Haunted by Love

Chapter 8: Research and Discoveries

I do sleep, eventually; exhaustion getting the better of me in the end. I open my eyes blearily to find them looking into the beautiful golden-brown of Ruth's. "Morning," she says. "You look wrung out," she adds.

"You look annoyingly well rested," I tell her, which she does, especially considering the night we've just had. I stretch and yawn and give a heartfelt groan. "This place is going to kill me; I don't know if can take many broken nights like last night."

"Oh, please don't say that, Beth."

"It's alright for you: you'll be safe at home and sleep well tonight," I point out as I sit up. "Excuse me, I really need the loo."

"I'd better sneak back to my room and mess up the bed to preserve your reputation," she says with a small smile and also rising.

"The way I feel now, I couldn't care less. Anyway, when we tell Alison about what we've seen, I doubt she'll give a shit who slept where!"

"True," she acknowledges with a smile. "However, unless you want to share a shower, it's probably better if I head back." I look at her, not sure if she's joking or not and her face is inscrutable, offering no clue.

"And your clothes are there too," I point out. She nods and leaves the room but only after a quick check to be sure the landing is empty.

It's ridiculous, but almost as soon as the door closes I start missing her. I use the toilet then strip and start to shower, hoping that the hot water will revive me and wash away the heavy tiredness. I attempt, semi-successfully, to lather myself down using the hobbit-sized bar of hotel soap and my mind drifts back to Ruth's question just before she left. Did she think I would want to share a shower with her? I guess she wouldn't have said it if she didn't want us to shower together, or at least not mind the idea. It would be nice to have someone to soap your back. "Bethany Cooper, stop kidding yourself," I say out loud, "it wasn't backs, yours or hers, that you were thinking of!" Do I feel better for admitting that? Not much, no because I'm sure that I shouldn't find the thought being naked with my new friend quite so... interesting.

While my conscious mind has been occupied with its debate, my subconscious seems to have made its own decision as a tingle of pleasure runs through me from my nipples that I have begun rubbing and pulling gently. I immediately stop: I shouldn't be doing this while thinking about Ruth... but then, what's the harm, really? What would it feel like to be naked with her? I love the feel of her when we hug, not just her comforting presence in the scary darkness but the shape and softness and warmth of her as our bodies conform, one against the other. What would her wet skin feel like against mine, smooth and slippery with soap?

Suddenly I recall her kissing me in the night; was that real or did I dream it? I recall how good it felt, maybe too good to have been real. Whatever, real or not, the kiss raises questions about my feelings for Ruth... though fewer perhaps than the way in which the fingers of my right hand have found their way between my legs to part my outer lips and reveal that I've become suddenly very wet within.

There is little self-control left in me, not as the urge to climax takes possession. I squat slightly, opening my legs to allow me to bury two fingers deep inside me as my thumb seeks my clit, the pad pressing and rubbing. Mad thoughts run through my mind: the thought of Ruth doing this to herself, or whether Lady Blyth ever did this in here, in her bedroom, or did she have a maid pleasure her? What would happen if Ruth walked in on me now? Would she still want to join me in the shower, washing my back as my plunging fingers bring me to a gasping, shuddering orgasm..? My imaginings and reality collide and I'm forced to grab the side of the bath as the wonderful climactic spasms wrack my body with pleasure. God it feels so good.