It had been a horribly long day for Fleur. Victoire was angry and had shown it in every way possible. There'd been tears and kicking and screaming and hateful words. Words that Fleur knew came from her father. It had been two weeks since Bill had been home. Two weeks since she'd seen her estranged husband and she hoped he stayed away for another two weeks. That thought alone was enough to break her heart.
She didn't have long to dwell on her melancholy. Victoire was pulling on her arm, screaming that she hated her Maman. Fleur tried not to let the words hurt her. "Ma petite," she murmured, soothingly stroking her daughter's long blond hair. "Do not say such things. You are just missing your papa."
"I hate you!" the little girl muttered, the fight leaving her. Large crocodile tears pooled in her blue eyes before spilling over. "I want my papa!"
The pain in those four words were nearly her undoing. "I know ma coeur," she murmured, holding back her own tears. "Perhaps we will see 'im tomorrow, non? For la petite dejuener."
"No," she whispered, burying her head in the pillow, voice muffled. "He hates you. He never comes home. I hate you too!"
Unable to hear more, Fleur gave her daughter a kiss on her hair, trying so hard to hold it all together. Closing the door on the muffled sobs, Fleur paused, leaning against the door, asking for the strength to raise her children alone. It took longer than normal to collect herself, the exhaustion and pain wearing on her but Fleur managed to push off the door and check on Dominque. Her lovely little daughter had bright red hair, easily visible against the sheets of her crib. It was a constant reminder of Bill.
Closing the door to Dominque's room, Fleur turned, gasping in surprise as she came face to face with her husband. Her hand flew to her chest, the tear stains still visible on her pale cheeks. "You are 'ome!" she said, surprise laced in every word. "I did not zink you'd come."
Bill stared at his wife, looking over the tired lines of her face. Even in exhaustion, Fleur was flawless. After two children, she looked the same as she did the day he met her. He, however, did not. Deep scars lined the side of his face. Fleur said they were hardly visible since he grew facial hair but he didn't believe her. The loathing he felt for his beautiful wife was ten fold tonight. It was close to the moon.
"I wasn't going to," he said, wrapping a hand around her upper arm, leading her to their bedroom. He wasn't here often enough to call it theirs and when he was home, Fleur would sleep on the sofa or in the baby's nursery.
Fleur winced, his grip tight and she'd bruise tomorrow. His hate was palpable and it hurt her more than she could say. She should be used to it. But no. She would never be used to the look in his eyes when he saw her. She had made mistakes in their marriage. Their brief stint in France had been horrible for him but no more horrible than England had been to her. His family disliked her. His friends thought she was a snob. No one knew her. Not really.
Jerking out of his grasp, she rubbed her arm, glaring at him. "You could just ask me to follow you," she said, accent thick with anger. He hated it. He hated when she spoke French. Hated that she hadn't fully grasped English. He hated everything about her these days. "I am not some wayward child to be led around by your boring behavior!"
BIll raised a brow, annoyance clear. "Boorish," he corrected, feeling a flash of tenderness towards her. It was rare these days that he felt anything other than disdain. They'd grown too far apart for him to remember what it'd been like to love her. "And if you'd stop acting like a child, I wouldn't treat you like one."
Fleur's eyes flashed, her veela temper making itself known. "I am not a child! You are ze child! I am raising our children! I do not 'ave time for fun and games. I do not 'ave a job. I 'ave nothing but our 'ouse and our children. Do not tell me I am a child!"
He stood up, glaring at his wife. "This is my house," he growled. "You just live here."
Bill watched with satisfaction as Fleur paled, the fight draining from her completely. This was their life now. This is what they'd become. Hurtful and hateful. Resentment built inside of them. Loathing. It was all there. He resented her beauty. He resented her strength. He resented that he was no longer good enough for her.
Fleur recoiled. His words were worse than any slap could've been. She could smell the alcohol and the perfume. "You stink of your whores," she snapped, walking past him and to the closet. Her hand trembled as she pulled the drawer open, looking for something clean to sleep in. Something that would make her feel invisible.
Bill watched her move, the graceful lines of her body swayed when she walked. Her shirt tugged tightly against large, perfect breasts. There were fingerprints on her white pants but that added to the attraction. He might hate his wife but he desired her. Standing up, Bill moved with predatory purpose, wedging her between the dresser and his chest.
"I stink of my whores," he murmured, voice low in her ear. "Because I fucked two of them tonight. I slid my big cock into their cunts and pounded into them." His hand moved under her shirt, calloused fingers drifting across perfectly smooth skin until he found the soft lace covering her tits. He tugged on her nipple, watching with some satisfaction as she gasped, eyes flashing.
Fleur's gaze met his in the mirror, hate and anger and a deep hurt visible for him to see. She smacked his hand away and ducked away from him, heading to the door. She knew he was having affairs. He'd been sleeping with other women for some time now. Weasley's never divorced and Delacours never cheated. "Perhaps you ought to go fuck them some more," she said, waspishly, opening the bedroom door."Because I will never let you touch me."
Bill let out a bark of laughter at that, easily closing the door as she tried, in vain, to open it. "You really think so my beautiful flower?" he whispered, ducking his head to her ear. His teeth caught it, tugging gently before letting his tongue trace the shell of her ear, his free hand sliding around once more, dipping into the waist band of her white jeans.
It was so incredibly hard for Fleur to not cry. He was breaking her. Day by day and piece by piece. Her heart had already crumbled into dry dust. Her soul was nearly there as well. "I cannot," she whispered, defeated, shivering as his hand slid straight into her knickers. "Not like zis, William."
He stiffened, removing his hands from her knickers. The sound of her voice and the way her accent caressed his name was a reminder of better times. It'd been months since he'd heard his name on her lips. Months. When she turned, he didn't move, keeping her pinned between him and the door. His eyes flickered to her lips, the monster inside of him begging him to take what was his. "Take your clothes off," he demanded.
"No," she retorted, shoving him away. "I will not sleep wiz you. You are a whore."
Bill knew all that was true. He was a whore. He fucked a different girl every night. Anything to keep his mind off the stunningly flawless French Veela he'd married. Anything to keep from remembering that she looked at him differently. That his scars had ruined him.
Flicking his fingers quickly over his belt, he slid it off, tossing it on the floor before pulling his jumper over his head. He heard her gasp and he smiled. She always gasped when she saw his chest. The broad muscle over pale skin. It used to be perfect. Now there were pale claw marks gashed across the muscle, scarred over from years of healing. His hands moved to the fly of his jeans, removing them and his boxers in one swift motion.
Fleur hadn't seen her husband naked since before Dominique was born. Her heart leapt, the blood in her veins running hot as she watched him. His tan hand moved to his cock and her blood rushed to her head as he wrapped long, scarred fingers around his thick, long shaft. It still glistened with the juices of whoever he'd been with that evening. That, alone, should've been enough to make her turn from him. It didn't.
"Why are you doing zees?" she asked, voice shaking. She shook her long, blond hair, the pain and hurt visible. "You do not want me. You 'ave not wanted me for a long time."
Bill was hard and aching for his wife. Watching her nipples tighten into hard, pointed peaks under the thin cotton of her shirt made him ache to slip his cock between those perfectly large breasts and fuck them til he came on her face. "That's not the problem, Fleur," he murmured, voice surprisingly tender. He stepped closer, reaching for her hand, shuddering when he guided her small, slender fingers around his cock. Leaning forward, he captured her lips. "I always want you."
With that, he pulled her closer, lips finding hers in a plundering kiss, hips pumping into the awkward rhythm of her hand. She tasted like fine wine, sunflowers and apple juice. His wife. Groaning against her lips, tongue delving in when he finally convinced her to open those perfect lips, Bill kissed her deeply. "Let me fuck you tonight," he murmured, ripping the cotton from her body. "Let me slide my cock into your tight cunt, let me make you come around me, soaking my cock."
Fleur groaned, knees growing weak as his hands found her breasts. She wanted to say no. She wanted to have the strength to reject him. But the combination of his words, the feel of his cock in her hand and the need for human contact… Bill's contact, swayed her.
He knew the moment she gave in, felt it when her hands tightened around him. He could smell her arousal as it flooded his senses and it took him moments to have her naked. His lips found her nipple, tugging hard, moving the nub between his teeth, letting his tongue lave and suck on them. Fleur's knees locked and Bill wrapped an arm around her, holding her up. It had been too long. He knew she was faithful. He knew that she wouldn't stray. Not like he did.
The powerful emotional connection he felt as he held his wife, tasting her, smelling her for the first time in over a year was heady and intoxicating. His fingers dug into her side, gripping her with a wolf-like hold, tormenting her nipple until he let her fall to the bed, a graceful, sexy pile of long legs, big tits and wide eyes.
"Spread your legs," he demand, watching with satisfaction as she gave over to his command. His eyes moved over her body, taking in the flawless skin. Not a blemish anywhere. No stretch marks from two children. Nothing. "Your pussy is perfect," he murmured, lowering himself to the edge of the bed, breathing in her tangy scent. It glistened with desire and he didn't wait much longer to taste it. His eyes flicked upward, catching her gaze as he lowered his head, never breaking eye contact.
The first stroke of his tongue had the effect he wanted. Her body tensed up and her eyes fluttered shut, head falling back. He grinned against her pussy. "I'm going to devour you, Fleur," he murmured, sliding his tongue straight into her cunt, fucking her with it while his thumb began to press ruthlessly against her clit.
"William!" she gasped, arching her hips into his mouth, watching with rapt attention as his tongue moved over her clit, flicking and sucking. Two fingers slid into her tight pussy, fucking her hard, moving rapidly against the slick crevice as he lapped her juices. "Come," he demanded, sucking her hard, nibbling her clit. "Come all over my face. Let me drink you."
It was hard not to acquiesce to that demand. Not when he was working her expertly. His fingers moved and stretched, fucking her with such an intensity, she wasn't sure if she'd be able to survive his cock. "Please," she moaned, thrashing under his mouth. The pressure built inside of her, taking her higher and higher until she felt her orgasm hover just on the other side of reach. "I can't…"
"You can," he growled, moving faster, sucking harder.
Her orgasm crashed over her, hips arching into his mouth, fingers winding through his long hair, holding his head in place as she came against his mouth. Her thighs trembled as wave after wave took her higher until the intensity became too much and she jerked away from his mouth. "No more," she whimpered. "William…"
Bill grinned giving her pussy a tender kiss before moving up, watching her breasts bounce as she shivered and spasmed. Her eyes were closed and his smile fell from his lips, watching with rapt attention, the woman who'd so completely captured his heart. The mother of his children.
His cock was hard and he sat back, stroking it as he watched her come down. When her eyes opened, he raised a brow, a slow, demeaning smirk spread across his lips. "Get on your knees."
It wasn't a request but Fleur would've agreed to anything just then. She didn't break his gaze as he shifted, using her arms to brace herself as she spread her legs just wide enough to let him see her cunt.
Bill stared, hungrily at the perfect arse presented so beautifully in front of him. He moved, rising to his knees, cock in hand as he stared longingly at her wet hole. Leaning forward, he caught her gaze, those wide blue eyes looking at him with both fear, desire and a challenge that he wasn't sure he could meet. Sliding forward, he let his cock rub against her wet juices, coating him with her come, never breaking eye contact. Her pussy contracted when he hit her clit and he grinned.
One, startling, hard thrust and Bill was buried inside of her. His hands grabbed her hips, digging into the soft flesh as beautiful blue eyes stared back at him. He pulled back, watching his wife closely. Another hard slam and he couldn't stop. Bill gripped her hard, fucking her with an intensity he didn't know existed. He pound into her, stretching her tight cunt. Groaning at the perfect feel of her. "So fucking tight," he growled, slamming into her again. "Tell me your mine. This cunt is mine."
Fleur cried out, the pain of his thick cock stretching her unbearably pleasureful. "Yours," she gasped, feeling his hand slide around, flicking over the hard nubbin as his balls slapped against her pussy.
"That's my girl," he gasped, fucking her cunt with wild abandon. It wasn't a tender mating. Not even a little. It was pure fucking. He pinched and pulled at her clit, pounding into her with a roughness and speed that surprised even him. This was why he cheated. He was hard and rough. He hurt her and he couldn't stop. The feral, predatory emotions wouldn't let him.
"WILLIAM!" she screamed, voice muffled by the pillow, pussy contracting around him, gushing, squirting all over him.
"Oh fuck," he groaned, watching her orgasm spray his cock, soaking them both. That's all it took for Bill. He gripped her hips, fucked her harder and filled her pussy with his cum, dumping everything he had into his wife. He collapsed on top of her, his cock still hard as he slipped out of her.
It took him a moment to gather his wits, his vision black from the sheer intensity of his orgasm. Rolling off of his wife, Bill collapsed against the pillows. Glancing over, Fleur hadn't moved but he saw the shaking of her shoulders, the purple bruises already beginning to form on her pale skin. Guilt and self-loathing rolled through him. She was crying. Not those loud, painful sobs. No. This was worse. This was quiet pain and humiliation and he'd made her feel that way.
He didn't say anything when he got up. He dressed and left. There was a reason Bill Weasley didn't come home often. He glanced up as he left the house, watching the light of their bedroom shut off. There was a reason and it was that, right there. He wasn't fit to be with a decent woman. To have the perfect life he'd once had. Not anymore.