaned in, her lips barely brushing over his jaw.

"But the simple fact of this evening is that you were my lionheart, you were graceful and kind and always so quick to come to my rescue. If you feel as though you're lacking proper gratitude, then it can only be my failing, not yours." Her lips lingered, warming into a kiss on his cheek before she let her head droop onto his shoulder. "Still, though, I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss their fawning over you. The most unbearably stuffy, arrogant, ice-for-blood nobles would not give you their respect if they did not feel you deserve it. My dear duke, you are not yet so high above them all that you can take your reputation for granted. I'll change my tune when you become a god-emperor."
 
Robert smiled and shifted a little to allow Estelle to move closer to him, extending an arm to welcome her. Her movement to adjust her slip draw his eye immediately, and as she spoke, he subtly placed his hand on the hem where the skirt had been drawn upwards, showing a little more bare leg. No need to pull that back down, it's just fine where it is.

He sighed contentedly, luxuriating in her attentions, pulling the loose material of his unfastened shirt out of the way of her arm. He canted his head, offering Estelle more of his neck, sighing in satisfaction and pleasure when her lips brushed against the line of his jaw.

"Your Lionheart, am I?" he asked, delighted, his whole face lighting up. "I like the sound of that. I like the sound of that very much! Lionheart... like those stories we used to read... you used to read... we used to read... when I'm the handsome prince, saving the beautiful princess from the ogre, or the dark night, or the dragon or whatever. And... what's the point in being Duke if you can't use your power to rescue the occasional damsel in distress? First from her distress, then just from her dress."

"Spirits, Leafy" he continued, blinking, suddenly serious, "your gratitude or lack of gratitude isn't the issue... I'm only sorry I took so long."

"You know what..." said Robert, face scrunched in thought, "you're onto something about not dismissing their fawning. You're not just a pretty face, and you're not just...."
He paused, and allowed his gaze to wander over Estelle's body, lying next to him on the bed. ".... pretty all over. I'm still coming to terms with the fact that you're..... all woman now. Just look at you."

He leant over and started to stroke her hair, her head resting against his shoulder.

"You know what I did tonight? I made the Baron fear me... I just ran him out of the city, more or less banished him. I bullied him, Leafy... that's what I did. Didn't even raise my voice. Not just him... I held my own in a conversation with someone who I used to be scared of, someone who was one of Father's peers... in both senses. Told him he should give my cousin a chance at winning his daughter's hand. And he didn't laugh in my face, run me through on the spot, and if he is launching a coup over the outrage, I've not noticed yet. That's not nothing, is it? I don't think I could have done that six months ago... the Baron maybe, but not the Count de Marboux."

"Huh. Maybe I am awesome after all. You've created a monster, Leafy."
 
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That was much more like it — the wonderfully soft bed beneath her, no shouting or click-clacking from the street, and the most exceptional gentleman with his arm around her. She all but melted against him, drooping like a flower against the summer's heat. Whether it was the soothing, mellow tone of his voice or his frequent assurances, listening to him speak softened the darker thoughts in her head. She could let her eyelids drop, luxuriating in the sprawl of his fingers in her hair and the inviting squeeze of her thigh against his. It was so much like the old times, and yet so different.

"Mn, you always were a little monster, Robin." Estelle's lazy smile turned wry as she tilted her head up, plush lips once again finding his neck. "All you had to do was smile and you could get away with anything. Perhaps you take it for granted because you've had that particular gift all your life, but being well-liked by a great many people with a great deal of power and different opinions isn't an easy thing. You sound surprised by your own success, and yet I think it's quite plain to everyone around you that you've possessed such charisma and respect for a long time."

"Well…" She let her teeth drag against his skin, giving him the tiniest little nip. "I can say for certain that I saw it. If you were a mean, spoiled brat, it would have been much easier to resent and dislike you. But that's what you do, you smile that smile and people actually believe you're sincere. I wonder…" Her tone turned a touch somber, her legs curling even closer between them. "When will the time come for you to start breaking promises?"
 
Robert could sense that they were circling each other, closer and closer, step by step, inch by inch, caress by caress. They had been lying next to each other, but now, by degrees, they were lying together. His arm round her shoulder, his fingers toying with her hair, her thigh over his, her nibbling at his neck. All so... casual, almost. Certainly... comfortable. Robert was surprised at himself, at not having pounced already. Where has these powers of resistance and forbearance come from? True, a gentleman waits for his partner to be ready for more pleasure. But it was more than that. It was that he was enjoying Estelle's company, being reunited with her, the combination of familiar and unfamiliar, continuity and change. He had always been fond of pillow talk, of subtle displays of intimacy and affection... but this was Leafy, and that was... well, it was more so. So much more so.

Her question was a good one. He had an answer prepared... that his strategy was to make as few promises as possible. Though if someone thought he had made a promise when he had not, the distinction was too slight to hold weight. The truth was that, as Machiavelli said, that a Prince must be willing to make and break promises as it served his purposes in keeping power and maintaining peace and stability in the realm. He could not - must not - be entirely a man of his word, and must not allow himself the luxury of feeling constrained by his past words. Having said that, Machiavelli would also counsel against using this as justification to lie and dissemble as he saw fit and as suited him. The word of the Duke must be thought to mean something, even if what it really meant was fragile. He must not take shortcuts, must not make promises from expediency.

Robert had always reassured himself that a good ruler would be more likely to create conditions of peace, prosperity, and stability, which would minimise the circumstances under which promises would likely to be needed to be broken. But he did not rule other countries, nor nature, nor the weather. Anything could happen.

The smile and the charm that Estelle referred to... would they persist once the tide of youth started to ebb away. He knew he had the benefit of a residue of goodwill left from his father's reign. A degree of indulgence offered to the young, underprepared heir, doing his best, and convincingly able to argue the limits of his power and influence - as he had with Fabien. And to plead inexperience, or charm with occasional flashes of vulnerability, as he had with de Morboux. Would these stratagems work after five years, after ten? Well, in some ways, it would be a nice problem to have, for it would mean he had succeeded. So far.

All this was deep. And a little depressing. Leafy wasn't depressing. She was lovely, and she was in his bed. How would the Duke Robert of a few short hours ago have felt, had he known? The Duke Robert who was still brooding over Lucie and over his own callowness, who Fabien had had to talk and charm into a better mood, persuading him to go enjoy himself and stop over thinking. That was good advice then, and it was good advice now.

He realised he hadn't spoken for some moments, hadn't answered Estelle's question. His face had gone serious, so he smiled that smile she liked so much.
"When will the time come for me to start breaking promises, Leafy" he said, echoing her question, "... not tonight. And I believe I promised you a thorough Princessing. I'm going to kiss and caress every inch of your beautiful body, and I'm going to make you cum even harder than last time."

"Now... would your highness prefer that with or without your little silk slip?"
 
The quiet that had fallen between them was comfortable — Robin had been so busy putting on the guise of a 'proper duke' the whole evening that she imagined it must feel pleasant to finally have space and time for his deeper thoughts. She should have just nuzzled him and made the most of things like a lazy cat would have the sense to, but that serious face of his gnawed at her mind. There were many things, she imagined, that he wasn't ready to tell her. If there even was a proper time, it was important to remember her place. Of all the things that had changed between them, where she belonged would always remain the same.

So when his smile returned, she simply smiled back, deciding not to press for any answers. He was right — he'd promised her the evening, and wasting such an opportunity would be criminal.

It wasn't difficult to slink back into a sultry mood. Just hearing "cum" of all things from those wicked, all-too-gentlemanly lips sent a shudder down her spine. She'd have to live with the fact that he'd already melted her self-control, that he'd barely had to lift a finger to bring her to trembling climax. How much more was he capable, now that they were in bed with his clear intention to go that much further? Kissing every inch of her with those warm, teasing lips, undressing them both so they could meld together in that most delightful, forbidden dance… well. Who was she to deny them both the promises they'd made?

Estelle hummed as she shifted once again, this time straddling his lap. The silk of her stockings rasped against his pants, her scant slip hitched so high he could catch the naughty little corner of skin where her thigh met her mons.

"Would Your Grace be content, I wonder, if there were any secrets left between us?" Estelle leaned forward, spreading her hands over the center of his chest. Her fingers slowly slid upward, hooking under the open collar of his shirt before guiding the fine linen off his shoulders. He was quite set to slip his arms right out, except that she suddenly grasped at the sides of his shirt and yanked them forward, effectively 'trapping' his arms halfway down his own sleeves.

Her smile turned mischievous, the familiarity of their old games creeping back into her expression. "Then again, if I'm your princess, I quite outrank you, don't I? How should I reward my vassal for his timely rescue?"
 
"Hey, what are you... you can't..." complained Robert, looking up at Estelle and scrunching his face up in mock-indignation. He made a half-hearted effort to move his arms before deciding that he wasn't going to risk tearing his shirt.

"Damn you, Leafy" he grinned, "you've outmanoeuvred me, both literally and metaphorically. You have rendered me entirely 'armless. And by making you my Princess, I have indeed made you my superior, to whom I owe fealty. My only fortune is that My Grace appears to be in Your Highness' good graces. So what should I ask for? Land? Money? Title? Position? Influence? Advantageous marriages for my kith and kin? No... none of those things... except... wait.... except maybe position... I've got some ideas for some positions, Leafy..."

"But if you're my Princess and I'm your vassal, it would be entirely improper to suggest any such thing... even asking for a single kiss from your fair lips could see my head smote from my shoulders for my impertinence. I am rather attached to my head. Never mind asking to gaze upon the wondrous, literally majestic beauty of her highness' bare breasts. And the sheer nerve of claiming that the only reward I desire is to see the Princess in her full, unadorned glory... why, I'd be executed on the spot, and rightly so!"

"No, Leafy. The only chivalric answer is that the honour to serve is more than enough reward. I'd combine that answer with a gallant bow, only I'm a little... restrained at the moment. Which isn't like me at all. But that's my genuine answer, Leafy... and I absolutely mean this... if I aided you, it was my absolute pleasure to do so. Any further reward is entirely superfluous, and entirely at your discretion."

"Although..." he continued, pausing for a moment, his wolfish smile returning, "I also meant what I said about your breasts."
 
Oh, that face. His expression distinctly reminded her of the boy who had once hated being bested by a particularly rambunctious young maid. A duke wasn't supposed to squeal like a rat getting squashed, nor squeak like a mouse whose burrow had just been discovered. Those were the sounds she'd adored, though, the helpless indignance when she managed to get her arms around him, squeezing the boy in a cootie-infested bear hug.

"Hey! You're the princess! You can't attack the knight!" Robin had been so fragile then, his smaller frame buckling under the weight of her hunched over his back until he crumpled to his knees.

She'd laughed, of course, the sound muffled into the fluffy gold of his hair. "No, I'm the wicked princess. You saved the wrong one!" Leafy had followed up the threat with a ticklish hiss straight into his ear, inevitably causing them both to tumble over when he'd broke out laughing.

Looking at His Grace now, broad-shouldered with all that nicely toned musculature — how could he say that she was the one who'd grown so much? He'd once been so small and scrawny his parents were terrified of a mere gust of wind knocking him over. Now, he was a different creature entirely, poised with utterly predatory affection held in check only because he decided to play nice. Even when he played along, he still had to tease her, drawing her attention downward until…

What? No! Another blush dusted over her cheeks when she noticed the state of her chemise, namely the fact that those perky little nipples of hers had grown hard enough to poke up against the satin. All he had to do was say what he wanted and her body would betray her, it seemed.

"Quite what has that silvered tongue done to the ladies at court?" Estelle pouted, giving the lapels of his shirt an indignant tug forward. She leaned in at the same time, lips so close they brushed his own when she spoke. "And who ever said you were in the good graces of Her Highness?"

It was impossible to resist kissing him, her lips demanding entry against his. She'd never be able to have enough, she decided. No matter how may times she felt the warm press of his mouth melt straight through her, she'd want more. Against her lips, along her throat, over her wrist — and yes, directly on her soft, aching breasts. With desire burning quite so hotly in her, that greedy grasp on his shirt could only last for so long. As the suckling insistency of her own lips pressed on, her fingers slid away from the linen of his shirt, finding their anchor against the center of his bare chest instead.

"Mmm… Just for tonight…" Estelle smiled, breathless when she came back up for air. "I'll let you be greedy. Position me however you like, see how wonderfully I've grown just for you."
 
Robert's eyes sparkled with pleasure and desire as Estelle broke the kiss. Spirits above, she tasted good. He smiled with pleasure, taking in the sight of her chest rising and falling a little faster, her nipples even perkier, if anything. He also needed a moment to take a breath, to gather a little equilibrium. And to extricate himself from his shirt, where Estelle had had him temporarily imprisoned. As he slipped the white, silk shirt from his strong shoulders, he gave them an experimental roll as if they'd been subjected to a much longer confinement, and he had cramps to exorcise. He was now bare-chested apart from the cravat, loose around his neck.

He looked at Estelle pointedly with a little frown, as if affronted by her audacity in trapping him in his own shirt.
"The only position you deserve, you impudent little minx, is one over my knee" he teased, "Princess or no."

He paused. A beat. In truth, he was starting to lose track of who-was-playing-at-being-who. But he was not losing track of how much he desired her. All of her.
"But that can wait. For now, I want you right where you are, straddling my lap. And I want your chemise on my bedroom floor. And then I'm going to kiss you and caress you, and I'm going to give your breasts and my fingers and my lips what they mutually crave. Then, I'm going to roll you onto your back, and I'm going to kiss you some more, caress you some more. I'm going to kiss your forehead, kiss your cheek, kiss your lips... and then work my way down. I'm going to discover what you like... what makes you purrrr.... what makes my darling Estelle turn Leafy."
 
Estelle laughed airily at his 'threat,' her gaze irresistibly drawn toward the finely toned muscle of his arm as he moved. "My, how quickly your tone changes once the advantage is yours! Perhaps that's just His Grace's way of being delicate. A gentleman could scarcely dream of a lady's haunches, let alone crave them openly."

As if not wanting to be excluded from his indulgent attentions, her thighs squeezed eagerly against his. The fact that his pants were still on should have been a problem worth further consideration, but she rather liked the sensation of her satiny stockings catching against the fabric. Whether she was in his arms, atop his lap, or discretely brushing her hip against his, something about that kinetic closeness never failed to warm her. Such comfort made it easier to present herself to him, a gift all wrapped up in silk just for his pleasure.

"As expected, your plans sound quite thorough — and very enticing from a boy who used to be terrified of 'revolting girl slobber.' But what does that leave for me to do? You can't keep my hands idle, Master Robin." Estelle, always shameless within the comfortable confines of his bed, took her time following his wishes. Rather than leaning away to undress, she remained hunched over him like a leisurely panther, paws stroking along the strong lines of his collarbone. If he was going to speak of purring, she might as well lean all the way into it, and so she flicked an indulgent, lasciviously wet lick up his cheek.

Ah, well, she could only tease him so far before he ended up ripping the chemise off her. Finally, Estelle slipped backward just enough to straighten so she could tug the slip away. Admittedly, the fabric had gotten just a touch clingy, the product of being hot and bothered under Robert's fingertips, but it was scarcely an effort to get it up over her head and off onto the floor.

And then there she was, no more pretenses or games to hide herself behind. She'd been a skinny little thing for as long as they could both remember, but womanhood had made its advances. Estelle was a proper dancer, the smooth muscle of her arms and abdomen trained relentlessly for grace and endurance. His little maid had filled out in other ways, too, a perky softness apparent in the curve of her hips and breasts. She was proud of it and made as much apparent, shoulders back as she casually ran her hands down, cupping around her breasts, then down the curve of her hips until they came to rest on her thighs.

She didn't need to say anything. The blue of her eyes was practically smoldering, an open invitation for him to make good on his intentions.
 
Robert grinned in response to her remark about how his former self had been disgusted by 'revolting girl slobber'. The certainty and inevitability of marriage and of girls in general... and princesses in particular... had loomed large in his young life, and for a long time he had resisted this fate. Girls his own age - and especially noble ones -. And were encouraged to play at princesses and fairytale weddings. And although he wouldn't have expressed it this way at the time, he had on occasion felt a bit besieged. It seemed preposterously presumptuous for pushy privileged parents to point their precious presumptive-princesses at the heir when both were so young. That would have been hopelessly optimistic, but... they didn't not do that either. Leafy - unusually - had other interests beside tedious girl interests. But Robin had made the mistake of showing a weakness, an Achilles heel, a strange visceral disgust. And then she'd used it against him whenever she'd needed to.

He played the part of young Robin by pulling the most disgusted and grossed out face he could in response to her licking his cheek. He wrinkled up his nose and flinched, imitating his former self with a high-pitched, performative "eww-ww!" before dropping the act and grinning again.

And Robert had a lot to grin about as Estelle reached for the hem of her slip. He couldn't tell what enchanted him most... her body, her grace, or her self-assurance. Everything she did, she did gracefully, like a dancer. Like a cat. Watching her shift position, watching her stretch to take hold of the hem, watching the soft material slide against her skin on the way up and off. He loved her... confidence? Self-assurance? Demeanour? While there was definitely something to be said for a hint of shyness or coyness or self-consciousness, there was more to be said for Estelle's almost-casual nakedness.

Robert watched, mouth suddenly dry, as she ran her hands down over her body. It was one of the most erotic sights he'd ever seen, and there was some competition for accolade. Her understated, casual confidence. It felt natural... it felt.... right. Just as he could also appreciate the appeal of shyness, he could also appreciate more... performative... approaches. But that was not what he wanted or needed from Estelle. That wasn't what she... what they... were to each other.

Robert realised that he was just staring, probably open-mouthed, which was not the best look for a suave Duke who was never lost for words. Seldom lost for words, anyway. The look in her eyes told him that she wanted everything he had planned for her and more. But he found himself wanting to prolong this moment, just a little longer, before he pounced on her. Leafy was back, and twelve gods and spirits above and spirits below, she looked amazing. Yet again, the collision or the fusion of the familiar and the new, continuity and change, hit him hard, and made this moment so much more than if he'd charmed just any pretty young thing back to his chambers.

It took him a few moments to properly recover his composure and find some words. They might not have been the most coherent or the most chivalrous, but they were the best he could manage.

"Well..." he said, "that settles it. I'm not letting you leave this time"

He grinned his handsome, winning smile, and allowed his gaze to run over her naked form one more time before he leant slowly in to kiss her lips.
 
That brazen, wide-eyed stare of his did all sorts of forbidden things to Estelle's ego. It was far more than simple lust: it was wonderment for everything he saw. She'd seen similar looks before, often during or after a particularly evocative performance, but with Robin it was different. Estelle had been waiting for far too long to have him look at her exactly like that, delighted with everything she had become. Robin, kind, quick-witted, handsome Robin thought she was something extraordinary — or so those eyes of his said.

She all but cooed when he leaned in for a kiss, a smug smile on her lips. He seemed content to bask in the moment, and she was, too.

So she let him tease her, let the molten warmth of his lips claim her own with a slow, gentle sort of seduction. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling them both closer until her bare chest squeezed up against his. That was an entirely new sensation between them, the delightfully soft press of her breasts against the firm smoothness of his skin. He could feel everything, surely, from the tight erectness of her nipples to the hitch of her breath.

Yes, this was a familiar sensation — mere minutes ago, it was this same delight that had made her melt in his arms when he'd scooped her up at the door. There was nowhere he could touch her that wouldn't make her smile, no stroke of his fingertips that wouldn't elicit that tender little shudder that made her his Leafy.

When he had her positively burning for him like this, it was dangerous and she knew it. When they finally broke the kiss, her lips remained only a breath away from his, her eyes so full of desire they reflected the vibrant blue of a flame. "Do you mean that, Robin? Will you make a promise you can't break?"
 
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