Tillie had learned, in the yard, that it was much easier to play under another woman's dress and steal her breath away than to combat the strange gravitation of a man's insistence. She had learned it from her brother no less; a fact which would, by any proper girl's standards, be something to blush and fret over. But then, proper girls did not seduce the engaged daughters of other highbrow families, or teach themselves pleasure by coaxing a maid's tongue between their legs. Matilda did not fret, then, when her brother drew near and it made her heart race. When they were young, she had idolized him in much the same way she had idolized her father. And then, in the absence of her beloved men through the most stirring time in her adolescence, she seemed also to have abandoned the typical sense of propriety back with her innocent worship. Ewan had come home as changed as Tillie could have hoped, and she was such an eager pupil to learn.<br/><br/>Her fingertips were cool on his skin, though that gaze had flitted hotly across his hand as he'd undone his shirt. She did not seem surprised when her touch met his bare flesh, though he was given the prettiness of her plump lower lip captured under her white teeth. "I wish you would have taken me. I've been helpful with the business too, since Father passed. I'm quite good with maths and contracts. I'm sure I..." she blinked at him, like his baby sister was fighting with the curious woman she'd become. In the end, it seemed the latter must have won out in some capacity. "I'm sure I could have been useful to you." She said, and it nearly billowed out as a sigh, warm and intriguing off that wanton tongue. She had the good sense to blush when he took her hair around his fingers, but no impetus to move away from her. Her fingers curled, just so, against his chest, and she laughed softly. It was nervous, despite her best intentions. "You're acting strange, aren't you, Brother?" she hummed, like she'd finally noticed the peculiar well into which it seemed they were rapidly falling. There was nothing in her tone that suggested she hoped he'd stop it, though, and the way she wet her lips might have betrayed some hope for another lesson like the one from the yard.<br/><br/>Peculiar Matilda, who'd always looked to be groomed in some way or another. She was bright without direction, and reckless because of it. Ada was probably at fault for it, in some ways. But then, it was hard to tell what sort of ballistic wife she might have been. Tillie let out a muffled startle when he stole those hungry lips again, like she hadn't known what she was asking for, and it struck her that she'd never exercised much control over the girls she'd played with. It wasn't possible, when he could drown her with something so simple as this. The difference between them was so remarkably obvious. Tillie squirmed, not to free herself, but in the tiny panic that comes with an overwhelming wave, and she gasped against his kiss. She was met with the pressing inquiry of his tongue. There was half a breath when she thought to reject it, breathless as she was. But then, she thought, she didn't much want him to stop. Rather, she was even eager to show him what she'd learned herself making Violet Norman moan against her kiss. Surely, it wasn't so different just because he was a man.<br/><br/>If she was eager to suckle and glide her own slick muscle between his lips, it was remarkably at odds with the way she quivered in his grip. She made quiet sounds that were encouraging in their vague distress, more unhinged by her own lack of control than any want to stop him. It seemed that Tillie Bradshaw had the potential to be remarkably lewd, with a little coaxing. When she did manage to tear away, small pants drawing notice to the way her chest had filled in in womanhood, she was flushed and her lips were swollen as if she'd never been kissed in her life. "You were gone for so long," she mumbled, like she'd been doing nothing but waiting for him to return.