She sat on the solid counter in the well sized bathroom that was nestled between their two bedrooms, her legs dangling off the side as she swung them back and forth like an antsy child, her nails freshly painted with the latest trending shade of red. She was in only her nightgown now, darkness having bled into the sunlight of another day. They had already taken a large bite out of the night since her lover tended to stay up until the wee hours of the morning before he finally decided he was tired enough to sleep. She didn’t always accompany him as far into the night as he ventured, but she tried to take advantage of the occasions he was home as best she could, especially if she thought he might be in a good mood.
She knew the moment he walked in the door whether they would spend most of their time in the presence of others and the small amount of alone time they would have simply resting, being happy and comfortable to be with one another again; or if they would spend most afternoons taking suspicious-though never verbally questioned-“naps” only a few hours after he had risen, and retiring to bed earlier than he usually did during the evenings.
It was not a typical good mood she looked for. She sought out the good, good mood. The mood that translated to her that he was not only up for, but expecting sex. Something she was always more than willing to deliver. He was gone so much after all and she was usually highly wound up and in a desperate state of need when he dropped by, like he knew when she was squirming for his return, no matter the distance between them.
She would swear he had some sort of internal mechanism that constantly notified him of her current states; something that alerted him when she was becoming a little too comfortable with simply satisfying herself. This was when he would take it upon himself to travel back to their mountain home so he could remind her just how superior the feeling of having him inside her felt compared to her own fingers. Once he had finished indulging and filling her up with fresh mementos that would ensure she looked for the sensation of him over anything else, he would leave again to continue waging his precious war against the world.
The first nights were undeniably the most cruel and most trying. She would violently toss about in bed, throwing off the sheets as her skin burned for his absent, professional touch. Her hands would slide down her humming body and slip into the front of her lavish silk panties (bought with his money), her fingers seeking out the spot on her body that was screaming for attention. But no matter how persistent she was in her manipulations, she somehow always found herself at an utter loss. How could it be that he knew her body better than she did when it came to this?
She would eventually give up, her hands falling onto the bed in vexation as she released a forceful sigh from between pursed lips. She would glance over at the framed portrait of him that sat up on her nightstand, his eyes glowering at her as if he was disappointed in the fact that she had even tried. He clearly thought she should know better by now than to try and imitate something only he could engender. She would scowl back at his picture, childishly sticking her tongue out and desiring to curse his name for purposefully placing her into such a tortuous position but not finding enough will to do it due to the staggering amount of love she felt for him.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be angry with him. She’d come to accept that the two emotions could coexist within her; that because she may feel a negative emotion towards him at one point or another, this did not mean her love had dissipated or disappeared. The day she had realized this was one of the happiest of her life, as she was now certain that she finally knew how it felt to deeply and truly love another being.
She had experienced proof that nothing could touch her deep rooted feelings for him. As much as her parents and her older sister might hope and wish for the opposite, her devotion and affection for him was a permanent fixture within her that would never leave. It was a part of her soul.
As she relaxed alone in their bathroom, wandering through her thoughts and memories, she noticed a muffled noise come from the other side of the closed bathroom door. She heard him give an exasperated sigh as he shut his bedroom door and began to make his way to the bathroom. She waited for him with a bright smile on her face, stardust shimmering in her eyes.
He opened the door and instantly spotted her, halting in his step. He studied her for a moment before continuing to shut and lock the door behind him. “You look as though you’re expecting something,” he stated, suspicion and a hint of caution in his expression. He was trying to figure out why she had settled herself onto the counter, attempting to understand the essence behind her woman logic, though that was usually a road that lead nowhere.
She gave a buoyant laugh, saying: “Only you. But you’re here now.”
His eyebrows furrowed in disbelief for a second but he decided to shrug it off and think nothing more of it. “Women’s logic” was the only explanation he needed to satisfy his wondering. He moved to the sink next to her and turned on the tap.
“Adi, look at my nails,” she said as she held her hand in front of his freshly washed face, her fingers fanned out. “Aren’t they beautiful? This is the hottest color in Berlin right now. All of the celebrities are wearing it.”
He frowned, unimpressed with her fashion statement. “You know I hate unnatural nail colors. It’s unnecessary and hooligan-ish.”
She ruffled his hair, inspiring a dirty look from him before he reviewed himself in the mirror, moving to fix his part. “You’re such an old man,” she teased light heartedly as she reached for a towel, her hand coated in his hair product.
“You’re only discovering this now?” he questioned as he went ahead and retrieved the towel before she could get at it. He grabbed her hand and gently wiped off her palm and the inside of her fingers until the sheen had vanished. Then he turned her hand over, observing her perfectly lacquered nails. “Your hands are much more beautiful in their natural state. Why would you desire to cover up innate feminine beauty?” He brought her fingers to his lips and gave them an affectionate squeeze.
“You’re behind on the times, Chef,” she said, her eyes twinkling, her feet swinging again. “Your traditional ways are old news. New trends have taken over.”
He abruptly stepped in front of her, trapping her legs against the cupboards. “I am a trend,” he retorted smugly.
She bowed toward him, placing her palms flat against him as she rested on his chest. “Impossible,” she breathed quietly, the word caressing his neck. “Who would be into an old fellow like yourself?”
“You,” he answered, placing a hand onto the counter beside her thigh, his fingers curled into his palm. He leaned forward, reaching up and delicately taking a hold of her chin with his other hand, compelling her to look nowhere but his stare. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” he murmured, his voice lubricated and as smooth as oil. “But I believe you especially, Miss Braun, have a thing for older men like myself.”
“What would make you think that?” she pressed, her hands moving down to his belt, gripping it so she could yank him closer.
“Nothing in particular,” he responded, his hand moving to the back of her neck. He suddenly pulled her toward him and her head fell back, her eyes half-lidded and glazed over as she gave into him. “Though, perhaps it has something to do with how you melt and become putty in my hands?” he suggested, bringing his other hand up to cup her face, his thumb gently parting her soft lips. He gazed tenderly into her eyes and she could see his flaring appetite, his swelling craving to devour her.
“Perhaps you’re right,” she said weakly, her voice as frail as a wisp of smoke. She slowly but confidently brought her knees up, her skin gliding up the fabric of his clothing as she wrapped her strong calves around his waist. He placed one hand onto her thigh, smoothly sliding it up her skin as he pushed the glossy material of her nightgown higher. He reached her hip bone and his fingers drifted to her midsection, proceeding downward. The way she had positioned herself left her open and exposed to him; and he soon discovered far more than he had expected: he immediately felt warm, moist flesh and realized she had neglected to slip on a pair of panties.
“Verdammt, Eva,” he cursed. She knew what to do. She loosened his belt with rapid speed, unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers with familiar ease. She released and guided him to her opening in greedy urgency. He wasted no time with formalities, pushing and burying himself inside of her completely, in one precise movement. She called out, a short, loud burst, a hiccup-like noise of rhapsody. He firmly cupped a hand over her mouth as he progressed to thrusting in and out of her with vigor, low animalistic grunts slipping from his throat no matter how much he attempted to restrain himself.
She heartily gripped onto his shirt collar, her nails digging into the material as she anchored herself to him, allowing for maximum sensation as she moved with him. She wanted to feel all the force he was putting behind his actions, afraid to miss even a single second of the feeling of him filling her wholly, his solid member thrilling every nerve within her to a height only he could incite.
Keeping one over her mouth, he moved his other hand to her waist, his fingers securely clutching her hip as he drove himself harder and deeper into her. She groaned into his hand, her high pitched voice desperate and pained in a way that said she’d been waiting far too long for this. It was too much. She couldn’t handle it, though neither could he.
As it was with every reunion of theirs, each was aware they wouldn’t make it very long once they had finally regained the highest state of physical intimacy they shared with one another. He could already feel her insides clamping down, attempting to constrict his movements. This only spurred him on, the feeling of her fiercely latching onto him. It didn’t take much before he finally felt her spasm, her muscles erupting in contractions as she suddenly bit down onto his hand, her teeth sinking into his flesh. His jaw clenched as a feral growl ripped from within his chest and out between his bared teeth, his hips giving her one last forceful thrust before he released himself inside her, his body pulsating with endorphins.
They were still for a few long, slow minutes, interlocked with one another as they rode out on the wave of the high that had crashed into and completely absorbed them. As soon as it began to evaporate, he removed himself from within her and she relaxed, her body instantly going limp on the counter-top. They each began to expel exhausted breaths, their nerves still tingling and sparking. Silver stars danced in her vision as she stared straight ahead of her, the energy to rearrange her nightgown to recover herself absent. She simply sat slumped against the wall behind her, her mind spinning round and round like a steadily rotating moon. She became aware that the material of the counter beneath her suddenly felt cold to her sensitive skin.
By the time she languidly slid her eyes back over to him he had already reorganized his clothing. He was observing her with a drained albeit satisfied countenance, his fingers running through his hair as he listlessly attempted to reform it. He promptly dropped his hand back down to his side, disregarding the few strands of hair that hung over his forehead.
He casually walked past her toward the entrance to her bedroom, faintly caressing her face with his fingertips. He paused in the threshold, delicately gripping her chin and turning her to look at him, his blue eyes holding her gaze. “Don’t take too long in your recovery, Tschapperl. I will be expecting another round from you tonight.” He continued on into her bedroom, leaving her to regain her composure alone in the bathroom. She sighed and dropped her head back against the wall, smiling contentedly as she grabbed the fluffy towel that sat beside her. She brought it up to her face, inhaling the scent of his hair.
This is why she waited; this is why she stayed; this is why she would be by his side always.
The rules of marriage did not apply to them. They operated under something much grander, something much more complex. This was something no other individual could possibly understand or emulate. It would be impossible, for he was hers and hers alone and he was the essential key to experiencing such a star-aligning event. He was magnificent; otherworldly; supernatural; and he had given his heart to her.
Yes, the rules of marriage would never apply to them: for even in death, she knew they would never part.
© 2014 Elizabeth Klarke
This isn’t even close to where I had intended to go with this one. It was actually supposed to be more introspective.
Ah well. Y’all get sex.