A thousand meals flickered through Lydia's mind when she was finally given free rein of the kitchen, the girl instantly hopping from the counter once she had been set down and kissed.
"Boeuf bourguignon maybe…?" She muttered to herself, admiring a set of sharp cutlery. "No, that'll take all day… need something faster… Ribeye? No, something like that needs longer to marinate… I know!"
She was already pulling out dishes; a cutting board, a large knife, a skillet, a cookie sheet, and a large pot to fill with water. A white apron with red polka dots was hung up next to the fireplace, and she strung it over her neck and around her hip without even thinking about it, having no desire to get her pretty Morticia dress dirty.
"I need a pound of large shrimp; raw, deveined and deshelled, a block of parmesan, a pint of cream, a stick of butter, and a loaf of French bread– the crusty kind."
A braid of garlic hung beside a basket of harvested onions, and Lydia gathered some of both along with a handful of basil leaves. Shrimp Alfredo was a classic, one which she hadn't had the privilege of eating or preparing in years, and never with so many tools and ingredients at her disposal. Within moments she had a mouthwatering aroma dispersing through the unused kitchens, finely minced garlic and herbs simmering in butter while she seasoned shrimp in a bowl off to the side.
"Thank you," she called yet again over her shoulder, quiet and meaningful, the girl quite grateful that she was even standing there, handling these ingredients. "I haven't cooked a real meal since… in a long time."
He sat on the counter and watched her work, leaning against the cool brick wall behind him. This was… domestic. More domestic than he was used to being.
He sighed softly. When had this become the goal? When had he become content with this kind of humdrum human shit? Still. It was awfully cute to see her all dressed up like that. He smiled and pulled her close to him in distraction when she set the shrimp aside.
"It smells good, baby… you're the best. We should have ya cook all the time."
Cold fingers reached for her as she passed, catching under her arms and around her ribs to trap her, and she fell into a lapse of giggles, fighting not to drop the bowl of shrimp.
"Okay! Okay, I will! Just let go!"
Cooking every day in a kitchen like this sounded like an excellent use of her time. Eventually, she was able to slip away shrimp unscathed, and set about prepping garlic bread.
"Cooking is like witchcraft. You can make someone feel better…" Her knife came down sharp and quick on defenseless basil leaves. "… or worse. If you were so inclined. The right combination of spices and oils and herbs and plants can cure just about any ailment‒ except serious diseases, of course… but it still helps."
"Yer a regular medicine woman, Lyds."
He snuck a pinch of the basil and popped it into his mouth. Nothing. But it was worth a shot. He could never let Lydia know that he had no sense of taste, not if she wanted to cook for him like this. Everything was grave dirt. He pressed his lips to her temple and slipped off the counter to stoke the fire again.
"This is nice. Little warmth on these old bones, huh?"
He was wishing the warmth did more. The only time he seemed to truly get warm was when he was cuddled up with Lydia.
"C'mere when ya get a sec. Wanna hold ya a minute…"
Intrigued by his tired, honest request‒ more of a command really‒ Lydia turned the simmering butter down much lower. One by one, she continued with prepping tasks until she didn't have anything left to do; folding basil into the marinating shrimp, grating parmesan, brushing some of the garlic butter and herbs onto sliced bread.
Everything was ready. If she was to move forward now, she would have to cook it to finish. No more stalling. Timid now, no longer sure of herself the way she was when she moved in the kitchen, she shuffled his way in her kitten slippers, nightgown, and apron. Unbrushed wavy hair swept ineffectually atop her head, she certainly did make for a vision of domesticity‒ were it not for how dangerously thin she was.
He looked asleep almost. He wouldn't hurt her.
Nearly soundlessly, she climbed up onto his thigh between his spread legs, settling into the nook of his elbow and slowly allowing her head to loll against his chest.
"Are you tired?"
Just because he didn't need sleep didn't mean he couldn't get tired.
"I can make coffee if you want."
He sighed happily as she settled against him, rubbing his hand slowly up and down her thin, delicate arm. Finally. Warmth.
Are you tired? I can make coffee if you want.
He shrugged, careful not to jostle her too much from her perch on his thigh. He didn't need coffee. It wouldn't make a difference anyway.
"I'm always tired, kitten. But thanks for the concern."
He slid his hand down to rest on her hip, nearly asleep with her warm against his chest and the amount of juice he had used up making the place perfect.
"We can go t'bed after dinner, huh? I can anyway… 's yer house, do what ya want."
That was just factually incorrect in every way. It was only half hers, and it certainly wasn't anything so simple as a house.
"That's silly. I'm not sleepy." After a good meal was settled in her belly, her tune would likely change. "But you can go to sleep if you want… I don't know if I could find my way back to your room, though. Or carry you."
His arm was heavy around her, impeding her effort when she attempted sitting up.
"Let me go so I can finish food and get you to bed, sleepyhead!"
He chuckled softly at the thought of her trying to carry him to bed. She could barely hold herself up let alone his bulk.
He pressed a kiss to her cheek softly and let her go, watching her return to cooking their meal.
This was probably bad. He shouldn't be getting so attached to her. Sure, he needed to stay close for him to be able to stay topside, but that didn't mean he had to do all… mushy. He hauled himself to his feet and slipped in behind her, his hand sliding over her stomach and onto her hip.
"Mmm… ya look real good in this apron, baby. Bet you'd look even better in just the apron."
He caught her sauteing shrimp, intermittently dropping cheese to whisk into the heated cream. Somehow despite his size, he managed to sneak up on her, an inelegant sound escaping her lips and a little bit of cheese falling onto the burner with a hiss as he was suddenly there, overwhelming her space.
"That…" she shivered, then continued working, unable to stop now or she would overcook the shrimp. "It's too cold down here for that. I would freeze."
It was a weak excuse, but she couldn't think of a better one. Laying with him fully as husband and wife was a scary concept, and it seemed he was quite keen on getting on with the thrill.
"I just‒ didn't want to get my dress dirty. It's pretty."
He chuckled at the sad little excuse and kissed her cheek. A dozen counterpoints flickered at the tip of his tongue. There's a nice big fire right there. You'll be warm from cooking. Sex makes you hot.
None of them made it past his lips. He was far too busy sucking a hickey onto her neck. If he couldn't fuck her, he would at least leave his mark. She needed to get healthy and fast. He slid his hand down to grab her ass playfully.
"Guess we can bench the idea for now. But I'm gonna come back to it!" He kissed her cheek once more before retreating to let her finish cooking. "Dress ain't the only pretty thing 'round here ya know."
Oh, he was a charmer. While he suckled at her neck, she was incapable of little more than buckling at the knees, stammering like an idiot, and neglecting dinner. He soon granted mercy, squeezing her ass and backing off. A relieved breath fell past and slumped her shoulders upon his departure. She could only handle so much attention like that before her legs would give out.
Dinner was served at the servant's table in front of the fire, on plain china and cutlery that was not retrieved from the high cabinet Lydia couldn't reach. A nice chardonnay was waiting at the table already when she came near balancing two plates. Now there was a second smaller hickey to join the larger fading one just inches higher on the thin lily-white column of her throat.
"Mmm," she took a deep sip of the golden wine before touching her food, feeling the alcohol immediately as it hit her empty stomach. "That's good… Thank you."
The food was delicious, and she was proud of herself for it, but she was too hungry to bother checking to see if he was enjoying.
Watching but not eating, he hummed as she dug into their dinner. He picked at it a bit, but when her serving was gone, he easily passed his portion over with a smile.
"Eat up, kiddo. You need it more'n me."
He sipped at his wine and watched her closely. So many glimpses of what he started to think of as her old self were coming through the cracked, injured facade that foster care had built around her. He refilled her glass with a grin when it emptied, reaching over to rub his thumb over her hand.
"So. Whatcha wanna do with this place? I'm sure ya got plans for the garden at least, right? Maybe we should do somethin' about my room, I guess…"
Lydia was uninsulted that he didn't seem too interested in the food. Despite how many times she had seen him both eat and sleep, he maintained that he didn't need either. So rather than fussing, she took his plate and dug right in, ravenous from all the walking around. Fresh herbs made everything taste so much better.
Two glasses of wine deep and her cheeks were starting to feel warm, eyelids heavy.
Whatcha wanna do with this place?
"You don't have any blankets." That seemed a horrible shame. He deserved blankets at least. "I don't have the first clue what to do with it. It's already so perfect. I haven't even seen half of it and I'm already a little burned out…"
He chuckled at her indignation for his lack of bedclothes. He shook his head and shrugged. "I'll juice some. Blankets. You got it."
He watched her pretty honey-colored eyes flag and droop, her cheeks a soft petal pink. He could feel himself getting too attached to his little wife, more and more every second she was here. When the food was done with, he waved a hand to clear and clean the dishes, coming around the table and holding out his arms.
"Alright, sleepy. C'mere. Let's get ya to bed, huh?"
"I'm not sleepy," she argued for the sake of it, kicking out weakly with her kitty-covered foot. "You're sleepy."
Contrarily, a pale hand came to lay limp on his thick, striped arm‒ giving permission in a sense, and in a moment she was cradled to his chest like a babe. Stubbornly she stayed awake the entire walk back to her bedchambers, trying hard to memorize the directions so as to better explore the greenhouse tomorrow.
"The library's through there…" she muttered aloud drowsily as they passed, maybe unaware she was doing so. "But where's… my room…?"
He chuckled at her running commentary, kissing her cheek gently, just because he could. "That's right, babes… good remembering."
He carried her through the door to her chambers, which opened for him to walk through on its own. Her long black nightgown melted away until she was wearing a pair of soft cotton shorts and a tank top. The rooms could get hot with the fires going, and having no sense of temperature outside the soft warmth of his wife cradled to his chest, he didn't want to risk it.
"You mortals. Always hungry, sleepy, n' cute as hell. Maybe 's just you." He set her on the edge of the bed with a dramatized sigh. Rubbing his hands up her sides gently, he nuzzled close to kiss her lips quickly.
"You gonna be okay here or ya want me to stay with ya?"
"You don't have any blankets," she reiterated in answer as though he was an idiot, scooting far over and pulling the covers back with her in open invitation. "… and… and if I needed anything and tried to go looking for you in the dark, I'd get lost."
This was a complete farce. She wouldn't need to go looking for him for anything, and if she did, she would find him. His bereft chambers were close.
"Just‒ give me a minute to get warm. You're cold."
In the face of her silly lie, it seemed unreasonable to ask him not to touch her at all, so she didn't. By no means did it feel bad when he ran his roughened palms over her, but it unmistakably felt wrong. It also could not be discounted that he was cold. Very cold.
He waved a hand and the fireplace roared to life with heat and flame. He didn't want her to freeze, but he surely wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to hold her against him. Tucking the lowermost quilt around her provided a layer of protection between them. He stripped off his suit until he was left in a filthy wife-beater and his slacks.
Climbing in behind her, he pulled her close in her little cocoon of blankets, pressing kisses to her face wherever he could get his lips on her.
"Yer adorable. C'mere n' cuddle. It'll warm up soon, huh?"
The way he bundled her up and pulled her in like she was his own personal teddy bear, it didn't leave much of a choice for whether or not she wanted to cuddle. Despite the drowsy buzz from alcohol, Lydia wasn't lying earlier. She wasn't particularly tired. It was difficult to sleep in new places‒ barring the hotel, as she had been so very tired, and she'd stayed there before so it wasn't exactly new.
The air was tense. She wasn't falling asleep. He wasn't falling asleep. Lydia was more inclined to get up and keep exploring than to continue cuddling. It was getting warmer, though…
"This is really…" She struggled to find the right word. "Surreal. I technically live here alone, don't I…? That's crazy to think about…"
He listened to her closely, ready to make a run for it if she seemed too upset. She was at least somewhat relaxed in his arms, all bundled in her blankets.
"Surreal? Why would living in an ancient castle with your dead husband feel surreal, baby?" He chuckled and kissed her cheek again. "Come on, kitten. Talk to me. There's stuff on yer mind, I can see it." He rolled her toward him, letting his arms go lax as he laid there facing her.
"Ain't this better than the foster house? You can have anythin' ya want here with me…"
It wasn't even a question if this was better than the Gallaghers.
"Of course it is," she was quick to agree, worried. Did she seem ungrateful? "I love it. I love everything. I want to go take photos in the courtyard tomorrow if it's alright. Is there a family grave around here? This seems like the kind of place that would have one of those…"
She had more freedom now with the way he placed her and drew her skinny arms out from beneath the toasty quilt. His perpetual source of cool had turned into more of a relief than an annoyance.
"I'm just not used to all the…" she gulped, frightened of how he might respond. "Touching."
Flushed and nervous, she focused solely on the smattering of mossy white-blonde hair poking out from his wife beater, unable to meet his gaze.
"Mr. Gallagher felt me up sometimes… nothing too bad, but I usually avoided the house when I knew he was going to be drunk." Which was all the time. "The other boys weren't much better… but that's all the experience I have, really… and you."
He scowled as she explained her hesitance with being touched. It made sense that that asshole called a foster parent had gone for her. She was perfect after all.
Nodding, he rubbed his thumb over her cheek gently. "Hey. If ya don't like it you can tell me. Gotta tell ya, it's hard to keep my hands off ya. I'll try though. If ya need me to."
He took a deep breath and forced a smile, plans for how he would destroy Jonathan floating through his mind. No one got to touch his girl and then go scot-free.
"Pictures sound great. N' yeah, there's a cemetery between here n' where the chapel used t'be. I'll show ya."
"I do like when you touch me," she admitted a little too quickly, ashamed of herself for comparing his touch to theirs. "I think I like it too much…"
That was an honest thing to say.
…there's a cemetery between here and where the chapel used to be.
"Used to be?" Alert, full of youthful energy, she sprung awake in his lazy hold, ready to go now. "What happened to it? Is it not there anymore? Are there ruins?"
An ancient grove, a rundown old chapel, and her husband's family tomb would make for a stunning photography date. She was already planning what she would pack for their picnic lunch.
He chuckled at her sudden excitement, gazing up at her adoringly through the low light of the now fading fire. For a moment he was thrown back to the last time he had been here, in this room. He was just thirteen, or thereabout, and his grandmother had been on her last legs. He sat beside her and told her everything he was going to be and do when he was a real man.
She had smiled at him the way he was now smiling at his wife. She passed some time later, and he avoided her rooms at all costs until now. He couldn't help reaching up to rub his thumb over her cheek, gently holding her jaw in his palm.
"I dunno. Was only here long enough to fix the place up for ya. But again… Protestant chapel. Either got Catholicized or destroyed…"
An involuntary tingle shot down her spine as his icy hand encompassed the entire side of her face, gently petting. This time it wasn't because he was cold, or she was romanced. She, too, was feeling nostalgic, recalling a time when someone who used to be alive would tuck her into bed, make sure she was comfortable, and read her a bedtime story.
Those were just fairytales. The things Betelgeuse spoke of were real, but listening to him talk and cared for as she was by him it felt the same. The weight of his palm kept her head still on the pillow without any effort on his part. Tricking her into breathing the way he wanted her to, his thumb stroked in a steady slow rhythm until her breaths matched.
For a long while, she went silent, allowing both himself and her the luxury of quiet. Since he touched her at the hotel, giving her pleasure she didn't know what to do with, Lydia had born anxiety over the prospect of sharing a bed with him again. With the layer of quilt between them and the sweet way he was babying her, she finally felt safe enough to relax and let go of irrational fears.
"My father was German…" she informed without prompting since she now knew so much about his heritage, eyes closed and voice heavy on the verge of sleep. "… and my mother was Russian… and that's about all I know about that. Maybe I'm related to some Lord or Lady who had a castle way back when… probably just milkmaids and nazis though…"
He hummed as he listened. "Maybe one o' yer grandma's was a Tsarina. It would suit you…" He grinned and leaned in to place a peck to her lips.
"Maybe she was a witch!"
He chortled to himself, the laughter slowly fading. It would make sense. Lydia had a lot of the markers that children with magic in their bloodline had, right down to recurring tragedy.
"Maybe we should check it out. Yer ancestors, I mean. Could be a fun project."
"I doubt I've got anyone that interesting in my family tree. I wouldn't even know where to look or how to check. I guess you have your ghost connections though, right?"
There was probably some sort of giant reference book in the library for dead people he could access and exploit if he wanted, or so Lydia imagined as she trod the line of consciousness. He could probably call up her great-great-great-grandmother and chat her up for shits and giggles. Bizarre.
"There are DNA tests that can tell you your exact ethnicity down to the percentage. Could get one of those… but it won't tell me if I come from anybody neat or special."
He hummed, his mind racing. Maybe it was time to do some searching into his wife's lineage, but certainly not tonight. Not with her falling asleep, her head still in his hand and her body warm through the quilt that separated them. It would be too hard to leave her now, for any reason. He wrapped his free arm around her and pulled her close, kissing her forehead.
"I don't need some stupid DNA test t'tell me Yer special. Anyone who can't see that ain't worth their shit." Smiling, he nuzzled his nose into her hair.
Eventually, her breaths evened out to an even slower rate until she was gone to the rest of the world, soft and lax beside him. Whether he pulled her closer in the night, she shifted forward on her own, or a combination of both, she awoke completely entrenched in his hold, two heavy arms keeping her pinned to his chest.
At some point during the night, the quilt was pulled, kicked, or– least likely– innocently slipped out from between them, leaving only his wife beater and the thin material of her pajamas separating them. One of his weighty palms had slipped beneath her shirt and was splayed firm and flat between her shoulder blades, holding her to him. The other rested lazily on her ass, his gritty fingers perfectly molded around the curvature of the cheek.
Involuntarily, both cheeks clenched once she realized where his hand was, the ones on her face turning a loving shade of scarlet.
"BJ…" she squeaked atop him, at least somewhat thankful he hadn't just rolled over in the night and crushed her in his sleep. She made the mistake of trying to force herself out of his arms only for him to make a displeased sound and hold on tighter, the hand on the middle of her back pushing down while the one on her ass squeezed tight, ragged claws digging in.
He'd pulled her close when she was asleep, but their new positioning seemed to be entirely new to the both of them as he slowly blinked out of the endless black void the dead called sleep.
He smirked softly when he realized just where she was, cuddled up against him with his "morning wood"‒ he would deny he slept at all which made this concept moot‒ pressed against her stomach.
"Mmm. Mornin' kitten. How'd ya sleep?"
He made no moves to release her, his hand softening on her ass but still firm on her back. He rubbed slow circles over the soft globes of her rear, licking his lips playfully.
"Hey, you wanna try somethin'? Like before… when we were kissin'.
When he came to, she tried again with sleep-weakened limbs to wriggle to freedom, only to fall victim to more cuddling. She pushed up, her exposed lower belly pressed against his crotch, and there was no mistaking the sizable bulge jutting firmly into her. If possible, she weakened further in the face of this obstacle, practically whimpering as she collapsed back against him to accept her fate.
"Good morning," she gulped, toying with the neckline of his wife-beater as he fiddled with the extremely short lacy hem of her sleeping bottoms. "I slept good. Comfy. No bad dreams…"
Wanna try something? Like before… when we were kissin'.
The hidden rod of flesh pressed to her belly twitched. Lydia's thighs clenched, the muscles he was caressing going taut.
"What… what kind of something?"
Smirking, he turned them so that she was nestled comfortably back against the pile of pillows that separated them from the headboard. He could start slow. Needed to if he was ever going to have an active marriage. He didn't want to scare her, but god he wanted her.
Kissing her gently, his hands roamed over her thighs and up her stomach to caress her breasts. This was familiar territory. They had done this before.
"Y'ever touch yerself, baby? Or watch porn? I just wanna make ya feel real good, but I gotta know what ya like. You tell Daddy what makes ya hot…."
In an instant, her world flipped and she was on her back ready to receive the brunt of his affection. While his lips plied gently at hers, his hands moved just as delicately along her silhouette, dragging the flimsy material of her pajamas along with them as they moved over her slight curves.
Y'ever touch yerself, baby? Or watch porn?
They were simple enough questions, but Lydia was mortified to answer them.
"Yeah," she admitted as he pulled back from a heated kiss, arms bent and curled against her chest to let him take his fill as she wasn't certain what to do with them.
"But I've never– never been able to… to get myself to… not like you could."
He knew what she was getting at. The porn she had watched once upon a time when she lived a life that afforded her privacy ranged from vanilla to extreme. Bondage and BDSM scenes titillated her more than anything but she wasn't sure how to go about admitting such a thing to her perverse husband.
"It's– I've watched some things… but not a lot… the ones I liked were uhm… uh… it's embarrassing…"
He smiled and kissed his way down her neck as she spoke, humming softly to indicate his understanding. His hand worked its way slowly closer and closer to the waistband of her shorts.
"Ya don't got nothin' to be embarrassed of, babes. You can tell me. We'll work on yer fantasies together. What are husbands for, huh?"
In one smooth motion, her clothes were banished and he dropped his attention to her now bare tits, a groan bubbling out of him as he kissed and sucked at the soft, supple skin.
"I'm gonna make ya feel so good, baby girl…"
When her clothing disappeared, she cried out her surprise, a reflexive motion to curl up and cover herself cut off by how quickly he swept down to take advantage of her sudden nudity. The sounds that came after were a string of hitched breaths and stifled gasps as he worked adamantly at marking up her breasts, her husband excited to work on such a pure canvas.
"I saw a video once," she confessed bashfully, a rosy lip caught between her teeth while he dedicated himself to her bare chest, "… where a man made this girl wear kitty cat ears and a tail… and crawl around on the floor and act like his pet…"
She must have been positively crimson to describe such a perverse act to him. She felt like she was burning up, anyway.
"He had a cage for her. They didn't even really do anything… sexual… it was just… something about it made me…" want to be her. Lydia cut herself off before saying so. That was far too honest of an admission.
She was audibly embarrassed to be telling him this, but he was glad she told him anything. He half expected to hear that she never even thought about sex. Pausing his adoration of her chest to look up at her and smile, he pressed a hungry kiss to her lips, humming happily.
"There's nothin' wrong with wantin' someone to take care of ya, Lyds…. that's what I'm here for, 'kay? To take care of ya…" He worked his way lower yet, pressing kisses over her visible ribs and down toward his ultimate goal.
"You just lay back n' relax, kitten…"
She was rewarded for her honesty with a deep, soul-searching kiss that had her toes curling into satin sheets. Then, he went on to validate her lewd disclosure, the one he pressed her for, letting her know in no uncertain terms that not only was he not judging her for it, but actively encouraged and was accepting of such a fantasy.
Talented lips mapped a course down her body until he was hovering over her core, skinny thighs still pressed together beneath him to hide her most sensitive bits from his attention. He could still see the crease of her puffy, hairless labia, but the slicker, pinker folds were hidden from sight.
"What… what are you doing?"
She was back to a shaky voice and trembling limbs, not that she ever really stopped. She had an idea of what was coming next, but a little verbal clarification seemed necessary.
He chuckled softly at her shaking question, looking up at her with a smirk.
"Just relax, kitten… lay back n' let me work. I promise you'll enjoy this, 'kay?"
Wiggling his fingers playfully between her knees, he pushed them open, licking his lips as her soft pink folds came into view then sliding his fingers up to tease over her clit gently.
"You're so good for me, sweetheart… I just wanna return the favor, huh? You're so good…" Dipping down to run his tongue over her gently, he moaned as the sweet taste of her hit him for the first time.
Working through deep, quivering breaths, and with much difficulty, Lydia allowed trembling thighs to pry open when he came pulling, her husband only finding a touch of compulsory resistance. She was fully bared now, nothing to hide, feeling like a much more expensive whore this go around with an entire castle the hefty price of a romp with her.
The praise he lathed her with was additionally comforting. Was she really good? Had she done anything good for him lately, other than making dinner he barely picked at? He certainly thought so.
That cold, writhing tongue found the seat of her pleasure just as easily as his digits had and she damn near shrieked. Petite, pale fingers anchored into his mass of green-tinged platinum hair. If her thighs were shaking before, now they were practically convulsing, all from that one touch.
"Too much!" She begged, pulling him back by his hair without applying the pressure that would hurt an ordinary breathing person. It was a flimsy leash, and Lydia had a weak grip.
"I'm sorry! It's just‒ cold!"
That excuse was beginning to wear thin.
He looked up at her as she pulled at his hair. He'd barely felt it, but the hint that she was trying to tell him something.
It's just‒ cold!
He chuckled and pulled back with a gentle suck to her clit. "It'll warm up. S'okay, kitten. Relax n' let daddy take care of it, huh? You know I'll treat ya real good."
He went right back to it, eating her out as though her cunt were his favorite meal. As it was, that was quickly becoming the truth. It was strange… he hadn't tasted anything in years. But he could with Lydia… there was no denying that. He rubbed her clit firmly with his thumb, determined to get her off.
Soon, there wasn't any more room for conversation or negotiating. Like a man starved, he partook of her, one hand supporting her in between the hollow of her back and the mattress, another cupping an entire ass cheek and part of her hip.
That was all he needed. Rather than holding her down and in place, he lifted her to his mouth, drawing the wet length of his tongue between the seam of her nether lips over and over again. The inhumanly long appendage sometimes dipped in long enough to tease and play with her maidenhead, but never pierce.
Hot pressure continued to build in her belly at an exponential rate, ready to burst at any moment.
"Oh," she moaned low, fists becoming gentle in his hair, "B… Bee… Beej!"
He eagerly swallowed the evidence of her pleasure, moaning at the new, soft nickname that slipped out of her mouth.
When he was satisfied with his cleanup job, he sat up and hastily undid his fly, pressing almost frantic kisses to her stomach and up until he was kissing her lips soundly.
"Yer so fuckin' perfect, Lyds, really… goddamn, I got so lucky…"
He slid his hand into his pants, his eyes raking over her hungrily. He needed release bad and had only made it worse for himself.
This one was different from the last. Her previous orgasm was surprised and rushed. This time, Lydia knew what was going to happen as she was carefully brought to a fit by her talented husband. Unsatisfied with just making her cum, he kept at it until her thin hip was bucking in his hold in an ineffectual effort to break loose.
Just when she thought she would go mad from overstimulation, he freed her, leaving her to gasp and recover while he kissed a trail back to her lips.
"That was…." Was his hand in his pants? Her eyes went wide, throat dry. "… amazing."
Would he expect her to return the favor? Touch it? Taste it? More? She suddenly felt very small and trapped on that big bed in her big castle.
"I don't want to have sex."
It slipped out before she knew what she was declaring, only leaving time for her to fret after. Now she would likely see herself out of his big bed in his big castle.
He froze when the frantic words hit his arousal-muddled brain, regarding her with surprise. For once, he wasn't even thinking about fucking her, his guilty hand simply moving on autopilot. She was too skinny, sick, and scared for what he really wanted to do to her.
"No… I know, baby girl... Just. Uh… adjustin' for comfort."
He cleared his throat and shut his eyes, trying to take a deep breath and will away his erection, but with one hand still on Lydia's soft tit, he found it impossible. With a sigh, he met her eyes again.
"Look. I gotta get some relief here. I can do it here with ya n' you can watch, or I can go t'my own rooms and take care of it before we start our day. Tell me what y'want me t'do here, baby…."
Immediately, her gut twisted at the thought of him going elsewhere to take care of his problem, at the same time it was still settling in relief that he didn't expect payment in full. Everything was up to her.
"Stay," she hushed, pulling him closer by his auto-stimulating hand until his lower half was pushing her into the plush mattress.
"I can… I want to help. And I know there are other things we can do… I just don't know what they are or how to do them."
He sighed heavily in relief. Thank Fuck… she wanted him to stay. Brushing a lock of stray hair from her face, he smiled and bent to kiss her.
"Just like this is perfect, baby girl… here…"
He maneuvered her gently, hooking one of her legs up over his hip to press his crotch tighter against her. Groaning, and with a little bit of juice to banish his boxers, his cock nestled in the seam of skin where her leg met her body. He rubbed her thigh gently, looking her over to make sure she wouldn't panic.
"This okay? I can just… I'll rub against ya…"
Her face went slack in abject surprise as he was suddenly intimately flush against her. He was pressed too close and his gut was too impressive to see past and get a look at his parts, but that didn't stop Lydia from craning her neck awkwardly to try.
It was oddly soft. She was expecting it to be rougher for some reason, but she could feel that the thick ridged rod of flesh plopped between her legs was silky smooth, almost as much as her own genitals. It made for a slick glide as he adjusted on top of her until he was happy, the rigid base of his cock set to slide comfortably between her labia and over her clit as his hips rocked.
She didn't anticipate that this would feel good for her as well. He was so big. She felt tiny and precious and loved beneath him as he curled around her, grunting and groaning into her hair and neck. Taken by the moment, she directed his mouth to hers with tiny, gentle hands, encouraging him to just let go whatever he needed to in order to get his desired release.
Was this what having sex with him would be like? She hoped so.
He kissed obediently when her tiny hands took hold of his cheeks, groaning softly as he held her closer still. She seemed to be having a good time, which was all he could have hoped for. The kisses continued as he rocked slowly against her, metering his pace to keep from scaring her or losing control and doing something stupid.
One hand slid up her side to caress her breast, squeezing gently. If he closed his eyes he could combine the knowledge of just how soft and tight she was with the stimulation he was receiving now, but he was loath to take his gaze off of her. She was still flushed pink from her orgasm and the embarrassment of realizing that he didn't just joke about sex, but had a real sex drive. She was beautiful in every way.
"That's it, baby… fuck, ya feel so good…"
His thighs began to hit hers with a soft clap on every down thrust as his intensity snowballed; claws digging into her tit just a little too much, teeth biting into her lip just a little too hard. Lydia loved it. The meaner he was to her, even if it wasn't necessarily on purpose, the hotter she burned.
Skinny legs squeezed him tighter around the waist, barely holding on as he rode her like a huffing, tranquilized bull. She knew he was trying to be gentle, but there was only so much his beefy form could do to reign itself in. Her nails dug into his tense, thickly muscled biceps, providing extra stability as his hips pushed harder and faster, the area between her legs secreting more and more lubrication as he went.
"Mm– mmf– ungh!" Choked feminine sounds made it past her throat at a particular pace, as though they were already fucking. Her little body tried to roll and rock with him to aid in chasing her second orgasm of the morning, but it was a pathetic effort under his heavy hips.
"Please," she begged, nuzzling up under his throat to feel his cool. "Please."
Her soft begging and moaning did absolutely nothing to help him control himself. He groaned and gripped her harder, cursing to himself.
"God you're so good… fuck…"
He reached between them to rub her clit firmly. He finally closed his eyes with her so curled into him, rubbing his hand up her back.
"Come on, baby… cum for me again."
He panted into her hair, quickly reaching his untimely peak. He groaned as he came, jerking against her hip.
Just as Lydia felt a spurt of something strangely cool and wet gushing between them, an explosion of euphoria whited out her vision, sending her into convulsions. Lost in a deluge of pleasure, she worked on animal instinct, latching onto him and writhing until the initial burst of sensation ebbed away to a pleasant glow. Then, she collapsed beneath him; sweaty, heaving, and messy with cum.
He held himself aloft by one arm to look her over, and Lydia was granted her first look at his manhood sans clothing. She wished she hadn't seen it. It would have been a lot easier to one day consummate their marriage if she didn't know that thing was what would eventually be forcing its way inside her.
It was enormous! And that enormous cock had just come all over her stomach and breasts, leaving her a sticky awkward mess as she tried to avoid letting any of it drip onto the sheets, smearing it further over her skin in her efforts.
"Uhhh… help? Please?"
He chuckled softly at her pleading and the way her eyes wandered to his cock only to widen with shock. He couldn't help but preen a bit as he vanished the evidence of their romp and flopped onto his side beside her, grinning.
"That was amazin'… Yer amazin', baby girl…"
He leaned over to kiss her, groaning softly. His hand roamed her stomach gently. Skinny. He pulled away with another groan. With a wave of his hand, there was a knock at the door. It opened to reveal an unmanned breakfast cart, filled to the brim with pastries and meats and juices and coffee.
It moved on its own, carrying itself to the table in the corner that doubled as a workstation when his grandmother was alive and running the family business.
"Come on, kitten. Gotta replace the energy we just used."