I am SO sorry it's taken me so long to update Of Roommates and Murder! I hit my first real writer's block right after I started the second chapter. But it's almost finished! Here's a little something to tide you over till I'm finished!
He stepped into the dim room, and stopped like stone.
Sitting cross-legged on their bed, glowing in the candle light, was his wife, dressed in nothing but one of his poet shirts. It was far too big on her; the lacy cuffs practically swallowed her hands, and the baggy cloth belied little of her lovely figure, save for the fact that the buttons were undone to the point that the fabric looked dangerously close to slipping off with the rise and fall of her breast.
"Where…. did you find that?" He purred, stocking slowly towards her.
"Your closet." She said as though she were talking about the weather, and was not perched deliciously half clothed on their wine colored bed. "You have so many; I didn't think you'd mind."
He'd reached the foot of the bed, letting his eyes wander. "Not at all..."
He wasn't quite sure why, but seeing her smaller frame swathed in his shirt made his passion blaze, and pulled out a possessiveness like he hadn't felt in a long while.
Her lips tugged into a bemused little smile.
"See something you like?" She blurred.
He smirked, leaning over.
"That's a rather cliché choice of words," he teased. "Did you read it in one of your silly romance novels?"
"Perhaps," She answered, completely unabashed, "but," She unwound her legs and stretching them languidly out in front of her. "I think it may be pertinent to this situation. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Perhaps." He rumbled.
His fingers twitched.
The smolder in her eye, and the candle glow dancing over the heave of her chest was very distracting.
I'll let your imaginations take it from here! I hope I don't regret this in the morning...