Padding down the stairs as though the price of being caught was her very life, Blue peered around the corner. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t wished Vincent would be sitting at the table as he had been that fateful day before. His shoulders would be squared. Mouth set in the same firm line, curling at the edges like kindled parchment. Eyes so sharp and dark she could swear he’d silently planned to kill them all for spare change. Staring at her longingly. Gaze as warm as it had been gawking at her wrapped in his bedsheets.
Her coffee hadn’t kept her full quite as long as she’d hoped. Blue had planned to eat with Anya after her parents had gone to bed—something she had quite often. Yet the smell of the cheap burrito she’d eaten with Vincent lingered on her breath. Each exhale made her stomach roar. Fate was a cruel mistress.
Meeting the gaze of her waiting mother planted rather stiffly at the dining table, Blue hadn’t the same sorrow
There was some strange humour in the fact that Bradley Pierce's office, a place Blue hadn't been in since she was ten, had quickly become her favourite place to slip away and lose herself in some intensive tonsil-tennis and pre-marital sex. Almost just as strange was the fact that Vincent, a man she hadn't met 10 days ago, was being invited over more and more by Marian to keep the fast-ageing woman company during the times Bradley and Richard inevitably snuck off together as though they were the married couple. Perhaps if Blue wasn't so occupied, she would find the time her father and the man she was supposedly going to marry spent together strange... but she hadn't even noticed, let alone given it any thought. Blue found herself laughing rather loudly. "You've taken this exact shirt off three times already and you still get stuck on the buttons?" The words fell between lips almost sewn to her own, and though she chuckled with the playful spirits she would soo
Staring back at the man whose eyes shone with something dark and hidden, lips firmed into the same line they always had, face so clear of any hint he’d been joking, Blue laughed rather harshly. “I must really be screwed if that’s all you can think of,” “I’m serious—think about it,” Standing slowly, paper forgotten by their feet, fingers twisting with hers, Blue somehow felt in some strange way that the idea wasn’t as crazy as she had first thought it. His eyes bore down on hers with the weight of deep pressure therapy. Lulled any worries. Embraced her where his arms had not. She stood with him. “It’s the only thing that makes sense,” “You can’t fight crazy with crazy.” “On the contrary,” Wrapping his arms around the woman’s shoulders, Vincent wished—however momentarily—that she’d had a shirt to wear. With her breasts all but falling from her bra and her heart pressing into his chest
As Blue ate, she found it rather difficult to quash daydreams of her night spent with Vincent. They’d spent the better half of their day shopping. He had taken her halfway across town to a cheap diner for a pancake dinner at her own behest. They’d gotten into his apartment late. He’d entertained her desire for a traditional proposal. Vincent took her to his balcony. The wind had swept up through her skirt and billowed through her hair. She could hear the traffic even dozens of floors below. Smell the city. Light from the apartment had poured in through the larger windows, warming the man as he sunk to a crouch before her. He pulled out the ring she had chosen herself, yellow gold, and said the four words so plainly. Yet she’d never heard them quite the same. She’d worn the ring to bed with him, though they hadn’t slept much. He woke up at four-thirty in the morning to drive her home. She’d made it back just in time to sneak in for breakfast. &
Blue had never expected that the people watching her as she walked down the aisle would be her husband’s housekeepers. She had always assumed Anya would be present, at the very least. Rather, hoped she would. Vincent had done rather well with only two days to make any arrangements. They’d chosen to marry at his penthouse, the very balcony he’d indulged Blue in the fake proposal. He’d thrown pots of white roses about—of which Blue had already planned where to place around the apartment when they were done. Strung fairy lights from the glass panelling overlooking the city. Cleared away the alfresco dining table and chairs. A wreath of tuberose and gardenia circled them where an arch couldn’t. They hadn’t found an officiant with so little in the way of notice. A priest stood waiting with Vincent, instead. She didn’t have the time to find a dress she’d wanted in her size. Though, she had always imagined some princess grown with gold
"You know, taking me to all your business meetings when my mother might have filed a missing person report by now probably isn't the best idea," Blue avoided Vincent's eyes due to the sheer possibility her cheeks would be bright red—he had kept one hand on the steering wheel the whole drive back to the hotel and the other onher; one part of her body or the other. Of course, when he laced his fingers with hers, the touch had been rather tame. At odd moments on the highway where he didn't have to think too much at all, he'd hook a hand beneath her underwear and trace the length of her in the most painful way she could ever imagine. She'd wanted nothing more than to fuck his hand as though her life depended on it but lacked the sheer valor and instead settled on rocking her head back and pressing her lips together as she fisted the edge of her seat and held back a cry of frustration. "You're eighteen, Blue, I haven't stolen a child from their home—did yo
Staring up at the man, she wondered if she should beg as she wanted to so dearly. Yet his eyes met her with the same softness they had standing at their do-it-yourself altar. Regardless of whether they married in haste out of pure necessity, Blue felt no guilt in taking for granted they’d married for love in those few moments. Convinced herself quietly that he cared for her as deeply as she for him. Sunk back into her own inventions where they ran away and started a family of their own. And though she felt a fond smile she hadn’t the mind to suppress would betray her fantastic delusions, Vincent merely straightened. Shrugged a throw over his shoulders. Pinned it beneath his arms. Hid the woman from the world as though they’d been watched and pressed into her somewhat gently. Traced the blossoming red marks that encircled her neck with his lips. Pushed his hips into hers rather crudely… Whether inspired by his ever-advancing orgasm or any genuine sentiment, he consid
Blue hadn’t managed a week away from home when she found she had started to miss Anya. The woman had woken her every day for eighteen years. Bid her goodnight at the end of each day. Prepared her meals. Used the scented detergent she liked. Bought her toiletries. Listened to her petty grievances. Knew how to cook her eggs. How to make her bed in a way the loose sheets wouldn’t bother her. How to untangle the hair she was rather tempted to cut as short as she could. How to ease the girl’s worry with the gentle smile she always had. Though Blue feared Anya hadn’t missed her. Marian hadn’t crossed her mind in quite some time. She’d been away from home for a meager week. Vincent woke her each morning. They’d eat breakfast together. He’d set off to work, come home for lunch. They’d eat rather quickly. End up half-naked one way or the other, fuck and redress in a mere fifteen minutes. And she’d be left on her own until he’d return from work. With h
Vincent, freshly bathed with beads of water gathering at the fringe and a towel dangerously low on his narrow hips was a sight to behold. But perhaps even greater, was a half-naked Blue, arm thrown over her eyes, hair sitting in a mass beneath her, his own tee-shirt ridden up around her stomach and briefless nether region on full display to the prying eyes of a particularly aroused and thoroughly showered man. Despite the primal instinct to amend her nakedness with his own mouth and take on his tongue what he longed to taste so dearly, he shifted his weight with a sigh against the doorframe and watched the full frame of his dearwifebecome cast with his own shadow. "Ever since I met you, I've pictured you in my bed like this," "You have?" The darkness enveloping her shrunk with his every step forward until all that remained was a fraction of the looming shadow that had been. Much to his delight, a sliver of the bathroom light fell between he