Make Me Your Maria-- I'm Already On My Knees
The weight of the previous night’s discussion rested heavily in her mind, normal light and airy spirits turned contemplative in the wake of her plea. If truth were to be told, Aurelia had come to regret the words spoken before, a sleepless night forcing certain conversation to replay over and over; she utterly cursed herself for having been so brazen as to beg Rodolphus for his immortal clutch on her innocence. Surely, he’d despise her and think her some impertinent little trollop, like so many other girls he’d bedded. In a perfect world, she’d wait until the throes of love were upon her, wait until the moment was steeped in heady lust and then indulge in sweet reward of years of chastity. Faced with the prospects, however, of a forthcoming wedding night to a man she feared, the notion seemed far away. Anxiety mandated a better solution.
Rodolphus was that solution, she reasoned. For years, she’d been entirely dependent upon him, both in nature of friendship and those topics broaching darker realms. With her innocence wrapped carefully in his ownership, the female felt secure in reasoning that Remington could not control her entirely. Demonoids owned her mind, Mulciber her body—that last remaining shred of possession would be given to the elder Lestrange male, ever safe in his able hands. He, her Dark Knight, her protector of Arthurian proportions wrought a strong sense of calm over her. There was no one else she’d rather give herself to, and the thought itself evoked a semblance of peace—something she’d not felt in some time.
The day itself had been spent trying to push away everything she’d spoken the night before, expenditures in shopping adding to an already massive closet. Dainty silks, flowing and open linens adorned lithe frame where usual crisp lines and feminine structure existed. Something in the ocean air served to relax her entirely, even rigid curls softening to a loose tumble over her shoulders. A gentility eventually took the apprehension from her mind, book perched in hand—a new purchase from the day as well. She would not dare to bring up the subject again, and hopefully, Rodolphus would forgive her brashness before their vacation was over. The whole idea had been silly and—
A knock. Looking up, the brunette’s brow creased in minute confusion, before she moved from the bed, setting book and bags of clothes aside before allowing a short appraisal of her appearance. The white fabric, though sheer, suited the vacation’s air and covered enough to maintain her modesty, though in habit, she brought a hand to tug the neckline higher some. “Rodolphus…” Aurelia exhaled, as she opened the door, dark eyes taking in the whole of his appearance. Something felt … different. Electric. Charged. A heavier energy bearing from his person than usual prompted her to exhale, almost shakily. “I, .. er … yes?”
Perhaps he had hoped—foolishly so, that his demeanor would change upon laying eyes on her. An errant thought, that he would not find his Aurelia behind the doorway, but another. Someone who had made no request of him, someone he could disobey without a word. Perhaps he had even wished that she would silence the stirrings within him. That he would see innocence before him, and all notions of lust would be extinguished by it; ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
He was a fool; unforgivably so.
The door swung open and he stood in wait, as she appeared before him; doe-eyed, ready to be plucked, sweetness for the taking. Silence enveloped them in a chokehold. His eyes traced over her contours, lingering for far too long on the failing fabric’s task at covering her. They rested on her lips; those lips, which decorated her smiles, embellished her kisses, and accessorized her words. Why did he want them so? Was it because he could so easily have them? Was it the permission gained for an unsaid want? Or was it that he was only now realizing that the mouth of a girl he had loved in friendship since childhood had turned to the pouting lips of a woman he desired?
He took a step towards her, silent as ever. He would allow his actions to speak for him. Hands found her arms, his usual coarseness turned to gentility. His eyes met hers, a final plea he would offer her. Turn back now, or nevermore. He was upon her, mouth encompassing hers in a kiss never like that shared before between them. There had been kisses to cheeks, and foreheads; child’s play. This was a kiss of want and wanting. But he would heed her words. Though there was fervor coursing through him, there was no cruel desperation that so frequently accompanied his various affairs. Even without her request, he knew that he could only ever be gentle with her, for he had always feared breaking her under a mere word of displeasure, or look of disappointment.
His lips melded with hers, as if they’d engaged in such an act countless times. He pulled her closer, her lithe form arching underneath the weight of the embrace. He would not let her go, not now—only by the fiercest protest would she become not ensnared by his trappings. She was his now.