"Mother, I don't understand why Charles is so awful to me."
Mother. Mother. She is Mother.
The revelation makes her head spin. This beautiful little girl in her arms is hers, all hers. The way the girl clings to her and buries her face under her chin tells her as much.
"We were drawing pictures and I made fun of her silly horse."
"It wasn't silly!"
"It looks like a hippopotamus doesn't it, Claire?"
A hint of amusement flashes across her features as she is struck by a memory of a similar exchange between Peter and Mina when they were children.
"Oh I'm sure it doesn't," she sooths, running her hands through the girl's hair, holding her small frame close.
"No, it really does."
"Charles!" The gleam in the boy's eye is a mirror of her own. She cannot help the smile that creeps forth.
"Morning, Van. Sorry, I got lost in the paper." He is across the room in three strides, leaning across the children to kiss her lightly before sitting himself opposite her. That he is here causes her surprise, but when it dawns on her that he is the father of these two beautiful children before her—well, she is certain that she stops breathing for a moment. It takes all of her effort to wrap her mind around her sheer joy at the thought that they created these two gorgeous little creatures— together.
The little girl leaps from her mother's arms, rushing to her father. He strokes her hair delicately, affectionately, as he spreads the morning paper across his knee and she is overwhelmed by the fact that she has never seen a more appealing picture.
"We were drawing horses," the girl proclaims to her father, clearly eager for his praise.
"And hippopotami," the boy adds cheekily.
"Charles!" She half scolds him, pulling him into her lap and holding him safely to her. She loves the way his small body relaxes into hers, her embrace providing him with the safety and comfort he wants.
"Horses is it? Well, you know, I've seen a few of those in my day. Tell you what, go get 'em. Give me a look, and I'll judge their authenticity." He smiles down at his daughter encouragingly and she is off like a shot to retrieve the drawings in question, her brother in pursuit.
She stares at him, still seemingly incapable of fully processing the perfection of the vision before her. He looks so gentle in his white suit, the morning light filtering soft and warm into the sitting room. Yet when he speaks, the low timbre of his voice is so strikingly dark and simply him that she is finding it difficult to merge the two ideas into one.
That dilemma disappears the moment he moves to sit beside her, one arm encircling her shoulders, the other resting gently on her knee. His breath is warm and comforting against her skin, the subtle hint of lemon the only hint of his earlier breakfast.
"Let's send the kids to the park." He whispers it to her, their little secret, his voice rumbling through her to her very bones.
"Ethan." It is a protest, but a halfhearted one at best. The grin spread across her face is evidence enough. Her eyes close as she simply feels him, his proximity, his presence, his safety; she senses every last inch of him.
"Just for an hour," he persists, his fingertips silently gliding up the silk and lace that covers her thigh. Even that small touch is enough to make her burn.
"Ethan," she laughs lightly, "Stop it."
He moves his hand from her thigh to her chin, pulling her closer to him, though she really needs no persuading. That hint of lemon mixes delectably with the crisp scent of his clean shirt and the heedy musk of his skin.
"I thought you wanted a whole heard'a kids?" he whispers and she feels and hears, rather than sees, the smile etched into his features.
Her hand reaches for him, the softness of her fingers in delicious juxtaposition to the stubble of his cheek. "Ethan, you know perfectly well that Mina and Johnathan are coming to tea." She grazes her nose against his, their breaths becoming one and the same. So close, yet both finding exquisite torture in refusing to take that last inch.
"Ah, but not for hours," he argues softly, a bold look in his dark eyes. "And hours…"
She gives in first, lightly drawing him in until their lips meet. He is everything in that moment; the way he captures her lower lip possessively sends every cell in her body into a frenzy. She would have him now, here on the couch, if she were allowed.
But their moment is broken by the sound of small feet bounding back into the room. He pulls away reluctantly, though her attention is the first to fall back onto the children, their drawings thrust eagerly at their father as they await his verdict.
XXXXXXX
He finds her in their room, fingers gliding across the polished wood of their wardrobe, their dressers. She is stopped by a picture hanging on the wall near their bed. It is of the family, her family, their family. It appears recent, judging by the look of the children, and she cannot help but admire at their perfection. She notices his hand wrapped around her waist, the other resting solidly on their son's shoulder. He looks handsome, strong, masculine; and she notices for the first time that she genuinely looks happy. She cannot recall ever having seen herself in such a manner before. It sets her slightly off kilter.
"I sent the children out."
A smile spreads across her features, ever so slowly. She does not turn to face him, rather, choosing to address the photograph.
"Did you send them to the park then?" Her arms fold in front of her as she fights the battle within her to remain in control. It takes all of her effort not to pounce on him instantly.
"Among other places." He is much closer now. She does not remember hearing him move.
"Such as?" She watches his figure in the reflection of the glass protecting the photograph. His eyes are black, his voice deep and weighted with promise. His frame consumes hers as he presses his body against her back, one arm slipping around her waist, locking her to him, while the other proceeds up her neck, fingertips disappearing into her hairline.
"Mrs. Francis needed some things from the grocers for the party tomorrow." His lips ghost across the small amount of skin revealed at her neck, just below her ear. "They'll be out for a while."
She inhales sharply as his tongue darts out, tasting her skin and pulling the soft flesh of her earlobe between his teeth. His free hand moves further down, gliding and pressing lightly at the juncture between her legs. It is all she can do to remain standing as she begins to squirm against him in hot anticipation.
"Eager?" he baits, making eye contact with her in the glass.
"Don't be a tease."
He laughs outright at that, smoothing both his hands up her body, brushing lightly across her breasts, hinting at the potential of his touch. He frees the buttons of her dress and revealing her pale flesh and the white silk and bone of her corset as he pulls the lace free of her body. "Yes, because I'm the one that's such a tease."
"You insult me, Mr. Chandler." She spins, meeting him eye for eye, their mutual gazes dueling for the upper hand.
He breaks first, relinquishing this battle to her. She smirks up at him. "My apologies, Mrs. Chandler."
His use of the name catches her off guard. The strength of her gaze and smile falter.
"Mrs. Chandler?" She repeats the name, the melody of it curling from her lips like a hymn. She adores the sound.
His dark eyes focus on her, holding her. He gives her a half smile, amused by her wonderment, no doubt.
"Yes, Mrs. Chandler."
"Say it again." It is a demand more so than a request.
"Why?"
"I like the way it sounds."
He acquiesces, laughter and adoration the fuel for the smolder in his eyes. "Mrs. Chandler."
"Again."
"Mrs. Chandler."
"Again."
"Mrs. Chandler."
She does not even realize she has closed the space between them. Or perhaps he did. Either way, she does not care. The only thing she is capable of focusing on is the sound of his voice and the sudden nearness of him. His body radiates a heat that she feels may actually burn her if she continues. Or maybe the heat is her own?
"Again," she whispers, her lips just a breath from his.
"Mrs. Chandler," he repeats, this time close enough for their lips to just barely caress.
And that is all it takes.
Her lips take full possession of his, craving every ounce of him she can get. His rough hands move up her neck and into her hair, desperately pulling at the pins. One is stuck momentarily, but that is all it takes for him to pull harshly at her hair, the sting shooting through her body. She lets out a small hiss and he pulls away quickly.
"I'm sorry, it just—"
She looks up at him through hooded lids, a half-smile playing at the corner of her lips.
"Don't be sorry," she whispers huskily, snaking her hands against his scalp and tugging. His head juts back, revealing his throbbing pulse which she runs her hot tongue across, absorbing the heated feel of his blood racing beneath his skin.
Her ministrations are rewarded with a low growl, emanating from deep within his chest. It resonates through her to her core and her breath quickens.
Unleashed, his hands grip her waist, lifting her. Her mind goes blank for a moment, lost in the experience of nothing but him, his eyes burning with such intensity that it makes her stomach twist. He craves her, that much is clear, and she knows that, in no uncertain terms, she needs and craves him just as much. Perhaps more. Of course she would always argue more.
Her bare shoulders push across the white linen of their bedding as he lowers her onto the bed. He attempts to pull away from her, moving to unbutton his waist coat, but is yanked back in when she locks him between her legs. He falls down to her, catching himself on his palms so that he is hovering above her, his hair swinging into his face. They stare at each other for a moment, though it stretches into something resembling eternity. She gently tucks his hair behind his ears before she flashes him her Cheshire cat grin and rolls her hips so that her core creates an exquisite friction against his body.
She bites her lip to contain herself as she watches his head drop forward, something between a moan and a growl emanating from within. It takes him a moment to recover, his gaze rising to meet the blue of her eyes, bright as they are with amusement.
"Yeah, I'm the tease, right?" His voice is thick with sarcasm and she bites down harder onto her lip to contain the laughter that is threatening to bubble forth.
"I'm gonna kiss that smirk right off your face, darlin'," he threatens.
"Oh, by all means, please do." Their lips meet again in a mix of gasps of laughter and groans as his tongue delves into her mouth. She readily accepts him, allowing herself the total hunger that accompanies the intimacy of his touch.
As such, she desperately wants more and begins to pull at the silk and cotton of his clothing. Yanking at his tie, she growls in frustration at her inability to remove it. He tugs himself away from her, laughing. He straightens up, her legs still wrapped around his hips, as he deftly removes the silk of his tie, his waist coat not far behind. As he works at the buttons of his shirt, she props herself up on her elbows, her hair finally falling completely free.
"When on Earth did you start wearing so many layers?" she asks, pushing herself up so that she is flush against him. She pushes his suspenders off his shoulders, palms gliding across the smooth, hard planes of his chest, still covered as they are by the shirt.
"When I became respectable."
She distinctly recalls the night in the cottage, how easy it had been to satisfy her need to press her bare flesh against his. There had been darkness then, animalistic hunger, and instant gratification. As she tears his collar away from his neck, she considers that perhaps the propriety of a normal life might have its downfalls.
She yanks at the bottom of his shirt, effectively untucking it from his trousers and assisting him in the bottom buttons. She only pauses for a moment when the final button comes free, finally able to take in the full glory that is his toned chest. Her lip slides between her teeth, her lust for him open and unapologetic.
"As I mentioned before," the sound of his voice snapping her out of her trance, her attention moving up to his face. "Eager." His grin is cocky, clearly aware of his power over her.
"You make it sound like it's a bad thing," she replies, her voice thick and throaty.
"I never said that, now."
He shrugs the shirt off his shoulders, and moves his hands to the waistband of his trousers. Her fingers follow, hooking themselves between the wool and his skin.
"You're gonna have ta let go, darlin'." She stares up at him, refusing to give an inch. Her body screaming to maintain the contact and hold she has on him, lest he slip away. His hands slide along the tense muscle of her thighs, moving down behind her knees to gently pull her legs apart. She revels in the feel of the calluses of his hands against the softness of her skin; the way they scratch ever so lightly, just enough to leave a searing trail.
In response, her thin fingers make quick work of his trouser button and she takes care to brush her fingertips against his erection, causing his body to tense in response to the sudden contact, his eyes snapping shut in concentration. His fingers curl into the backs of her legs, his fingernails surly leaving small crescents in their wake. Not that she minds in the slightest.
She pushes his trousers down, pressing her body flush with his, his hardness caught between their bodies as she leaves a trail of hot, wet kisses along his collar bone, sucking harshly at the hollow between the two before laving her tongue across the redness. Her tongue curls upwards, dancing across his skin, her eyes wide and devilish as she notes the tension coiled within his jaw.
His eyes open and she is taken aback slightly by the carnal desire that burns within his gaze. The heat in her core coils in the most painfully delicious way imaginable. She recognizes it immediately.
"I need you," she breathes, so soft and low that she is not even sure that he hears her at first. But in one swift move, he flips her over exposing the laces of her corset to now his experienced hands. The movement is so sudden that it takes her breath away for a moment.
As his hands work hastily, making short order of the ties of her corset, she feels his body shifting as he pulls himself free of his shoes and fully removing himself from his trousers. She inhales deeply when he releases the laces that bind her, the cool air soothing her throat and lungs.
Rolling over, she unhooks the clasps at her front, pulling the leather and silk off her body with relish. Of all of the many tedious social pleasantries she has been forced to endure over her lifetime, the corset has to be at the top of her list of things to burn. The relief her body feels from the liberation, lungs full of oxygen, is almost as satisfying as his touch. Almost.
She throws the corset off the bed, not caring in any way where it ends up. He chuckles at her eagerness to be rid of the damned thing, pulling her shoes from her feet and discarding them with the rest of their long forgotten clothing. Now he is able to touch her as he pleases, and she grateful that the unusual heat of the past week has given her the excuse to forgo most of her layers, the only thing between his hand and her skin being the thin white cotton and lace of her combination.
He flattens his palm against her stomach sliding up to cup her breast. She arches into his touch, the remaining fabric between them creating the perfect resistance. Her legs wind their way around his waist once more as she pulls herself flush against him, and he sets his jaw in focus.
She runs her hands along the arm that connects their bodies, tugging his hand between her breasts and up her neck as she pulls her body further into the bed. He seems to take the hint as he follows her, leaning in before finally crawling to join her on the bed. She shifts so that she is propped at the head of the bed by their copious amount of pillows. She pulls her hair over one shoulder, eying him wantonly. His eyes are black pits, glinting in the light of the midmorning haze filtering into their room. She wants desperately to be consumed entirely by them, by him.
"I want you to fuck me," she demands, her icy blue orbs never leaving his. His brow furrows and he frowns slightly.
"No."
The refusal of her request takes her by surprise. Her brow knits in response, though she says nothing.
"No," he continues, slowly crawling towards her like a lion about to take his prey. His sheer size and power are both terrifying and erotic at the same time. She feels her mouth go dry as he inches closer. "I'm not going to fuck you."
Her breath is shaky as she holds his stare. She wants nothing more than to look away, the intensity of the hunger in his gaze forcing a hot blush to creep across her shoulders and up her neck, every hair on her body standing on end. And yet, she finds that his gaze is hypnotic. She is incapable of anything but staring. Her focus is so wholly on his face that she gasps in surprise when she feels his fingers pressing against her core, rubbing the cotton gently against her, causing the gasp to melt into a breathy moan.
"I'm going to tear this fabric from your body," he whispers darkly, his breath hot against her cheek. "And then I am going to make love to you." He shifts his fingers against her, her fingers tightening themselves around his arms in response.
"I am going to worship you."
"Yes," she hisses, her body arching into his hand, craving more contact. She no longer cares when or even if Mina and Johnathan arrive for tea, or when their children come back to the house. She no longer cares about anything but the gloriously seductive man above her.
She pulls him in for another searing his, his lips pulling her in to him, seemingly trying to consume her. And she will allow him. Gladly. For there is nothing she wants more in the world than to be loved by this man. He wants everything and she will give him everything.
He sits back, pulling her off the bed with him, situating himself between her thighs. She rakes her nails across his face and down his neck, desperate to pull him into her. Her need for this man, her need for him to release her from the passionately fiery torture within her is becoming completely overwhelming.
His hands mirror hers in their desperation, though his fingers claw at the buttons at her back, furiously working to remove the last layer between them. Finally, with the sound of tearing fabric, he rips the combination open, yanking it down her shoulders. He is greedy in his acquisition of her body, tasting and feeling every inch of her skin he can find.
She gasps at his touch, her back straightening, resting her hands on his shoulders for support and she sits fully against him, leaving him at the perfect height to capture one of her hard, pink nipples in his mouth. He alternates nipping and laving his tonguing across the hard peak, forcing her breathing to come in quick pants and her hips to grind roughly against him.
He leans her back down against the bedding once more, paying careful attention to the other breast as he finally removes the combination from her body, hurriedly pulling them down her porcelain legs. Her hands run through his hair, wanting him to stay as he pulls back, looking down on her. The look on his face breaks her heart.
Gone is the lion stalking his prey; gone is the man needing to fight every second to protect her; gone is the man battling everyday with his own daemons while simultaneously taking on her own. Instead, she sees only a man desperate to express his deep devotion and adoration for the vision lying before him.
She sits up, pulling him to her, resting her forehead against his, her madness driven away by the breath and touch of this man; the man she joyously and proudly calls her husband, the father of her children.
"Make love to me, Ethan."
"Of course," he breathes into her, tangling one hand in her hair while the other supports her back, tumbling together into the pillows.
He thrusts into her, burying himself into her heat, and she inhales sharply, the feel of his body a welcome invasion of her senses. And he moves steadily, each stoke more deliberate than the last. She hears his voice against her skin, his husky timbre rolling against her skin, but she is not of the capacity of mind to make out what he is actually saying. Her entire being is focused solely on where their bodies are joined, his hand sliding between their heat to rub hot circles into her, causing her to bite down on his shoulder.
"Scream for me," he urges, pushing farther and farther into her, forcing her closer and closer the edge.
"Ethan," she begs, pleading with him to both relieve her of her torment and provide her with more. "I love you. Please."
She does not remember having said those words before. They are married and have two children, so surly she has said them before, but they feel new on her lips.
"I love you," she mumbles, repeating the sentence again and again, meeting him thrust for thrust. Every cell in body coils waiting for the precise moment, the perfect moment.
"I love you, Vanessa." His words rumble into her, penetrating deeper than he ever could physically, reaching the most hidden part of her soul. He is all encompassing in that moment and that is it.
Everything explodes, wiping away everything but him. There is no darkness, no light, simply them, joined together in a way that she never imagined possible. His thrusts continue hard and fast for a moment before she feels him explode with her, his hands digging sharply into her hips as he gives her everything he can.
Slowly she begins to regain control; her senses become alert once more. His weight pushes down on her, pushing her into the bed. She feels him begin to roll his weight off her, causing her limbs to wrap around him, holding him in place.
"Don't move."
"I'm crushin' you." His fingertips brush lightly against her cheek, attempting to persuade her in his gentle touch to let him go.
"No. Please. Just for a minute." He sighs, twirling a long strand of her hair around his finger.
"Alright." He chuckles, brushing his nose against her cheek.
She takes everything about him in—the weight of his body, the softness of his hair, the hardness of his muscle. She matches her breathing to his, their chests moving together. She feels the thrum of his heartbeat, pumping life through his body. Every last detail she commits to memory, right down to the salty tang of his skin. She feels safe, wrapped in the cocoon of his body—of his love. She feels loved, for the first time in her life and her heart aches so much with the idea that she feels she might burst.
"Satisfied?" he asks gently.
She nods her consent, instantly regretting the loss of his warm body over hers. She wants nothing more than to bury herself under the covers, tucked tightly against his side. She hums lightly against his skin, smiling broadly up at him. He returns her smile, the hunger in his dark eyes satiated.
"You're absolutely perfect." She kisses his shoulder lightly, working her lips over his warm skin.
"Well, I do try, ma'am," he grins down at her. She laughs, slapping his chest lightly.
"I see where Charles has been getting his cheek." He winks at her.
Their reverie is broken by the slamming of the front door and the pounding of young feet through the house. The children chase each other through the halls and rooms, yelling, screaming, and laughing.
"I think you need to wrangle those children of yours." He rolls onto his side to face her.
"Oh, they're my children now?" She cocks an eyebrow at him, detesting his tone. "Was this whole thing not your idea in the first place?"
"Oh alright," he sighs, pulling away from her. He reaches for his trousers when he notices her combination, rumpled in a heap on the floor. He picks it up, chuckling darkly. "I think we're going to have to replace this one, darlin'." He holds it up her and she notes that most of the buttons have been torn away and the large tear that now runs down the back.
She sits up, laughing, running her hands across the torn threads. "I think you might be right."
She eyes him getting dressed, marveling at the ripples of muscle—her perfect idea of a man.
He pulls his shirt over his shoulders, rolling his sleeves up his arms, the muscles coiling underneath his skin like rope. "See something ya like?" he grins at her.
"Don't tempt me." Her eyes darken, her smile becoming ever more wicked.
He tucks in his shirt and pulls his suspenders back across his shoulders as he leans down to place a chaste kiss to her forehead. "I'll be back then to help you with that corset." His voice is low against her hair.
"Oh I'm sure you'll help me with something."
He laughs, kissing her again before leaving the room.
"Father! Father!"
She can hear the children making a ruckus downstairs, his rumbling voice rolling up the stairs with it. She is filled with a happiness that she still cannot quite believe. Incandescently happy.
XXXXXXX
It starts slowly, edges of the room beginning to blur. Then the sound of the house below begins to fade from her sense, replaced with a defining silence. The residual scent of him on her skin disappears, replaced with the overpowering smell of stale smoke and wax. Darkness overwhelms her vision, the morning light replaced gradually with the shrouded darkness of candle light.
She feels the distinct dampness on her cheeks of recently spilt tears. She stares unflinching at the wax puppet crafted to her likeness.
"You're very cruel."
It turns its attention back to her, unblinking in its glassy stare. "No Vanessa. This is kindness. It's what you truly want, isn't it?"
She stares at the wax figure, its incarnation of Him so fragile and yet so terrifying. Her vision, everything she just experienced—the joy, the laughter, the passion, the love—it could be hers. She could live a normal life with the man that she adores; have a brood of children, a real family.
And as she stares into the dead, soulless eyes of the devil, she discovers for the first time in her entire life that she may actually take him up on his offer.