I came home one day when I knew Beatrice would be alone. She was trying to mend clothes at the table, but I would not let her be. I kissed her lovely neck and let my hands wander where they might. I sought out her bare skin and the delicious curves of her body. Indeed, I played a coy game, pretending to acquiesce when she protested—kissing less, touching more, and then visa-versa in turn. Beatrice offered less resistance...