I got the bottle. I also got about four seconds alone in the pantry before the door opened behind me.
"You're going to want to be quiet," Saul said, and shut it.
The pantry was a narrow room, shelves of preserves and flour tins, one bulb, and a man a foot taller than me between me and the door. He took the bottle out of my hand and set it down and turned me by the hip and put his hand back up under my dress like he'd never left.
"You're soaked," he said quietly. "Feel that. Feel how wet you are."
"I know—"
"Through the cotton." He was rubbing me over my underwear now, flat hand, and the friction of the wet fabric was obscene. "You sat at my table in front of your mother and came on my hand."
"You made me—"
"I did." He got the underwear aside again and pushed two fingers in and my he
