Eliza had never felt quite like this before. Her mind was hazy, anything said to her was blurred behind images and memories of that single conversation. A young man, barely older than herself, Washington's Aide she believes she's been told.
What a sight he was to behold. Shoulder-length hair, dark tan skin, the beginning stubble of facial hair. And his eyes. Deepest brown, staring into her soul, engulfing her with warmth. She'd never felt safer, more comfortable, more desperately in love with anyone. She wondered if he felt the same way.
After she had bid goodnight to her sisters, she lay in bed recalling the words he had spoken, the soft, smooth tone of his voice. She felt a hand begin to slide between her legs, and tried to feel guilty. The contact from her fingers, separated only by the thin fabric of her underwear, sent a shudder through her body.
She could feel her wetness through the fabric, as she stroked up herself and began to circle her clit. She let out a small moan as she sped up her actions and began to grind her hips against her hand.
Soon the contact was not enough, and she was sliding her panties down her legs, settling them around her knees. Her fingers were engulfed by her own wetness as she slid her fingers back into her slit, desperately catching any contact with her clit she could.
Her mind was flooded with images of Alexander. His hands, touching her own in greeting, his eyes meeting hers in the perfect moment, his words resonating in her ears.
She was panting, whispers of his name building into moans. She loves him, she loves him, she loves him...
One last roll of her fingers, one final shout of Alexander's name, and she's shivering, waves and waves of pleasure coursing through her body, continuing to grind down into her own hand, carrying herself through her orgasm.
She wants him. She wants to be with him, wants to love him, wants him to love her.
And maybe there's a sliver of hope he may feel the same.