I'd not shared a bed with anyone for long. Tonight, the extra presence brought a myriad of feelings rushing through me. One remained consistent. Regret.

The regret came with such agony I could hardly move.

My face turned toward the dimming oil lamp on my right, I watched the flames, my only witness to what a fool I'd been. The clock beyond it said it was nearly midnight. I'd gone to bed at nine.

I replayed this night. And I regretted it. So I replayed my life, and regretted this situation even more.

The body tangled with mine was the only thing I refused to look at. A time or two, it tried to rise but I gripped Edmond's wrist and he remained.

What power did I have over him physically that he could seek no escape?

Perhaps my silence was the bigger worry. I couldn't speak, couldn't acknowledge my regret, so I rested under him, staring at the lamp.

He was exhausted and I was exhausted and neither of us moved now.

An expression of affection. I was thirty-four now and this was my first time experiencing it. I regretted that.

My first encounter with the physical form of love had been marred by its outcome. And I regretted that.

But until this night, this moment, I'd thought life had given me all there was to experience at my age. I was twice married, and once widowed, and yet it had been incidental and cheap.

And my biggest regret was not allowing myself to entertain the idea of love.

Did I love Edmond? That was a strange question muddled all the more because I did not know what love was supposed to look like.

Even now, he smelled of aftershave and spice, two incidental fragrances that had never mattered till this very night. Never have I felt so whole. I felt full. My senses were piqued and vivid, taking him in, memorizing everything I could about him. From the feel of his hot skin to the sound of his gentle breathing. But was this love?

No. I concluded that it was not, not in the storybook sense, and yet, I'd wanted him. I wanted him now. And now with having him this one night, I regretted that choice.

I'd done this on a lark, just a longing to answer a seventeen-year-old question of what if. What if my experience into the physical aspect of coupling started in sport, very much like tonight, and not obligation?

When Gareth had petted me, I'd been alarmed. I was ashamed to admit that I hadn't been aware of what he was doing. By the time I'd realized what was expected of me, I feared angering him. But it was all right because we'd marry and that was what married people did. And while married that was a duty I'd fulfilled.

My husband had more experience and rather than someone fumbling around awkwardly, things had been more precise. But to say I looked forward to our encounters or missed them once the second child arrived and he concluded two were enough would be a lie. Now I could look back with regret and see that he'd stopped initiating for my sake.

So, I had expected something similar tonight. A physical expression of closeness shared with a man I respected. I'd expected it to be either awkward like with Gareth, or firm and routine as with my husband.

That was not how this encounter went. And I hated myself for it.

This wasn't a taking; it was a giving and it surprised me even now.

Knowing it was a singular encounter meant it had more value, but I hadn't thought it would feel so different.

This was the first time sharing my bed had my heart pounding. I'd resolved to give myself without knowing the driving force. And when Edmond had first shuddered, I'd been pleased. I hadn't expected him to continue.

By the third time, my body trembled with such force fear ignited my nerves. The sound from me wasn't intentional. It wasn't something I'd ever expressed.

Now as I lay trembling, I was still afraid; I felt only regret.

Edmond made another attempt to stand but I held him close. I didn't want to lose this—whatever this was. And yet I knew I had to.

Honoring my promise was my intent but I couldn't.

The kiss on my throat and the hand on my waist put me at ease and I turned to catch his lips with mine.

It was a blur after that. A blissful blur that rivaled all the others tonight. I was no longer on the offensive to do my duty, but rather pinned under him, allowing his worship.

The sound from my mouth came louder and he stifled it with a kiss.

My body pulsed when he cast the sheets back for clearer access. Till now, I'd kept my eyes closed, but I longed to see him. To see the look on his face at our physical expression. To see what my being mingling with his being was doing to him.

He looked in awe, but I saw myself reflected in that piercing gaze. For I was in awe.

White light flashed before me and I arched back and he kissed me again, taking my scream from me.

And then he sent one in response and I felt complete.

Sweat dripped from every part of my body but it was not a nuisance, but rather my badge of honor.

Regret. This rush of pleasure mixed with hunger came with regret. Regret that this would be the last time I'd feel this again. Regret that I'd never sought this out with my husband. Regret that I hadn't known the way to seek it. Regret that this wasn't how my indoctrination into womanhood started.

And regret that I wasn't brave enough to make this last beyond the moment.

If I kept it, and held on to it, wouldn't it dull?

Wouldn't it tarnish?

Wouldn't I lose it eventually?