Maggie Smith, Self-Portrait as an Incomplete List of Mysteries/Virginia Woolf, The Diary of Virginia Woolf, Volume III: 1920-1924/Clarice Lispector, The Passion According to G.H./Ghost PNG Transparent/ Joan Didion, Play it as it Lays/Clarice Lispector, The Passion According to G.H
No explicit warnings for this one. Just a spoiled brat.
Please reblog and comment and let me know what you think! I appreciate you.
You're done for the day before Sabrina is due to arrive. Les always enjoys the detours to pick up the bubbly women lined up for the Thrombey heir. The driver is good at talking and the girls let him.
For once, the house is quiet upon your departure. Hugh isn't out revving the Beemer or shouting about his designer jacket needing cleaning. You're a sliver concerned that he hasn't left the bed all day, yet you're not overly surprised. He's a bit too old to be drowning himself in liquor all night. He rarely takes a lesson to heart but he might acquire an ounce of restraint.
For all your years working for demanding and entitled clients, you've learned a good lesson. Leave work at work. The moment you're on the car, you're already planning supper. You prepped some crab cakes and have fresh cucumbers from the garden.
The modest townhouse is nothing compared to Ransom's nepotistic abode. You prefer it however. It's small and it's yours.
You groan as you get out and try to stretch out the knot between your neck and shoulder. It's always right there. You hook your purse on your arm and yawn as you plod up the steps.
The door opens from the other side. You perk up at James as he grips the doorframe and looms over you. His lips slant coyly.
"Ah, a beautiful woman? On my doorstep?" He grins.
"James," you tilt your head. "You're cute but I'm tired."
"I know a few ways to wake you up," your husband winks.
You arch a brow and he drops his hand from the frame. He takes your purse and steps back to let you in. You lean on the wall as you pull off your sneakers with your thumb.
"Long day?" He wonders.
"Not really. Only quiet."
"Quiet? I don't think you've ever used that word when it comes to work."
"Well, it was," you sigh and swallow a yawn. "Ugh, I'm beat."
"Mm, quiet day, how about a loud night--"
"You are the devil," you sway his shoulder playfully and turn down the hall.
"And yet, you married me."
"Oh I'm a fool. I never said otherwise."
"Ah, but I would claim that title too."
You snort. "Quit. You're not as charming as you think."
"Only desperate, my love. I've missed you," he follows you to the kitchen.
"Missed you too." You go to the fridge and take out the prepped ramekins. "When's your next trip?"
"If only I knew," he sighs. "Forgive me, I do ask. I don't always get answers."
"Well, let's enjoy tonight," you shrug.
"I enjoy every second with you, love."
You stick out your tongue as you peel back the wrap. "How did I marry such a corny man?"
-
James traces his thumb along the curve of neck and shoulder. He has a way of finding exactly where the tension needles. You groan and buries your head deeper into the pillow.
"That's it, love, a little louder for me."
You murmur into the pillow. His hands continue to work, kneading you expertly. You are putty in his hands.
"Mm," he rubs along your back and traces your shape. "Spectacular. And I'm suppose to behave myself."
He bends over you and nuzzles behind your neck. You giggoe as he tickles you. He nips and you yelp.
You roll over as he recoils. Your chest bounces freely as you do. You quickly sweep your arm around his neck and pull him down to meet your lips.
He kisses you deeply, moving to rest between your legs. He parts and brushes his nose against yours, "frisky, are we?"
"You got me worked up." You accuse.
"Can I not even get my jeans off?"
"Keep them on, it's sexy," you hook your legs around his. "Do you remember the golf club?"
"Awfully dull until we found that stall."
You purr and comb your hand down his arm. "We should go again. Or I heard they have tennis courts around here."
"Naughty," he slithers.
A sudden blaring honk makes you flinch. James furrows his brows. "Some road rage," he remarks.
"Yeah," you rub his bicep.
"It's tensed you right back up," he leans on his elbow and runs his hand up your stomach.
He fondles your chest and leans down to kiss the tender skin. Another honk makes him twitch. He sighs and keeps going but so does the ruckus. He lifts his head and snarls.
"Perhaps some music?" He suggests.
"Maybe," you agree.
He reluctantly peels himself off of you. You squeeze your thighs together as heat brews in your core. You're not as tired as you were hours before.
He presses the button on the Bluetooth speaker and fiddles with his phone.
"Love, I'll warm you right back up."
The honking stops as he puts slow jazz on. He sets his phone down and turns back to you. He nears the bed and leans his knee on the edge. He rolls his shirt up above his stomach and suddenly the doorbell chimes. He cringes and hangs his head back in frustration.
"Lord help me."
"What was it you said to me? Anticipation makes the taste sweeter--"
The doorbell dings repeatedly. The frantic rhythm drains the humour from the room. You sit up as the distant hammering sounds from the front door.
"What on earth?" James tugs his shirt back down to his waist.
He strides out of the room in agitation. You'd laugh if you weren't so concerned. Your husband is only uptight when he's denied.
You get up and grab your robe from behind the door. You hurry to the stairs as James is already at the bottom. He opens the door a crack as you hover above.
"Hello, can I help you?" He snarls.
"Huh? Who-- I...." the familiar voice chills your bones. You tie the robe tight. "Think I got the wrong house."
"Hugh?" You come to the bottom of the stairs. "What are you doing?"
Your husband sends you a look as you grab the doorhandle and pull it open. He puts his hand on your lower back. Hugh blinks dumbly as he looks between you.
"I-- you didn't-- Sabrina--" he stutters and shakes his head. "Little bitch."
"Pardon? That's my wife," James bristles and unsnakes his arm from you, stepping between you and your unwelcomed guest.
"Not her. Sabrina!" Ransom slurs.
"Hugh, are you drunk again?" You ask.
"This... this is your employer?" James connects the pieces.
"Uh, yes," you touch your husband's arm gently. "Hugh," you step into the door. "Why did you come here?"
Hugh's eyes blaze in anger at you. His head bobbles as his emotions play across his face, his cheeks rosy from drinking. He blinks with and effort.
"You--you--" he points his finger and James quickly grabs it.
"Do not point at her," he throws his hand back. The force of it topples Hugh as he stumbles back and trips off the top step. He somersaults backward into a heap at the bottom and you exhale.
"James, he's harmless." You chide.
"Oh, he certainly is," he clicks his tongue.
You both stare at Hugh. He groans as he lays face down. His breath is shallow. You look at your husband.
"Suppose I'll being him in before the raccoons come looking for rubbish," he steps forward with a huff.
