“Does the twitching happen in the vicinity of all women?” I squeaked, amazed.
“No. It doesn’t. But again . . . not once has it happened in the vicinity of a fellow. I have had great admiration for many men. Great fondness. Even hero-worship for a few. Henry Knox, General Washington, Nathanael Greene. I look on them with considerable awe, and awe feels a little like falling in love. But not once have I wanted to tup one of them or see what their mouths felt like beneath mine.”
I almost moaned out loud, and he turned to go. “I thought I would hate kissing,” I admitted in a rush.
He stilled. “Why?”
I shook my head. It was impossible to explain. “Because . . . because . . . I thought it signified bondage. Ownership. I didn’t know it would feel like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like flying . . . and transforming and . . . and freedom. And I never thought I would want . . .” I cleared my throat, searching for the proper words.
“Want what?” he pressed softly.
“Want . . . you. All of you. My body wants yours. My skin wants your skin. My mouth wants your mouth. I am not repelled. I am not disgusted. In truth, I have never wanted anything so much in my life.”
He smiled, the bloom of it so wild and wide, I thought he was laughing at me. I covered my face with my hands, and he peeled them away, the glorious beam still splitting his cheeks. And he kissed me again, mouth fervent, hands splayed over my back, my hips tucked against his, and the embarrassment I felt evaporated. We sank down to the pallets, arranged side by side, and he kissed me until my eyes would not open and my lips would not close, until my body thrummed like a one-stringed lute, and I implored him for relief.
“What is this wanting?” I panted, quaking. “You must help me, John.”
I could not move, and I could not stop moving. I could not draw breath, and I could not release it. He found the pulse beneath my clothes, the place where all my longing originated, and when I writhed with wonder, he held me fast, his mouth on my mouth, his hands on my body, until the climb that had begun with his kiss became a free fall, a weightless hurtling, and a miraculous landing.
Then he released me, boneless and senseless, and threw himself from the tent and out into the darkness.
The night before we reached Philadelphia the general was so weary that we vowed we would stay apart, and I kept my word, but he did not.
“I can feel your eyes,” he muttered.
“You cannot.”
“I can. And it is unsettling.”
“I will close them.”
“It won’t help. You are unsettling.” He rolled onto his side and traced my profile in the darkness, dragging the tip of his finger from my hairline to my heart. When his fingers drifted to the peaks of my breasts, he withdrew his hand with a hiss and rolled onto his back, vibrating like a coiled snake.
“I have a plan,” he announced.
“That is why you are a general. You are very good at making plans.” I was trying to soothe him, but he ground his teeth like I was provoking him instead.
“There is no privacy anywhere. At any moment, an aide or an officer could come barreling in. And I am in a state of constant . . . discomfort . . . when you are near me. My sister Anne and her husband have a home on Society Hill, not far from the center of town. You and I will stay with her while we are in Philadelphia.”
My eyes widened in the dark.
“Her husband is Reverend Stephen Holmes of the Pine Street Church.” He took a deep breath. “They have no children and plenty of room. Anne is lonely much of the time. I will ask Stephen to marry us while we are there. And you will stay with them until the war is over, and I can come back for you.”
Of all the things I thought he would insist upon, marriage was not one of them. I sat up slowly and he did the same, turning to face me, his eyes glowing and his mouth set.
“But I have not been discharged,” I whispered, as if that was the most important thing.
“I will discharge you. Honorably. It is within my authority to do so.”
“B-but my term of enlistment is three years or the end of the war. It hasn’t even been eighteen months. And I w-want to be where you are.”
“No.” His voice was firm. “You can’t be where I am. Not like this. Not anymore.”
I had thought he would relent as he’d done before. Especially now, when parting would be excruciating. I had been so sure he would let me remain beside him until the end.
“You are a soldier under my command. You are my aide. And it does not matter if I know who you are. It matters who they think you are.” He indicated the camp, the men who slept beyond our canvas walls.