Waiting.
As a man of great means and a well bred name, he, Abraham von Brunt, had never truly had to wait for anything in his life. Everything he'd ever wanted, be it large or small, had always been immediately given to him; instant gratification.
There were very few times in his existence where he'd been forced to wait as people as a whole, whether they be well bred or peasant, had always been quick to do as he pleased. Unmatched wealth and chiseled features were his greatest qualities and he'd never failed to exploit them to their fullest extents. Who wouldn't? Only an unthinking fool would allow such luxurious means to slip through his fingers.
Now, though, as he stiffly stood amidst a thick grove of trees, the dark, moonless night obscuring his tall form, he grit his teeth in agonizing wait; his gaze trained on the glowing window not far from his chosen position.
Normal circumstance might have left him wary of detection, but he found it hardly likely he'd be seen as they were too caught up in each other to care that a dark observer was just outside their window; watching and waiting; evil intent in his every thought.
The home before him was modest; not even close to the sort of extravagant house he'd have provided for her. She'd have only had to name a size, a number of rooms, and he'd have purchased it for her; built it if none other had existed.
Any desire she'd have even considered as a passing whim would have been met in an instant. She'd have wanted for nothing; would have been secure for the rest of her days; free to lounge in luxury as the envy of all others, both men and women alike.
As Ichabod's hands, slender and nimble, glided up her back, taking to resting in her thick, red hair, he felt his body lurch forward at the way she sensually arched against him; her mouth falling open as what he could only imagine was an enticing moan of ecstasy escaped her.
Such beauty.
Ichabod could never have deserved her; not in a thousand years. He was unworthy; a bumbling idiot whose ineptitude and lack of well bred heritage were only the surface examples of why he should be nowhere near a woman of such allure; such beguiling enchantment.
The intimate act the two of them were currently committing was a disgrace; a slap in the face of honor and loyalty.
It should have been his name Katrina moaned; his flesh she desperately clawed; his locks she tugged and clenched within her unrelenting grasp. It should have been his hot seed filling her core; possibly creating life; the next generation of well bred offspring.
Taking an involuntary step forward, he watched the bounce of her voluptuous, mouthwatering breasts as she rocked against her lover; the sight of her so unrestrained, so freely wanton, causing his trousers to become uncomfortably constricting.
The way she moved was so agile; so smooth.
What sort of God would place such a sumptuous creature in the sight of mankind? One so tempting and seductive? Resistance was futile as to look upon her was to already have committed sin; the sweetest sin any man would have traded his soul to have the barest partaking of.
Tiny droplets of sweat coated her skin in a glowing sheen; trailing down her neck and disappearing between the swell of her breasts.
What he wouldn't give to run his tongue between them as Ichabod was now doing; lapping her up as though every drop was sacred.
He'd murder a thousand men for one taste; one flick of his tongue against her heated flesh.
His hard, calloused hands would grip her soft ass, pulling her harder and faster against his groin; reveling in the passion; the burn she created within his core. They'd ride each other into the darkest depths of the night. Sleep and nourishment forgone in exchange for pleasure; deep, soul binding pleasure.
Fate was cruel in that, instead, it was Ichabod's long, slender fingers which were wantonly gripping her supple flesh; gently guiding her over him as he stared up at her as though a man looking upon one of heaven's angels.
His gaze was pure, unwavering, even in the midst of raw, heat filled lust.
Love, he thought with an animalistic growl. That's what the traitor had said while confessing his betrayal. The two were in love; deciding that such a fantasy as the one they were dreaming up should be made a reality; to hell with everyone else.
The deep, primal grunts he could see escaping Ichabod's throat as Katrina drained him of his seed were so obvious it burned.
Envy coursed through his veins.
What did Ichabod Crane possess that he did not? Why would Katrina ever have chosen a man of such low station over him? Ichabod had nothing to offer her; nothing of substance to ensure they wouldn't be homeless in a month. Today, he was Washington's prized soldier; tomorrow he might be rotting in a ditch. There was no certainty involved in his life; nothing of worth to promise a woman. He wasn't an overwhelmingly handsome man, nor did he possess the charisma to seduce a woman of such steadfast fortitude. How could he have beguiled Katrina into believing such a life was worth pursuing?
Deception.
It had to have been thus.
Ichabod was a cunning man; one quick with his words. He must have deceived her somehow; whispered countless lies in her ear while the man he called friend was turned away; attempting to secure her an even brighter; making plans to ensure her happiness.
How many times had he left them alone? Trusting his best friend with his beautiful betrothed? How many times must Ichabod have secretly lusted for her; longed for her touch? How many times had Ichabod stolen the kisses which should have been his and his alone?
Oh, how he wished he'd have kissed her more; claimed more of her.
So few moments had been spent enjoying the sweetness of her skin; the exquisite taste of her lips.
Her excuses had been steady, resolute, when he'd begged for her touch; all but sinking to his knees with the plea for just one more caress; one more brush of his lips to her smooth skin.
It had been for naught as she'd continuously stated she was a woman of virtue and moral; saving all that she was for the marriage bed.
As he watched them passionately wrinkle the shoddy sheets beneath them, he considered the beautiful bed he'd had built just for her; for his taking of her; making her, his. The finest materials had been used in its construction; every piece placed with a purpose. It was sturdy; lasting. He'd even gone so far as to order the softest cloth attainable be used for their bedding; wanting her to feel as though heaven itself was supporting them in their joining.
She would have looked lovely while lying in its embrace; bared open and accepting of the pleasures he would have bestowed upon her. He would have spent all night consuming her; caressing her smooth skin; worshiping her sweet, virginal offering.
It would have been the start of a lifetime of pleasure; one she'd agreed to live out with him; promised.
He'd trusted her word; trusted she would one day give him her all.
He'd been patient in his waiting for her kisses.
The very kisses she was now deeply pressing into his best friend; lithe tongue flickering within his mouth; her fingers tangled in his thick hair as she pulled him closer; almost desperately it seemed.
She was holding him as though he might slip through her fingers at any moment; as if Ichabod was her anchor; her strong hold in the stormy trials of life.
Fingers clenching around his axe, he gritted his teeth; watching her give his best friend the pleasures that should have been his; the warmth of her body surrounding and enveloping his; making him feel safe and secure.
Not for long, he thought bitterly. Soon, he'd take it all from them.
They'd no longer have the luxury of their small house; their worthless, rickety bed in which they betrayed him over and over; their every joining a slap to his face. He'd take his axe to their treasured home, cutting every memory they made to shreds. Their haven of solitude would be burned to the ground by the time he was finished.
All the head turns to avoid his hungry lips, the firm pushes against his chest, and the many strangled whispers of 'wait' swirled in his mind; pushing his agenda further. How many times had she denied him, forcing him to patiently bite his tongue? How many nights had he returned to his room, panting heavy with thick desire burning in his loins? So many times, he'd confessed his ache to his best friend, endured the judgmental scowl on Ichabod's face when he'd sought to quell his problem with various whores deep in the bowels of their brothels, awaiting the day when he could have the one he truly craved; fantasized about.
And for what? To now be forced to endure the sight of her devouring her lovers' mouth? Not pushing, but pulling him closer? The soft whispers of 'I love you' that were clearly being uttered between them?
As her body began to visibly convulse, hips erratically jerking against Ichabod's, he watched through narrowed eyes as Ichabod held her tightly, his former friend's eyes completely focused on her flawless form as it writhed over him; drawing every last ounce of pleasure she could from the act.
Then, in the aftermath, Ichabod was smiling up at her as she pressed her forehead to his; both their blush colored chests panting in the wake of release.
Their happiness over their successful joining was nauseatingly clear and he could almost hear the whispers of affection that accompanied the soft caresses; the intimate press of skin against skin.
Body riddled with ever growing hatred, he watched as Ichabod fell back with her still encased in his embrace; their bodies flush and drenched from the sweat of their coupling.
Laughter and bright smiles accompanied the new position; Ichabod speaking while Katrina adoringly gazed down at him, her fingers affectionately tickling over his jaw.
He wondered if she ever would have performed such gestures with him had Ichabod not overstepped? It irked him to no end that she'd never once gazed at him in such a fashion; not even in the moments he'd bestowed her with the most expensive and magnificent gifts attainable.
Oh, how deeply he'd underestimated his former friend.
The cunning bastard had spent years luring her with his lies; the very ones he was likely whispering to her at this very moment. Why else would Katrina smile at him with such adoration; such sickeningly evident love? It was all an illusion; one Ichabod would play out for as long as possible; unknowingly oblivious to how soon it would all crumble around him.
Her red hair stuck to Ichabod's arm as he pulled her body closer; her head burrowing into the space between his shoulder and neck; her eyes closed with a smile present on her kiss bruised lips.
One day, he growled to himself. One day, it was his arms in which she'd be lying during the aftermath of their joining. One day, she would be awakened with the knowledge of Ichabod Crane's deception.
When that day came, he would welcome her with open arms; with the promise of eternity as his queen. They would rule this crumbling world; make it theirs; forcing every creature worthy of survival in the aftermath kneel at their feet in worship.
Ichabod Crane would become a distant regret; one he would wipe further and further from her mind with every new caress of his hand.
Eyes trailing over her graceful beauty for one last moment, ignoring the way she clutched to her lover even in sleep, he silently promised his return for her.
One day, he swore as he spun on his heel and stalked from the small yard; dark intent in his every step.
His dark queen she would be.
A bit different from my usual for sure, but it happened anyway. I blame the pain meds I'm on from having my four wisdom teeth removed. Anywho... I can so clearly imagine Abraham, in his perverted and self absorbed way, doing something like this as he planned out his revenge; doing everything he could to make up excuses and deny the evident love between Ichabod and Katrina.
Let me know what you thought. I have quite a bit of time on my hands and might write something else up as well if I get some feedback and a yearning for more ;)