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Stroke II
Staring up at the man, she wondered if she should beg as she wanted to so dearly. Yet his eyes met her with the same softness they had standing at their do-it-yourself altar. Regardless of whether they married in haste out of pure necessity, Blue felt no guilt in taking for granted they’d married for love in those few moments. Convinced herself quietly that he cared for her as deeply as she for him. Sunk back into her own inventions where they ran away and started a family of their own. And though she felt a fond smile she hadn’t the mind to suppress would betray her fantastic delusions, Vincent merely straightened. Shrugged a throw over his shoulders. Pinned it beneath his arms. Hid the woman from the world as though they’d been watched and pressed into her somewhat gently. Traced the blossoming red marks that encircled her neck with his lips. Pushed his hips into hers rather crudely…
Whether inspired by his ever-advancing orgasm or any genuine sentiment, he consid
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Blue hadn’t managed a week away from home when she found she had started to miss Anya. The woman had woken her every day for eighteen years. Bid her goodnight at the end of each day. Prepared her meals. Used the scented detergent she liked. Bought her toiletries. Listened to her petty grievances. Knew how to cook her eggs. How to make her bed in a way the loose sheets wouldn’t bother her. How to untangle the hair she was rather tempted to cut as short as she could. How to ease the girl’s worry with the gentle smile she always had. Though Blue feared Anya hadn’t missed her. Marian hadn’t crossed her mind in quite some time. She’d been away from home for a meager week. Vincent woke her each morning. They’d eat breakfast together. He’d set off to work, come home for lunch. They’d eat rather quickly. End up half-naked one way or the other, fuck and redress in a mere fifteen minutes. And she’d be left on her own until he’d return from work. With h
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Vincent, freshly bathed with beads of water gathering at the fringe and a towel dangerously low on his narrow hips was a sight to behold. But perhaps even greater, was a half-naked Blue, arm thrown over her eyes, hair sitting in a mass beneath her, his own tee-shirt ridden up around her stomach and briefless nether region on full display to the prying eyes of a particularly aroused and thoroughly showered man. Despite the primal instinct to amend her nakedness with his own mouth and take on his tongue what he longed to taste so dearly, he shifted his weight with a sigh against the doorframe and watched the full frame of his dearwifebecome cast with his own shadow. "Ever since I met you, I've pictured you in my bed like this," "You have?" The darkness enveloping her shrunk with his every step forward until all that remained was a fraction of the looming shadow that had been. Much to his delight, a sliver of the bathroom light fell between he
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Blue had never dreamed of being married at eighteen. She’d managed to cook dinner for them a handful of times, with the help of online recipes. Though she hadn’t eaten much at all after her weeklong battle with food poisoning post-hotel food crash diet. She’d changed their sheets on her own. Washed and hung the laundry with the help of Vincent’s housekeepers. Shaved the man. Washed the dishes. Rearranged the bedroom to her liking, more from boredom than anything. Managed to shower once a day for almost an entire week. Vincent, on the other hand, seemed to make no adjustments. He woke up at six-thirty in the morning like clockwork, no alarm needed. Rolled over and placed a quick kiss on Blue’s shoulder, who always turned onto her side in her sleep. Trudged into the kitchen where he made bedroom eyes at his beloved espresso machine while he waited for it to turn on. He would let Blue sleep until seven, after which he’d gently wake her. He’d brush his teeth whi
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Blue broke away. Hastily, she wiped at her lips and stepped around the corner with her arms out — Vincent watched with a small, half-hidden smirk of amusement… She was too caught up in pretending she wasn’t about to be finger-fucked that she failed to notice just how out of character it was for her to hug her mother. “Blue?” with stiff arms, she folded her daughter into an embrace, awfully careful not to mess up her hair. “I didn’t even know you were — when did you get here?” “The bus just got here,” She wasn’t lying — it was something she had become good at; telling the truth without telling the truth. “I’m lucky Vincent was coming in, the doorbell wasn’t working for me,” With a drop of the placid smile Marian had surprisingly managed, she turned to the man. “A business call again? Do you not understand the point of a Sunday?” “Insurance is a busy field; people are dying every day,” “Where’s the food?
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Shady Blue In Sheep's Clothing I
“I’ve been thinking; what if Richard had the right idea buying you a car?” Blue glanced over her shoulder from the couch as the man spoke. It had quickly become her spot. He’d cook her dinner despite the fact he had worked all day. Massage her feet as they sat on the couch and waited for the oven. Refill the tea she’d finally finished after letting it steep for an hour or two and turn completely cold. Gently smile as he slipped a hand beneath her skirt. Wrap an arm around her shoulders and tug her into his chest. Make her wish so dearly he’d call the housekeeper to finish the meal so she could lure him into their bedroom… He was pushing around two steaks in the frying pan, just as he had been for five minutes. Staring at the back of the woman’s head, he couldn’t help but consider what she had thought as she stared at the television rather aimlessly. He’d watched another man leave countless gifts at his wife’s doorstep that week. A car. A diamond necklace. Some simpl
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