BUSINESS
Summary: The wife of the curator of the British Museum meets Med-Jai warrior Ardeth Bay. Ardeth, OC.
Category: Angst, drama, romance.
Rating: M
Author's note: Any feedback will be treasured for the rest of my life, and keep me going.
Chapter Six
Several nights later she seduced her husband in front of the open window, because she somehow knew that he was out there watching her. She flung him into the wicker chair beside the window and straddled his legs and loosened his belt and took his flushed member between her hands, feeling it harden as she kneaded him.
"Margie—" Beads of sweat were forming on his brow.
"It's been too long."
"But Charlie—"
"He's like a rock when he sleeps."
"The window—"
"It's one in the morning, darling. Everyone is asleep. Besides, it's hot. It will be hot," she said, and kissed him on his forehead.
When he was ready she flung off her shift and lowered her nude figure onto him, relishing in the pain of the swift penetration. She bucked her hips into him and moaned in the dirtiest way she could muster – something between a throaty rasp and a childlike whine. She moaned and cried out to God and heaven and hell with every upward jerk of his hips, and pressed his face into the center of her breasts, reddening her skin with the friction of his unshaven jaw and mustache.
He was too surprised to do anything but to drive himself into her with strangled grunts. At one point, he began, "Margie, what did you say—" but she broke him off with a cry.
"Fuck me harder," she said, though the force of their thrusting was stifling off any chance of a climax. "Fuck me harder."
"Margie—"
"Say it, Alfred. Say fuck. Say dirty words."
He did, while staring up at her with a face that was as flushed as a beet, while his saliva flew from his mouth and flecked his lips, his chin.
She continued moaning, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. She gazed out into the darkness and licked her lips and slammed herself like a wrecking ball against her husband until, quite suddenly, he let out a strangled cry and clutched her to him as his body convulsed in a shiver.
She softly ground herself into him as he rode out his climax.
"My God, Margie," he said at last, and kissed her chest.
She found that she could no longer bear looking into that red, swollen, perspiration-stained face, which was staring up at her like a sated puppy, and pulled herself off of him, letting his seed spill onto the fabric of his khaki trousers.
"Oh, bloody hell—"
She left him there, scrubbing at his pants with his handkerchief, and walked into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror.
The bruises were already begin to blossom on her skin.
And then suddenly she was crying in silent, wracking sobs that shook her and choked her until her throat was sore with the effort of holding them down, and she lowered herself into the lion-footed bathtub. She didn't turn on the water, only reached down and rubbed the hard nub between her legs until she finally climaxed in a barely stifled cry.
"Margie? Are you all right?"
"I'm taking a shower," she called back, twisting the squealing handle of the faucet. "I slipped."
"Are you hurt?"
"Not at all, darling. Only bumped my knee."
She let the warm water run down her hair and her shoulders, and she raised her head to the stream and mouthed: "Ardeth. Ardeth."
In retrospect it was completely stupid, what she had done, but it was too late now, and she would eventually run into him one morning and all words would escape her.
TO BE CONTINUED…