He didn't know why he felt nervous. Nonetheless, he couldn't ignore the rolling acidic feeling in his stomach as he sat on the bed. Would she come upstairs? He had told her she wasn't allowed to, but he had only said that to make her mad. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he didn't like sleeping without her. She made a nice space heater. But then again, did he really want her to come up?
That was a stupid question. Of course he wanted her to, why shouldn't he? You don't need to trust someone to sleep beside them, did you? The button he was trying to undo slipped out from under his fingers. He wiped his sweaty hands on the fabric then moved to continue his work.
He shivered as he pulled the shirt over his shoulders, the night air was so cold.
He heard the squeak of the stair and the soft, slow pattern of footsteps. He hurriedly finished undressing, kicking off the rest of his day clothes, reclining in the most casual fashion he could muster. The door opened, and Violet walked in, using the wall to balance herself. She reached up to untie her hair, before seeming to remember that it wasn't there anymore. Her steps were uneven, and as she moved across the room, her hand never left the wall.
He frowned, "Are you drunk?"
She looked up as if she was surprised to see him there.
"No, no I'm not. Why, are you drunk?"
"I just saw you half an hour ago, how are you drunk?"
"I'm not drunk." She straightened, turning her back to him and beginning to undress. He sat up, doing his best not to be distracted by her sudden nakedness.
"There is literally no reason for you to be lying; I'm not angry-"
"I'm telling you, all I had was a glass of wine after dinner. What are you on about?" She then proceeded to get tangled in her dress, letting out a small cry as she stumbled a bit. He sighed, moving towards her, lifting the dress over her head.
"And by glass I presume you mean bottle?"
"You're one to talk. You're- You're- You're throwing black pots in a glass house." She turned away from him again. He caught himself smiling at her words, but shoved it down. He sat on the bed, leaning back, watching her.
He had missed watching her undress. She had never cared about accentuating her finer aspects, and so when she undressed, it was like opening some plain box only to find a french dessert inside. There were always so many layers to her clothes, as if she didn't want anyone knowing she kept skin underneath.
She pulled off her slip, exposing a toned back, the slight ripple of her spine working its way up between her shoulderblades, disappearing beneath the curve of her hips.
She picked up a nightgown, an unsightly cotton thing, redeemable only by the way its thinness allowed the warmth of her skin to bleed through at the touch. She glanced over her shoulder, catching his frown.
"And what is your problem now?"
"Shouldn't a Countess wear finer clothes?"
"I don't know; you tell me." She moved to put it on, but he pulled it from her hands, examining it closely.
"I'm serious. What is it with you and always dressing like you're in mourning? You never wear the nice things I give you."
"I happen to like the clothes I wear. You like costumes, not clothes. And what does it matter anyway?"
"You're a Countess, you need to learn to act like one."
"So you've said before. Is that why you own so many silk shirts?"
"And that's another thing; when it's your nice clothes, you don't wear them. When it's mine, you try to kill me and steal them."
"Oh my god, I did not try to kill you for your shirts." She snatched her nightgown back.
"I'm just saying. You should get something nice." He ran his hand along her. "I can't afford a second-rate wife."
She rolled her eyes, "Whatever you say."
"Don't pretend that you don't like the idea," he sat up, resting his hand on the base of her ribs.
"Not as much as you do, evidently."
"Think about it. You're married to a wealthy man. I could give that to you. Wrap you in cashmere and silk. Get you an entire dress just made of lace."
His hand brushed down her thigh. She suppressed a smile.
"I don't think a lace dress would be very handy. It would just get in the way."
"That's the beauty of it; it's made to be taken off. Here." She felt a pang of regret as he stood up, taking his hands off of her. He went to his closet, pulling a shirt out after quick deliberation. He moved back, sitting down on the bed, pulling her closer to himself. She obliged, slipping her arms into the sleeves of the proffered shirt.
He began to work across the buttons, slowing and stopping as he reached the cusp of her breasts. She caught herself holding her breath, watching him. He looked up and caught her eyes, treacherously close. "Now doesn't that feel so much better?"
She wasn't sure if it was all the wine, but the cool texture of the silk was phenomenal, she had to give him that. She looked down, pulling the sleeves over her fingertips.
"Alright, yes, you were right."
He smiled, a damnably happy smile. It wasn't often that he seemed genuinely happy. It usually happened right after he was proven right, which, granted, wasn't all that often, so she couldn't fault him.
She stepped closer to him, resting her elbows on his shoulders. His hands glided to the back of her legs, warm against her bare skin. She hated how much she enjoyed it, how much she wanted to explore that warmth.
She hesitated, looking down, meeting his uncomfortably soft gaze, "And the lace..."
"Yes?"
"Where would that go?"
He studied her closely before moving two careful fingers to her neckline, the ghost of a smile over his lips .
"Well, here."
He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the soft skin. She closed her eyes. He traced down from her collar to her breasts, making a slow path with his fingers.
"Here."
His warm lips grazed against her skin where the collar opened, silk turning over to flushed skin. His hands slipped to her ribs, fanning out across her.
"Here."
He pulled her against himself, wrapping his arms behind her and softly laying her down on the bed before pressing a kiss to the silk above the juncture of her ribs. She could feel his hot breath through the fabric. She shivered.
He paused, sliding his hands down to her hips, and then moved the fabric of the shirt up so that her midriff was exposed. He kissed the sensitive skin of her abdomen, and then trailed his hands further down, moved his thumbs along the soft skin of her thighs, angling her legs against his shoulders.
"And here."
Her breath hitched, her fingers tightening over the silk beneath her hand. He smiled.
..
...
..
AN-
Thank you guys so much for your comments and messages! I cannot tell you how much they mean to me. I love and cherish every single one, even the indescipherable and mean ones. I really am shocked at the lengths some of y'all go to in writing them; some of your comments read more like academic literary analyses than notes on a fanfic! Y'all are some cool cats, and I appreciate you so very much.
Cheers!
