continued from x
@bruisedstare said:
her chest exposed and heaving with uneven breaths , tanned flesh glinting with a thin layer of sweat . she believes it was a ' punishment ' for seeing miguel a few days ago and if it'll end like this every time she misbehaves then he can't expect her to behave at all . facing the ceiling , eventually managing to control the rhythm of her wild heart and breathing pattern , the woman finds herself staring at igor . again . with a fascination that's brought a woman like maría to get excited again , to make love not because she had to pretend but because she WANTED to . instead of taming her , igor had accidentally made her into a wanton little thing that missed him terribly when he was away .
before sleep takes him however , maría is quickly crawling over his naked form and laying a lingering kiss on his cheek . a contrast between how gentle she is now and how desperate she was a few minutes ago . before she went to sleep , in brighter years of her childhood and whenever her father was free enough to stay the night , he'd kiss her goodnight before she wandered into dreamlands . she does the same to her son and igor just looked so lovely under moonlight and with a single darkening spot on his neck . he couldn't be compared to miguel , to any man . her smile is a playful one when he opens his eyes , maybe he can stay awake a little before sleeping .
❛ are you still angry ? ❜
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Igor is slick with sweat; his muscles visibly tense with exertion as he falls to her side to catch his breath and light a cigarette; his palms already ache with how hard he has gripped her flesh throughout their fevered tryst. He was not gentle with her, but rough; rough because he was not inclined to handle her delicately tonight, not after hearing she had visited Miguel during his absence. Despite being assured she had done nothing more than comfort her weak, pathetic husband, jealousy still burns bright in Igor’s veins. They are not yet divorced, not officially and that makes the man a rival in every sense, one who might try to use Maria’s sweet and loving nature to manipulate her into returning to him, perhaps offering her a constancy Igor simply cannot.
Grinding out his half-smoked cigarette, the Pakhan turns when he senses her watching him closely, mostly expecting the question that eventually falls from her full lips. He can’t blame her; when he carried her up to bed earlier, it was with a possessive fury.
“Should I be?” He replies, a wry smile on his face that shows he is mostly being playful.
Pulling her to him, his hand slips over her, to rest cupping at her rear, as his playful tone turns a little darker.
“How did it feel Maria, to watch him cry like baby?”
