A/N: This is a belated Valentine's oneshot posted originally on ao3. Contains strong sexual content, bad language and themes of praise kink.


John had heard the whistle sound as he neared the mill, returning from a meeting in town. He braced himself, knowing that he'd no hope entering the mill as the hundreds of workers streamed out. He stood on a nearby corner, watching as the first few workers began to filter sound of a dozen mingled conversations grew closer. And then, he heard a young voice loud and clear, saying a name that caught his ear.

"Poor Miss Margaret! Imagine being married to a man such as the master. Bet she never laughs a day in 'er life."

Two spinners came into view, probably no older than fourteen or fifteen. Only the young would have the arrogance to say such things and not even bother to lower their tone. John stood straighter, his shoulders tightening as he watched them walk past him, oblivious to their witness. He was unsure what had started their conversation, for he had been absent all day. He supposed it was not unusual for folk to gossip about those around him - but that was of no comfort.

"Laugh?" The conversation continued, and despite his better judgement he walked behind them for a few steps. "Bet he never 'as a kind word to say. I've never seen 'is mouth so much as twitch in a smile. Even on their weddin' day I heard folk say they'd never seen a groom so serious."

The words, though not meant for him to hear, made him bristle. He wanted to say something, to correct them that his wedding day was the happiest day of his whole damned life. He did not because he was sure he would have no patience with their impertinence - and because the way he felt, his marriage, Margaret's happiness, was nothing to do with them. Any anger would only reinforce their opinion; he had heard idle gossip many a time, and he had little tolerance for it. But it was the end of the day, the whistle blown, and what two young girls chose to gossip over was no business of his.

"'Tis a wonder she ever smiles at all," her friend replied. "Trapped in a house with a pair as sour as the master an' his ma. Couldn't pay me enough to wed such a grump."

"Oh I dunno," one shrugged "I'd manage. He's not so ugly."

The pair broke into raucous peals of laughter - laughter that rapidly died as they turned to look behind them, clearly expecting their friends to have caught up by now, and caught sight of the figure that could only belong to their master walking angrily towards Marlborough Mills.

"D'you think 'e 'eard us?!" one asked the other, her lip catching between her teeth as they watched the figure retreat through the throng into the mill's gates. "Oh, they say the master 'as ears as strong as anythin'."

"Can't lose our jobs just for sayin' truth," the other shrugged. "Come on, I'm hungry."


Later that night, the words still echoing around his mind, John and Margaret lay together on their bed as Margaret read. John rested, as he often did, with his head in her lap as her fingers ran absently through his hair. He had fallen asleep in such a position more than once, and Margaret often compared him to a pampered housecat. He was not embarrassed by his need for her touch; she seemed to relieve the tension he often carried, her touch a magic he did not understand.

"Are you happy?" he asked softly.

"Happy?" Margaret asked, turning a page with only one hand, an act that proved rather difficult as the book wobbled precariously in her hand. She chuckled, momentarily lifting her hand away from his hair to correct her grip. "Yes, darling. Of course."

"Am I a misery?" he asked, drawing lazy circles on her thigh with the hand that had slipped beneath her nightgown.

She hissed out a breath, her eyes closing as his fingers grazed upwards. They had played this game many a time, a lazy seduction that was almost accidental. He smiled despite his poor mood, never tiring of hearing those little noises of excitement that he pulled from her.

"No, dear. But you are a distraction. I've read this paragraph five times, and I really do want to finish a book sometime this year. You always seem to find ways to pull me from my reading. I believe I could not recount a single novel I have read with any accuracy since we married."

"Am I cruel to you?"

Margaret paused, setting down her book and peering down at him with a look of confusion on her face. She almost laughed, for the man lying contentedly in her lap was certainly not one you could call cruel by any stretch of the imagination. His face, however, was set in a grim line of determination - and she knew at once that something had happened to warrant this question.

"Cruel?" Margaret queried, her fingers cradling his neck as she tilted his head up to look at her. "What do you mean?"

"I overheard talk," John said, "of how being married to me must be difficult. That you live a life of misery with a husband who knows no joy."

"Who?"

"Some of the spinners."

Margaret shook her head, her eyes casting upwards in disbelief. The young employees of Marlborough Mill were sweet girls, ones she took an interest in and spoke to often. But they were inexperienced in life, with much to learn. Perhaps they too would discover that some men, though seemingly made of stone on the outside, possessed a passion most unexpected.

"I believe those girls have no idea of love, or what makes a happy marriage. They would not understand. You would hold their expert opinion of our union in such regard?"

"No."

"Then why have you let them bother you?" Margaret asked. "You seem to have taken what they said to heart."

"I haven't."

"You have," Margaret counted, her fingers tracing the ridge between his brows. "I've never known you to care what others might think of you."

"I just…is this how we appear to others? Is there a belief that I am a cruel husband, that you merely tolerate me?"

"I do not give much thought to what others might have to say about our marriage." Margaret looked down at him, considering him closely. She ran a finger up his cheek, her palm flattening as she caressed him gently. "They do not know you as I do, John. You have a tenderness about you that I could never have predicted. I did not see it; perhaps it was not there, or I was just blind to it, I don't know."

"And you see it now?"

"Yes, I do. I do not know that there is a more considerate husband in Milton."

"You flatter me," John mumbled, closing his eyes. "I know I am no gentleman. I am sorry for that."

Margaret shook her head; this was no flattery. It may have taken long enough, but the love she felt for him was unlike anything she thought possible. She had not known that she would think of him for almost every minute of every day - nor that she would dream of him, even when he slept beside her. She wished to know what he thought of everything. She craved his touch, finding a solace in being in his arms that she was sure could cure any ill. She loved him, body and soul.

"I fear I have not been explicit enough in my admiration," Margaret smiled, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "I know you have a temper. I know that our marriage has not changed you in business, for I have heard your raised voice carry across the yard on many occasions. And yet I know, and your workers know too, that you are not cruel or needlessly harsh to them. You run a fair mill, and the list we have of those who wish to work here is testament to that. Here, in our bed? You are certainly the furthest thing from cruel."

"You have given this some thought?"

"You doubt me, husband?" Margaret asked softly. "You are so good to me,and to your family. You make me so happy, every day. You work tirelessly. And each night when you come to bed…"

"Yes?"

"You make me feel as though I might fly," she whispered. "You know my body better than I know myself. You intoxicate me."

He lifted his head from her lap, leaning up and kissing her. It was so gentle and so sweet that it made her ache, the love that he held for her in his every movement. It was in the brush of his fingers against her waist, in the press of his tongue against hers, in the small, almost inaudible groans that she pulled from him as her teeth nipped his bottom lip.

She moved to lie beside him, her body half covering his as he kissed her fiercely. Her hands wandered his body, feeling the hard plane of his stomach beneath his nightclothes, the rapid rise of his chest as he groaned into her mouth. He was vocal in his pleasure, and encouraged her to be the same. It was something she had never expected, this intimacy, another language entirely. When she reached the hem of his nightshirt, feeling the soft hair that covered his thighs, she pushed up the material.

She gestured that he should rise, and together they pulled the nightgown over his head. When he was free of the damned thing, he grabbed a handful of her clothes - wanting to see all of her. She smiled, letting him tug it from her as she slipped her arms free. He stared at her for a moment, before his hands rose to the swell of her breasts.

"No," Margaret said breathlessly as he took one pink nipple between his teeth. "No, this is for you."

She pushed him back, straddling him as she kissed her way from his chest, down his abdomen, before coming to rest between her legs, looking down at the hard length of him. His heart hammered in his chest, as it did every time she touched him, waiting to see what she would do next. His fingers tightened in her hair as she wrapped her hand around him, his hips bucking eagerly into her grip. When she lowered her head, he groaned.

"Margaret, you don't have…"

His words were lost as she ran her tongue along the length of him, replaced by an incomprehensible groan of pleasure. When she took the head of his cock into her mouth, her tongue dragging against the sensitive flesh, he was lost.

"Oh, God, please."

He felt his thighs tremble, the muscles tightening as she moved her head gently up and down, taking him deep. His fingers tightened in the sheets, his chest heaving as he tried desperately to keep his composure. His toes curled, each swipe of her tongue sending sparks through his veins.

Willing himself to move, he lifted his head and stared at the glorious sight. He felt Margaret moan around him, and caught sight of her hand between her legs. He felt a funny sort of pride at that; once, she had been embarrassed at the keen pleasure she had felt. Now, she took it for herself. But tonight, selfish as he was, he wanted to be the one to give her that pleasure.

"Stop," he sat up, pulling away. "I want to make you come. Turn."

She looked at him from her place between his legs with confused, lust hazed eyes.

"Turn?"

"Let me fuck you with my tongue while you suck me."

Wordlessly, her breath coming on eager little puffs, she rose to her knees, coming to lie beside him with her feet at the head of the bed. He turned to his side too, hands stroking her thighs and shoving the prohibitive material of her nightgown up to her waist. And then, when she was satisfied she was in the right position, her mouth resumed its work.

He groaned, his hands resting on the perfect softness of her backside as he pulled her forward, his tongue finding that perfect wetness he loved so much.

"My god," he groaned against her as she took him deep, "The way you taste. I'll never get enough."

The lewd compliment made her moan around him, her fingers digging into his thighs. He could barely think, his mind consumed by pleasure as his tongue worked against her, devouring her. He felt pleasure overwhelm him so sharply that it took everything in him to restrain himself.

She pulled back, crying out as she shuddered, nails biting into his skin as she cried out her release. Before he could say anything, she hauled herself to her knees. She shoved him onto his back, straddling him, He nodded his consent, his nails digging into her thighs as she sunk down onto him, so slowly that he thought he might lose his mind. She hummed contentedly as she took him in - the perfect seductress.

"Oh, fuck," his head fell back, eyes rolling closed as his mouth fell open. He was sure he would never grow used to this, to the hot, delicious welcome of his wife's cunt.

She rode him hard, his eyes fixed on her perfect tits bouncing as she took her pleasure. He could do nothing but watch, delighting in her every move. She was a work of art, so exquisitely beautiful that he could not believe he belonged to her, that a woman so divine could possibly want him for her husband. The dip of her waist seemed to fit his hands perfectly as he held her steady, her thighs pressing against his as she pinned him in place.

"I love you," she said in a low, husky voice. "I love you so much. Do not let anyone make you doubt me."

"I love you," he panted, pleasure racing through him as she moved so quickly he could barely catch his breath.

She lowered herself, bracing her weight on her forearms as she kissed his neck, biting gently as she slowed her pace, her hips winding in slow, grinding circles as she murmured softly into his ear.

"You are wonderful," she said, fingers threading through the hair on his chest. "You are kind, considerate, and loving. You are mine, John. I do not care what others might say. This man, he is only for me to see. Do you understand?"

He could only nod as she kissed him fiercely, her weight pressing against him as she shuddered and tightened around him. Helplessly, fingers grasping at the small of her back, he felt release claim him, incoherent words of love falling from him.

After, as his wife lay tucked into his side, a joyous smile on her face, John wondered how he had ever doubted her happiness.