“Any last words?”
Staring down at his wife, Vincent smiled softly. Her face bright with a nervous blush. Lips red and bitten. Cracked, dry. Hair tangled where his own hands had wrapped. Mock neck blouse covering the blossoming bruises from his teeth creeping up her chest. Skirt creased where she had sat on his lap. She smiled back. Leaned towards him invitingly. An invitation he found rather difficult to refuse. “It’s not too late to leave,”
“We’re already here, Blue,”
“That’s for me to worry about,”
“You stole my line.”
“You weren’t using it.”
“No one likes a smart ass,” Quickly, he took the woman’s face in his hands. Pressed his nose to hers. Breathed her every breath. Considered kissing her, stood at her mother’s doorstep. They’d be on the awkward first date they never had. Vincent would walk her to the door, fingers brushing, far too shy to twist his hand with hers. He would wrap her in his coat; give her a reason to telephone him
“You and your uncle seem awfully close.” Blue froze as Vincent spoke, halfway through shrugging off her jacket. He had been silent the whole way home. She’d considered fleetingly that he was upset another man had been attempting to slide a hand beneath her skirt. Though some part of her knew he wouldn’t have known unless he’d gotten to his knees and looked under the table. He hadn’t. Was he jealous? “What’s that supposed to mean?” “He’s more interested in who you have to marry than Richard is and you’re marrying the fool,” “Am I?” Suddenly, Vincent paused. He eyed his own two rings carefully, perched on the woman’s finger. Warmed by the sun where they’d been stored in his car cupholder. Catching on the afternoon through the windows. “Maybe you should.” “If that’s how you feel I think it’s a little late for that.” “I have to show you something,” While Blue hoped rather earnestly the man was about to unzip his trousers and present himsel
Hugged his sides with her knees as he scooped her onto the kitchen counter. Sighed in recognition as his hips rocked into hers and he pressed her with the very bulge in his trousers she was afraid would shatter her resolve. And as the fingers of his left hand laced through hers and she felt the cool press of his wedding band against her palm, Blue considered surrendering to the man’s mouth, lips on her neck with the love she wasn’t so sure of. Flipping the hem of her dress from her thighs and over her stomach, Vincent braced between her legs with his fingers as he had over and over. Traced her through her dampened underwear. Braced her collarbone with his teeth. Eyes cast to the ceiling, Blue found it rather easy to forget the ceremony that had meant so much to her had meant so little to her husband. The stranger suckling on her exposed breast as though he was the child she would bear him. Wrapping his large hands around her shoulders as though he’d prized her as much as he’
“Come to bed.”Blue glanced from the mirror, her hair cupped in one hand and a brush wrapped in the other. “In a minute. Let me freshen up.” She spoke quickly. Nervously.Richard’s house had been all she would expect. Timelessly decorated with cream marble and drapes, gold accenting the lot of it. Modern square edges replaced any baroque trims. White sheepskin throws hugged the couches. The master bedroom was much the same. Bright and heavenly. A dated French Provincial wooden chest wearing a marble chapeau sported a colossal paper-thin flat screen. The golden trim of the dressing table mirror fringed by a brilliant LED. Blue took note of how pale she’d gotten. The fur rug had more color.“I think your hair is brushed well enough,” Richard paused. Meeting the woman’s gaze in her reflection. She stared back coldly. He had always assumed their first night together would be their wedding night, the fact she&rsqu
It had been three days since Blue had left, though not of her own accord. He’d woken as he had in the months before they met; rolled into the middle of his bed, stood after staring at the ceiling for a few moments. He’d shave. Brush his teeth. Sit alone at their café with an espresso that had gone cold with his fantasies of the woman sitting in front of him. Had she filed for divorce yet? Told her parents she’d been secretly married? Admitted her pregnancy? Did she sleep through the night? Or did she wake every few hours and roll over to throw an arm across the empty sheets half-asleep?He’d entertained visions of Richard’s half-limp cock laboring lazily into her. Wondered if they shared a bed. Wondered if she’d gone home or moved in with her fiancé. If she thought of him as often as he had. If she’d believed his lies of no longer caring for her—if she hated him as much as she ought to have thought he her. And wond
As she made her entrance, hand clasped with Richard’s to keep her on a leash far more than it was to confess any fondness, Blue averted her eyes from the black hair she hoped rather earnestly wouldn’t be Vincent. It had been trimmed, cropped at the neck, she could see the loose waves falling around his ears in a way she wanted so desperately to run her hands through and tug at encouragingly. Screamed internally as her fiancé led her around the table.Taking a seat across from the man, she looked up rather reluctantly. Met his eyes. Stared at him with the same bewilderment he had. He’d shaven. A mustache hid his upper lip. Made him look so cruel in the very way that had always made her want to tear off her underwear and open her legs. His hair fell over his forehead. Bare cheeks looking rather gaunt, lined delicately with age. She could have laughed at the fact she felt they were meeting for the first time. Two altered versions of themselves.
Instead, it became incredibly harder by the moment to recognize the man she’d never wanted inside of her more. The half of him so carefully hidden; the crook; the convict; the Vincent who now stood before her with no regard for her dignity. Yet she didn’t mourn the loss. Rather, wondered if the guilt that blossomed through her was on her fiancé’s behalf or because she simply didn’t care how callous her husband really was. She still loved him.Some sick part of her felt more deserving of him; the man who had given her nothing but the world. She’d been little more than a spoilt brat—had forced her boyfriend into marriage for her own sake, trapped him in a pregnancy, however well-intentioned she’d been. She finally felt equal to the man she’d idolized. He’d degraded her. Rejected her. All but kicked her out.So, she sat at his feet. Folded her own beneath her thighs. Dress creased in a circle around her
It had been a day since her encounter with Vincent, yet the man continued to haunt her; his touch; various lingering queries. Was he thinking of her? What was he doing? Was he sleeping with any other women yet? Whether he was dating anyone was of little concern to her. She felt his mouth clamped over her sex far more than she’d like to admit; his vein-circled cock pushing inside of her steadily those mere three or four minutes before he jerked himself into a towel. Yet she still troubled over his confessions.He’d had the chance to admit he still cared for her yet said all he wanted to do was screw her. And he had. He had feigned his affections to bed her and discarded her again. She had let him. She worried she would again. Perhaps he knew all it would take was a half-intentioned I love you or I want you for Blue to disregard the week past she was yet to come to terms with. Some part of her felt she was stuck in some strange fever dream
“How did you sleep?” Blue glanced up from her oatmeal, brown sugar, raisins, and rum extract. Richard’s favorite. She hated to admit she’d grown rather fond of it, too. The man was pushing around his own, dressed and ready for the day. He wore a crisp suit, a size or two too small just as all his others. Found it gave him an odd boyish charm. Again, she felt she had found a friend in the man. Would it be enough to build a relationship on?“Very well, I finally caught up from the night before.” She smiled. Having Anya with her had lifted her spirits. Somehow, she felt she had been taken back to the days of her childhood when Anya ran circles of the living room with her; the days Marian was out and about. Pure, uninhibited, childish fun. The most freedom she had ever or seemingly would ever feel. Yet she felt close with Richard. He allowed her the house to herself while he was away. Encouraged her to make use of his extensive library. Called