She had to find out what it felt like. She had to know.

She stood at the side door of their house, heart pounding in her chest. Her nightclothes were bundled on the bench next to the door where she’d be able to get to them quickly when she came back in. Slowly, she lifted the latch and pulled the door open a crack.

The alley was deserted, of course. The only people who would be out and about at this time of night were the night watchmen, whose hourly calls of “All’s well!” comforted insomniacs and put fear in Verity’s heart. If one of them saw her, recognized her, caught her-who knows what the penalty would be. At the very least she’d be mortified to be brought home, especially given the hardship her mother endured.

Night watchmen, or else… those the night watchmen kept watch for. Thieves plied their trade at night. Thieves, and burglars, and all sorts of dangerous men. Being caught by one of those… that would be even worse than being caught by a night watchman. Who knows what a burglar might do if he came upon a young lady of quality, creeping about in the altogether. She shuddered at the thought.

Verity craned her neck to look up towards the street. The streetlights, with their dancing little flames, made pools of light, but left deep pools of darkness in the alleyways. “Just up to the corner of the house,” she whispered to herself. “That’s far enough.” She crept from the door, careful to close it slowly to make the least possible noise.

Black slippers protected her feet from the cobblestones. She didn’t want dirty feet to give away her secret foray, even after the fact. A lady of her class was never supposed to have dirty feet. Aside from that, she wore nothing. Her hair stood on end from excitement rather than cold, for the weather in Blindestadt was always warm, by order of the Emperor.

She reached the corner of the house, and crouched in the darkness. Her nipples were so hard they ached, and she felt an itch growing between her legs. “There,” she thought, “I’ve done it. I’m as far as the edge of the street.” She turned back into the alley, hurried to the door, and closed it behind her, letting out the breath she had hardly noticed she was holding.

Panting, Verity listened. The house remained silent, no sign that her mother had roused. She had done it. No one caught her. No one saw. She was safe, and she never needed to do it again. Quickly, she threw her nightdress over her head and padded up the stairs to her bedroom. She kicked off her slippers and flung herself under the sheet, but sleep would not come. Her body trembled, taut as a bowstring.

Her hands crept under the covers, running over the light fabric of her nightdress. In spite of the warmth of her bed, her nipples felt like pebbles, tight and hard. She stroked them, feeling them roll around under the palms of her hands. That moment, peering out of the dark alley into the street, burned in her mind like the fuse on a firework, threatening and full of promise. She couldn’t keep her hands from wandering any more than she could control her desire to feel the outside air against her body. Arching her back, she pulled the nightdress up under her shoulders, and threw off the sheet. Shamelessly, she caressed her body, eyes closed, imagining herself in the middle of the street, vulnerable in a dozen ways, brazen and wanton…