He found it kind of surreal that after a couple months of very proper courting, they were here throwing propriety out the door. Theodore had enough of being polite. He wanted to make love to her until they were both unable to walk. He had been thinking about it, scribbling his intentions in never-mailed love letters because they were too explicit. The anticipation made this moment hardly believable.
He was done being polite; Theodore slid his hand up the inside of her thigh, rubbing against her through her clothing.