Thread: Such A Nonsensical Thing, Little Girls (PocketFullOfPosies)

It wasn't the reaction he was hoping for, Lydia nudging him back into a sit, his legs slightly crossed, as she shuffled into his lap, but it was a positive reaction nonetheless. Was that time over, he thought, when she'd search him for presents with wide-eyed diligence? Perhaps they were to be his memories of her youth and nothing more. That was a bitter pill to swallow, but the surprise of hie niece sliding backward into his lap was pleasant enough that Simon's mind was plenty occupied. This was entirely unexpected. He'd half thought the girl would run screaming from him, claiming him a horrible monster in a pitched voice that might later drive him to a moment of private tears back in the house. The doctor had braced himself for such, as much as a loving guardian could. This was unexpected though, and brought to his chest a surprised warmth as her backside shuffled into his lap, her skirts raising up around her. His hands never moved from her shoulders, elbows outward. I... the monarchs? he questioned, not having expected such a silly thing. Little girls could be such...little girls sometimes, couldn't they? Though Simon knew he shouldn't encourage such, he did experience an overcoming smile, and knew in his professionalism and in his heart both that he needed to be kind to her right now. I suppose, he thought a moment, pausing between words, wouldn't... some sort of wildflower? I don't know a great deal of foliage. His palms traced over the curves of her shoulder, from Lydia's collarbone to the tops of her arms, back and forth in a slow, familiar rub. The gardener may have a better answer to that one than I. He looked past her. Resting his cheek to the softness of her curls, poor Lydia's demon of an uncle sat with her there amidst the flowers, rubbing her shoulders, content in the moment of silence that followed his answer. He watched a few stray petals dance upon the surface of the water in front of them. The water itself was relatively still, the fountain off, but if one watched closely it could be seen how the petals still moved the slightest bit here and there, no doubt the remnants of ripples from when some young maiden decided such were of no use for her decorations, instead casting the flowers to the serenity of slight waves. Simon breathed. Nuzzling her young, beautiful golden tresses, resting lightly to the side of her head, Simon showed her his silent regret in what limited ways a man largely inexperienced with affection knew how. ...no, it wasn't exactly regret. It sort of was. He regretted the previous evening was necessary, but not his actions per se. Frowning, he thought back to the sweets he had tucked into a pocket, something which was no way a proper breakfast but would hopefully do well in place of a vocal apology. Simon's right hand slipped forward from her right shoulder, slipping around Lydia's front, below her collar and above her breasts, holding her steady while his left dipped back to reach into his pocket. Pulling out the wrapped tarts, he- -noticed something. Her legs. Blinking, staring a moment without really thinking, Simon noticed something. And remembered something. And realized something. From her raised skirts he could see enough of the skin of Lydia's legs, a visual sight that reminded him all too quick of what one of the maids had mentioned to him yesterday in a hushed, seemingly embarrassed tone - that beneath the skirt she feared the young woman didn't were anything at all! No petticoat. No stockings. Not even bloomers! And were he something greater than a man perhaps he could have resisted what came next. His arm frozen, dangling in the air to the left, wrapped food in his hand, Simon couldn't help his face go a deathly white as all the blood seemed to drain from it, followed by the hasty rush of it back tenfold, making him go quite, and undoubtedly red. Would she notice it? His heart raced. His mind filled with worry. And the more he tried to ignore it, or will it away, in those desperate seconds he could do nothing for the arousal between his legs not only coming into existence, but coming to strain against his trousers. Lustful. Sinful. Shamefully disgusting! Simon swallowed the saliva in his mouth. He inhaled through his nose and exhaled though barely parted lips, closing his eyes as if that would aid him in any way. He was hard. He was suddenly very, very erect, with his fifteen year old niece's bare rump resting between his knees. With any luck in the world she was sitting just far forward enough to not notice. What was that? Oh, right. The tarts. Breathing, just breathing, Simon placed the handkerchief of lemony sweets on Lydia's left knee, careful not to upset any of the maidenly creations she was in the midst of creating. That arm, for lack of a better idea, wrapped around her just as the other, though this one around her waist while his right remained just above her breast.