A Budding Desire
Don Pedro x Wife!Reader
More Pedro here
~ I write with black women in mind, but everyone is welcome to read and share!
MDNI // Mature // WC: 1.5k // allusions to sex but nothing explicit, fluff, believe it or not. this is a sweet one, . . . for me at least. I'm learning! Heavily inspired by the fluff master @slippinninque // masterlist
Summary: After a long day playing in your garden, you want your husband and most importantly, his attention.
Hazily, in a trance of some kind, you enter the palace after spending your afternoon in the field of flowers your husband had planted for you. Children often congregated there and you played and laughed with them for as long as you could. They eventually had to go home to their mother's and wash up for supper.
Perhaps it was time for you to consider—no, you gently chided yourself.
You had time.
You and Pedro agreed to wait. Your marriage was young, and he valued what he called 'the wiles of your young and vivacious heart.'
Your father always said you needed to be wed and tamed by honorable and virtuous man. How disappointed he will be when you meet again one day once he learns that your husband indulges your every thought and whim. That he has blessed you with a place, a home, to be whoever you wish and do whatever your heart desires.
Your husband would not dare for you to give into the pressures of society.
You would have kids when you wanted to, for yourself.
The floor was cold underneath your sun kissed feet. Hot from your time spent gallivanting and chasing children about and indulging in their games.
You had Mrs. Bertha run you a bath.
The water was as hot, two hairs away from scalding. It was her way of politely telling you how indecent of a condition you are in.
As you softly caressed your skin in the hot water, a shiver ran down your spine. Each pad of your finger left goosebumps in its wake. Your skin was so soft to the touch. Alone, accompanied by the symphony of the water splashing with your movements, you savored the moment.
You let out a soft sound, barely above a whisper.
You think of your husband's hands.
How seasoned with time and experience they were. The hard work they've endured and the horrors they might have inflicted on others, the horrors they've defended himself from. How much you wanted them on you now.
How they feel on your own skin. How he often gently caresses your soft supple cheeks . How he likes to press them gently but firmly on the expanse of your tummy. How, depending on his mood, he'll inflict a whisper of a touch to roll the peaks of your nipples with his fingertips, or how he will squeeze one breast in a firm tantalizing grip as the other is enraptured in his lips under the searing pursuit of his tongue.
Rinsing the last of the soap off your body, you call for Mrs. Bertha to wash and redo your hair. You push away the thoughts running rampant through your mind to protect your modesty, fearful of the older maids presence.
God hasn't given anyone on this earth his affinity for omniscience, since Christ his son, but your heart quickens in your chest anyway. The worry that she might know what lies in your thoughts at this moment dashes across your conscience anyway.
As soon as you feel Bertha's practiced fingers style the last curl of your hair, you quickly rise out of the tub.
"Thank you Mrs. Bertha I'll dry and clothe myself this afternoon." You dismiss her urgently but as politely as you can manage.
"Very well, Princess." She humbly bows and slips away.
You rub oil into your skin as your baptized in golden hues of sunlight.
Your breath hitches when your hands roam over the peaks of your nipples. They never felt so heavy, hard, and straining for something you can't give them.
Memories of your husbands lips and the hot wet swipe of his tongue haunt your thoughts along with the tickle of his facial hair on the softest parts of your skin, places no one sees and the sun doesn't kiss with its rays until the heavy weight of your husband's hands hold you down and expose you, bearing witness your desire to the unyielding judgment of the sun, the world, and God.
You slip into a nightgown. The material was soft as your skin, a breath away from sheer.
The hem swished back and forth across your thighs as you fervently made your way down the hall. The long thin robe you paired it with, barely covering you in modest,dusted the floor behind you in a long trail.
Whatever house workers that were lingering about as they managed their evening tasks, quickly disappeared into the hidden pathways they use to get around the palace. The guards keeping watch on every other hall remained silent as you strode past them with steadfast purpose.
You push the heavy doors of the study open.
Pedro was writing away at his desk. His men at his side waiting for orders, or discussing business, or whatever it is they do, but right now you can not find it in you to spare it a second thought.
"Husband," you say shakily, laying your eyes upon him made the burning inside you soar, the ache between your thighs feel worse, and your heart quicken "I must speak with you."
He hardly moves, keeping his eyes downcast as he writes away at what holds his attention.
"My dear wife," he starts lazily, the lovely low dulcet tones of his voice carry a unhurried rhythm as he begins to scold you in the firm but light manner he usually does when your both in the company of others. On any other day you would have welcomed and enjoyed such a thing, but right now, all you want is for him to find a sense of urgency.
As if risen by God's hand, his head lifts up slowly.
His lips part slightly and his eyes widen just a hair.
"Leave us." He waives a hand and his men clamor out the room, with their eyes held high, their necks straining and the hint of sweat on there brows as they do everything within their mortal power to not look at you as they scamper from his and your presence.
He keeps you under a hard stare. It was emotionless in nature and you couldn't muster a single idea of what could be on his mind.
He was a different man in his study— when he is working.
No more were his broad smiles, high praises, and soft words of affection.
They were replaced by an uneasy stare and a unapproachable aloofness seated in a slow searing anger that would usually unnerve you, but in this moment, as he looks at you with those frightening eyes, you felt you could hardly breathe. Your chest rose and fell heavily. As you balled your fist to keep a resemblance of calm, your arousal surges through you painfully, pooling between your legs and threatening to slip past your thighs.
"Speak". He said in a unfamiliar calm but terse tone." His voice didn't rise, it didn't drop into something low or change into something different, but his gaze turned hard and cold unlike any look you've ever seen him give you before.
You were clearly in trouble.
However, none of that registered into your understanding.
Blissfully unaware, your heart, hazy with lust froze, but your born given common sense takes over, having you answer immediately. Your mind takes over your body and knowing it best not to keep him waiting in such an ill tempered state.
"I-" you say with a hitch of your breath. "I need you."
"And this could not wait until—"
You move, taking unsteady yet confident strides to meet him behind his desk. His nostrils flair at your impiety and you take it without shame. He raises his hand to perhaps slam the desk or waive it around to command some respect from you/
Wordlessly, you place your foot between his thigh and the arm rest of his chair and gently grab his hand from the air to place it onto your lips, covering his fingers with the ache of your all consuming arousal.
The fury from moments before dissipated from his chest. His shoulders relax from their royal position into something soft.
Tenderly, he brushes his knuckles over your pussy. The soft bumps of his hand knock gently across your clit, making you softly gasp and clench the hem of your gown in your fist.
"Why didn't you come to me sooner?" he pains with a furrowed brow.
"It just happened." You say breathlessly.
"Just happened?" he says in urgency as he rises, wrapping his arms around your legs, and carrying out into the hall with you half-hanging over his shoulder.
You shift down, wiggling wildly until your legs can wrap around him.
You gasp against his chest and lay your cheek against him, savoring the thundering beat of his heart against your ear. The warmth of his chest as it seeps through his shirt.
He cradles your head tighter against him., softly nestling his fingers into the soft roots of your hair.
"Forgive me?" he pleads softly into the soft tufts of you hair against his lips
You grab at his arm as he storms down the hall.
"You're already forgiven."
.
.
.
.
.
taglist: @tenderhoof @greedyhoneyz @solarmercurial @sharpaysbestfriend @plan3tch1ld @myhobari @sunfllowerdd @winterbabes @simply-lovley44
