She did not wait a week. She did not wait a day. She waited until the sun went down and then she lit the stub of candle and she held the key to her chest and she said his name, and he came up through the floor with his hair wet from a bath he had not taken in a hundred and thirty years and his mouth already smiling.You were quick, he said.I was lonely, she said. That is your fault.He took that as a compliment, she could tell, and he took her into the bedroom and he undressed her like he was unwrapping a present he had been shaking all day. That first night was the night she learned what a Victorian gentleman did with a cravat when he was feeling modern. He tied her wrists to the bedframe with it, not tight, just enough, and he made her watch while he took his time. He kissed down her body like he was reading a book he already loved. He put his mouth on her until she was crying his name into the pillow, and then he pulled back and he said, not yet, my darling, and he made her wait u
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