Hey! So if you've been following Headward's adventures, this is absolutely unrelated. Well, not completely, since the plot-bunny took over my brain during Chapter 21 and refused to let me continue the WIP until I got it done. But there is no Headward, and no slash here. Next week will be back on schedule.
Now that's clear; what do I say about this piece? It's slightly kinky, and lots of lovey. One of those sparkling moments that stand out for an established couple. WARNING: Contains Mature Sexual Content. Of age only.
A miraculously Speedy Beta by the most amazing Laverett.
Now I'll just let Esme and Carlisle take you into their bubble.
RECONNECTION- A ONESHOT.
It was quiet.
Very quiet.
With a gentle sigh, Esme dropped her keys. She savoured that precious lack of noise. No screaming, or background chatter. No laughing, no thudding footsteps. No electronic videogame laser guns shooting or smacking basketballs.
Nothing to welcome her home but the soft sounds of an old house heaving a creak or two of relief at the respite.
The faint sound of socked footsteps.
Raising her head, Esme drank in the sight of Carlisle as he crossed over from the living room. He was still so handsome he took her breath away sometimes.
So tall and strong, still in his dressy work clothes. The tie was gone, a few buttons loosened, and the hard shoes always disappeared first. His eyes were brown; so warm they glowed golden, almost like his hair had been before the silver began to creep in.
''Are the kids gone?''
Esme's voice was just a bit too breathless, a tad shaky.
Carlisle simply nodded.
Of course they were.
Esme knew it, felt it in the very stillness of the air. It was a nervous habit; meaningless chatter to dissipate the nerves of sudden looming too-quietness...
They needed this.
Needed those precious moments, together.
Just the two of them.
Carlisle and Esme.
And always, at the beginning, there was a moment of adaptation, of getting in tune with each other again.
They were so used to being their roles; the mother, the doctor, the socialite, the taxidriver. They needed to readjust to simply being Carlisle and Esme.
Together...
Time.
Time was like the quiet; it seemed to stretch, an endless billowing week-end of time.
Free of work and family. No responsibility, except to each other.
It almost scared Esme, that much time. What if they didn't fit so well together anymore? What if they'd forgotten how to simply be, together ?
Carlisle smiled softly, watching his wife.
Watched her shoes drop haphazardly to the floor with a clunk, followed by her purse. Watched her shapely figure as she stretched a bit, then wrung her hands.
Nervous.
Anticipating.
She was still trying to work herself out of all her other roles. He could tell from the fidgeting of her slim fingers, the darting of her eyes.
Carlisle knew she would come back to him.
And Carlisle knew the perfect way to get there.
Approaching his wife, Carlisle inhaled the scent of lilac as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.
He needed to take it slow.
Ease her back into the glorious feminine woman she buried beneath all the masks she wore.
Just Esme. And Carlisle. Together.
He yearned to crush her to him, take her right there in the foyer.
Not now though.
Later, if the fancy still struck him.
First, they needed to breathe, needed to find each other.
Carlisle had planned it carefully. And Esme knew. After all those years, of course she did. He hadn't spelled it out in words; that would have spoiled the magic. But she knew him well enough, recognized the gift he'd brought back last week, the burn in his eyes.
It was a game they'd played before, once or twice.
Keeping it special, not letting the humdrum of routine wear off the sharpness of it.
''I drew you a bath.''
Carlisle's voice was deep, his words innocent. Not so innocent was his hungry gaze, the soft bump beginning to form in the front of his grey slacks.
Esme's stomach fluttered.
It was starting.
She nodded, throat suddenly tight.
Wordlessly, Carlisle wrapped his warm fingers around Esme's and led her slowly up the wooden stairs to her bathroom.
He kissed her again; a press of chapped lips gone too quickly, before she could even open hers in response.
Heaving a shivery breath, Esme carefully removed her clothing. Her designer's vision embraced her favourite room with pride. She loved every inch of the hundred-year-old mansion, but this bathroom of the master bedroom was her special place.
Here, Carlisle had allowed her to indulge in her feminine romantic tastes, had smiled tenderly at her choices.
She still loved everything about the décor; the cream wallpaper with small bunches of roses. The honeyed wooden pine floors, original. The ornate dressing table, cream and gold. The long billowy curtains that lined the dormer windows. And the focal point, framed by the corner; her very own claw-foot tub.
The water was already drawn, just as Carlisle had said. The soft scent of lilac she favoured faintly filled the air, the five-o'clock sun sending slanting swashes of gold to invite her to sink in.
As Esme settled, her eyes closed as muscles everywhere grew heavy, succumbing to the pull of the warm liquid.
The tub wasn't very long; that was the problem with vintage claw-foots. But Esme was quite small. And the depth of the water more than made up for the lack of leg-room.
Esme heard the door open, and through heavy-lidded eyes, watched Carlisle approach.
He had changed out of his clothes too; his bare feet now stuck out beneath a satiny robe in jewelled greens.
He silently handed her a long delicate flute of sparkling liquid. As he did, their fingers brushed and he bit his lip.
Not now.
Not yet.
He quirked his lips into a smile, reassuring her, then settled into his place.
The worked iron chair was tucked into the corner, between the vanity and the wall. It afforded the perfect view of the tub. He was almost behind Esme's shoulder, the bath slanting away at a forty-five degree angle, filling his field of vision.
Carlisle relaxed, watching what he could glimpse of Esme's curves through the water. Took a cautious sip of his drink. For Esme, this was fun and festive, a light-hearted champagne moment.
But not for him.
For Carlisle, this played into his darker fantasies, barely acknowledged streaks of voyeurism and fetish that demanded something stronger to drink. Whiskey.
His fingers twitched, wanting to brush the little curls at his lover's nape that would never stay in the high knot she twisted her golden locks in.
He didn't though.
Carlisle knew how to be patient, had years of cultivating control. If he approached her now, they would have sex, and it would be glorious. But Carlisle took his time, knowing that waiting would be infinitely more gratifying.
He watched as Esme relaxed into her bath, noticing the details. The pale gold freckles that meandered down her soft breasts. He could almost glimpse a plum nipple, flirting with the waterline.
The shifting light of the setting sun sent reflections dancing on the watery surface, preventing him from getting a clear view of her belly, her thighs.
Carlisle watched her little toes, one foot on top of the other.
The nails were nacre pink; Carlisle wanted to suck on the rounded little digits. Watch Esme moan and squirm in tickly arousal.
Carlisle slipped a hand beneath his robe, curling a comforting hand around his semi. He watched as Esme's pink lips pressed against glass, teeth clinking lightly as she sipped the bubbly liquid.
It was quiet, peaceful.
Suspenseful.
Time passed, meaningless.
Carlisle's thoughts drifted. He couldn't really say when this game they sometimes played had started, or why.
There was no doubt that Carlisle was a leg man. Sure, tits and ass were hot. But it was long slim legs that fascinated him.
The way they beckoned your gaze, up, up, up, to the hidden secrets between. How deceptively strong they were, gripping around him as he fucked hard. Carlisle was captivated by the shapely curve of a calf; his breath caught at the sight of a delicate ankle in strappy high heels.
Carlisle had a special love for nylon stockings. They enhanced the beauty of his favourite body-part; flirting half-transparent, revealing and hinting as much as they hid and soo soo smooth. He could never decide whether he wanted to tear them off, or revel in the feel of them on his face.
He shifted in the chair, squeezing harder. His penis was growing, fantasies of what was to come growing too heavy to suppress.
Soon.
Esme shifted in the water. Carlisle's gaze immediately snapped to her, breath caught in his lungs.
Was she…
Yes! Finally!
Carefully placing her empty glass on the side table, Esme's graceful fingers slowly wrapped around an object that waited.
She held it up to the light, appreciating the heft of it.
It was a razor.
Not a flimsy plastic thing. No, this was a real razor, the original item that inspired the disposable versions. It was silver, the handle ornate and carved in twisting swirls. The head was notched and received blade cartridges that Carlisle could still order online.
It was beautiful. It was fit for a princess.
Carlisle shifted in his seat again, somewhat light headed. Took a reckless gulp of his drink.
Esme was breathing quicker too; Carlisle could see her chest move. Yet she never turned, never acknowledged his presence.
Water sloshed a bit as Esme cautiously placed her leg along the edge of the ancient tub.
Carlisle bit his lip again, clutched at his rock-hard dick.
He watched with bated breath as her fingers caressed, moving fluidly, spreading soap up and down her calf. The floral scent grew stronger as the sensual movement of graceful fingers over golden skin created a roaring response in Carlisle.
Unaware, or so it seemed, Esme s-l-o-w-l-y dragged the antique razor up her leg, from ankle to knee. Carlisle followed the movement, mesmerized. It wasn't as if she was shaving off a years worth of long black hairs. From his position, Carlisle could barely see the rough stubble she removed.
But it was the act itself that made his head spin. That sensual glide of sharp metal along smooth skin was so feminine, so intimate.
Carlisle swallowed hard, awed by his wife's beauty, her mysterious grace. He was so lucky, so privileged to be sharing this moment. His head swam with dirty thoughts at the voyeurism.
As Esme carefully worked her way around her leg, her little position shifts nearly undid her observer.
Every glimpse of her body created an urge to react.
Remaining passive and silent in his corner was almost too much for Carlisle. Here he could see a hardened nipple, barely dipping into the water; his mouth flooded with the need to suck it. Now the graceful curve of her neck as she bent to her work beckoned; it made his fingers tingle with want to trace it, to explore lower, down down down her back. Her thighs spread; lush creaminess begging for a bite.
She began on the second leg, and Carlisle clutched the edge of his seat with both hands, panting and willing himself to remain in the shadows. He shook now; wanting, needing to claim her as his, interrupt her private moment. His dick screamed for contact and his heart pounded.
Thankfully, Esme was growing impatient with the game too. She worked much quicker, her movements effective and rapid.
Carlisle heaved a sigh as she bent to pull the plug.
As the glug glug of water escaping filled the small room, Carlisle regained some measure of restraint. Soon now.
His entire body vibrated to the thought. Soon.
With only a few inches of water in the tub, Esme pushed the plug back in.
Carlisle craned his neck, tried to watch her fingers as they dragged down her thighs to her pussy.
Groaned, loudly. Undone.
He couldn't wait. Desire flamed through him; he hadn't any strength left to resist her, knowing she was shaving… there.
Esme heard him, her head falling back against the tub. She moaned too, and her arm hovered.
Please please please please please.
Carlisle begged silently. Begged with every tense cell in his burning body.
Esme must have heard, or maybe she was just as aroused as he was, because the chain clinked as she finished pulling the plug and rapidly stood.
In a flash, Carlisle was out of his chair.
He held out a long towel for her, a bit rough from having dried out on the line and smelling of summer.
Wrapped his wife in it, rubbed her down. Crushed their bodies together, hard. Letting her feel him. Feel what she did to him. His Esme.
Esme's blue eyes were almost violet as she kissed him. Carlisle tried to shift away, tried to prolong the moment but Esme wouldn't let him.
It was absolutely magnificent, and for long timeless moments they kissed, losing themselves in the swirling currents of passion and love.
Finally, they separated. The kiss had appeased the acute need, yet fanned a deeper yearning.
''Can I?'' Carlisle barely recognized his own voice, it was so husky.
Esme nodded, mutely, urgently.
Carlisle sank to his knees in relief, dipping shaking fingers into the cool lotion.
With a soft kiss to the center of her foot, he reverently spread the cream, massaging Esme. He took his time, enjoying her sounds of pleasure, the tense fibers of muscle slipping through his palms, the smoothness of her golden skin. He worshipped her bony knee, dragging splayed fingers up her thighs in sweeping motions until they both moaned somewhat desperately.
Carlisle MADE himself pay just as much attention to the other leg, although by then the roaring need for real sex was almost impossible to contain.
It was a mercy when Esme disappeared into the bedroom for the final detail.
Carlisle fisted himself roughly, downed his glass in one fiery gulp.
Esme returned, naked but for flesh-coloured thigh-high stockings. Her eyes burned; her body ready for him.
Carlisle feasted on the sight for a moment, before finally giving in.
Grabbing her to him, he hefted her smaller frame into the platform of the dormer window. He hastily grabbed the cushion from the chair he'd been tortured on to try to place it under her, but Esme hissed and spread her thighs.
Satiny nylon framed her puffy lips as she trailed a taunting middle finger through her folds. Leaning down rapidly, Carlisle lapped at her. Hard. Rough. Fast.
And immediately lost patience. Standing to his full height, Carlisle fumbled the robe open.
His erection was throbbing and angry-red; as taut as it had ever been. Esme moaned, to see what she still did to her husband.
Roughly, his fingers curled around her hips, tugged her down, balanced precariously on the window ledge. In one possessive movement, Carlisle flipped her legs up to his shoulders and sank deep into Esme's hot wet core.
They both groaned then, and time stood still again.
Then Carlisle started moving, hard needy pumps. Almost immediately, Esme's eyes screwed shut, her body numb with pleasure. She WANTED to watch her lover's face, tense concentration as he towered over her in the golden setting sun. But there was something about the height, or the angle, or maybe it was the teasing or just finally being connected. It made her lust bloom fiery unforgiving from the first hard stroke.
Esme came, and came again. She abandoned herself to the capable arms of her husband. Her pleasure crested and waned, only to grow again as sounds of abandon poured from her mouth.
This was what Carlisle had wanted, had craved.
He valiantly tried to prolong the action for as long as he could, but was only half successful.
The pleasure had been building for too long, their connection grown tenuous and tinny over too many busy months. Stretched tight and now slapped back, like an elastic band. Finally together again, Esme and Carlisle…
As the tension in his body grew unbearable, his movements jerky and primal, Carlisle grabbed a dainty stockinged foot that waved in the air near his head. Sucking hard, he laved Esme's big toe with his tongue, feeling the wet stretchy fabric fight him. Carlisle bit the fleshy part right beneath it, where her arch began.
Through slitted eyes, Carlisle watched a trail run from where his tooth had pierced the nylon. A slim pale line grew, traveling up her ankle, zipping along her calf. He thought it would stop at her knee, but after a second it continued, running all the way up her thigh to the elasticised lace band that hugged Esme's thigh.
A thin little line, marring the perfection of the tan stockings. A hint of slutty abandon. Because of him.
And Carlisle lost himself then, sweaty and grunting. He pumped and jerked through his release, starbursts flashing behind his eyes.
Esme.
For a long moment after, as their bodies calmed, they rested together. Still joined, Carlisle pressed his weight onto his palms on either side of Esme's curled up body; her legs gradually came down to grip loosely around his waist.
Finally as the chill of the evening shadows began to penetrate them, Carlisle found the strength to push himself upright. They both winced at the sudden separation.
Extending a hand to Esme, he helped her out of the window sill.
There was no need to fill the air with chatter as they companionly cleaned and wrapped up in their robes.
They were together.
Still.
Just Esme and Carlisle.
As his stomach grumbled, Carlisle followed his wife down the stairs toward the kitchen.
Maybe they could eat in the living room. He could start a fire. They definitely should open a bottle of wine. Talk about the kids, work. Their next vacation.
They had a whole weekend.
Together.
Time.
All the time in the world.
And when life tugged them in too many directions, drowned then with responsabilites and roles and problems, they would still be.
Just Carlisle and Esme.
Now do you see what I meant in my A/N of the other piece? Shaving is a kink. Although I don't think I've ever read anything on it before. Hence this one-shot.
Never had sex in a dormer window? Maybe I'll invite you over. Seriously, there is something about the height, or the angle... No wonder they had eighteen kids one hundred years ago! Hello, G-Spot!
Aren't Carlisle and Esme too sweet?
xxx
French Caresse