For the Most in a Month Competition and the Themes Challenge (write about an affair).
"I'm a married woman now," she whispers, but it's said as a joke, not a protest as Abraxas grips her hips and pulls her in close.
Abraxas laughs, and Druella feels her stomach flutter as though a thousand butterflies are tickling her insides. "I remember. I was a the wedding," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her neck.
Druella closes her eyes. This isn't proper. She's meant to be the perfect little pureblood wife, all obedience and faithfulness. But, really, she's never cared for rules and expectations.
She doesn't love Cygnus. She's tried, really she has. But it's impossible to force what will never be.
It should have been Abraxas. If Cygnus hadn't appealed to her father first, it would have been.
She belongs to Cygnus by name alone.
Her eyes close as his lips move slowly, teasingly up her neck and along her jaw. This should have been hers, properly hers. Now, because her father cared more for the Black family's wealth than he cared for his own daughter, she has to hide Abraxas away like a dirty little secret, like something she's meant to be ashamed of.
"It isn't fair," she says, pressing closer to him until only the thin layer of clothing between them keeps them separate.
"Life so rarely is, my love," he sighs.
"I'm not talking about life. I'm talking about love."
"Same thing. You can't live without love," he says, brushing his fingers through her hair. "And I can't live without you. No matter how wrong it is, I have to have you."
Druella shivers. She feels the same, of course. The day her father announced her engagement felt more like a death sentence than a celebration.
"I hate having to have you like this. It isn't right. But it is necessary," he continues, planting small kisses and all the right places.
Druella smiles to herself. Cygnus never touches her like this. She isn't sure if he even knows what passion means. With Abraxas, she feels wanted, needed, alive.
Her hands trembling, she lifts her skirt. She needs more of him. She'll always need more.
…
"Where have you been?" Cygnus asks when she returns home.
"Such a beautiful day out," she says. "I fancied a walk."
Cygnus inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring. "It isn't proper for you to walk alone, dear," he says, approaching her and taking her hand.
It takes every ounce of restraint for her to not recoil from his touch. It's so wrong. His fingers are not as long and elegant as Abraxas'. His touch is not as soft. She feels nothing from him but coldness and duty.
"You should have told me. I would have been more than happy to escort you," he adds.
"Perhaps another day."
"That's always your excuse, isn't it? Not now. Another time. If you didn't come from such a good family, I would fear that there was another who occupied your time," he says, and though he laughs, Druella can hear the thin warning in his voice.
"No, my love. There is only you," she says, pressing her palm gently to his cheek before kissing him.
It isn't right. He is her husband, but he isn't the one her heart yearns for. It should be Abraxas. And, as Cygnus lets his hands explore her body, Druella pretends that is Abraxas.
It isn't proper, but it's the only way she can bear to be with him.