He had murmured something in German into her hair, and spread a hand across her hips, tilting them so that she pressed hard against his pelvis. Charlotte’s knees turned to water in a flare of terror and hunger, and she crumpled against him. Without slackening his hold on her, he walked her backwards until the bench bumped against her legs. She folded down, and he followed her, bending to lay her out on it. His arms cradled her shoulders, supported her back, and his face, inches from hers, was furrowed as if in pain.

He lifted her legs so that her feet rested on the bench, then nudged at her skirt and petticoat so that their fabric slid up over her knees and down towards her thighs. The air on her bare skin came as a shock, but nothing prepared her for the sensation of his hand sliding down between her legs, pushing them apart – and she cried out as his fingers parted and entered her without hesitation. One part of her brain registered the slickness of her own body, the ease with which it welcomed his entry. For the rest, she was a maelstrom of disbelief and overwhelming physical pleasure, a sense of gorging while growing greedy for more as the slow plunge of his fingers mimicked the movements of congress.

What happened next was beyond the realm of her imagination. He was saying her name softly as his fingers slid deep again and again, his face comfortingly close to hers, when his head withdrew and followed the same path as his exploring hand. What was he doing – surely he could not be looking at her? She watched in disbelief as his head sank between her legs, and instinctively clamped her thighs tight against his ears. But still he burrowed down, and then his mouth came to rest where his fingers were working, and Charlotte’s body was wracked with such intense pleasure, her body cracked against the bench like a bow releasing an arrow.

His fingers kept the rhythm of his penetration steady, but the sensation of soft wet mouth against soft wet opening had her arching and groaning. She felt the firm press of his tongue slide up and hit a spot so sensitive, it was almost unendurable. The world contracted to that slide and press, slide and press, and then burst as she thrashed in a series of convulsions so violent as to be almost painful. She could hear herself crying aloud, could feel that he was grasping her firmly so that she did not roll off the bench, at the same time as the thrust and lap of his tongue kept triggering new spasms. The only physical experience Charlotte had experienced this overwhelming was the labour of childbirth; and indeed, this was a swifter, sweeter echo of that abdication of the mind to the body and its needs.