dianakc

[dianakc]

"If you use em dash in your works, it makes them look AI generated. No real human uses em dash."

Imaging thinking actual human writers are Not Real because they use... professional writing in their works.

Imagine thinking millions of people who have been using em dash way before AI becomes a thing are all robots.

REBLOG IF YOU'RE A HUMAN AND YOU USE EM DASH

[dianakc]

'“How shall I ever tell Aunt Shaw?” she whispered, after some time of delicious silence.'

John and Margaret Mouse take a bow. This is the end of their performance of "North and South" (BBC version). xx

[dianakc]

“Do you know these roses?” he said, drawing out his pocket-book, in which were treasured up some dead flowers.

“No!” she replied, with innocent curiosity. “Did I give them to you?”

“No! Vanity; you did not. You may have worn sister roses very probably.”

She looked at them, wondering for a minute, then she smiled a little as she said—

“They are from Helstone, are they not? I know the deep indentations round the leaves. Oh! have you been there? When were you there?”

“I wanted to see the place where Margaret grew to what she is, even at the worst time of all, when I had no hope of ever calling her mine. I went there on my return from Havre.”

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“Stop a minute, measter.” Then going up confidentially close, he said, “Is th’ young gentleman cleared?” He enforced the depth of his intelligence by a wink of the eye, which only made things more mysterious to Mr. Thornton.

“Th’ young gentleman, I mean—Master Frederick, they ca’ed him—her brother as was over here, yo’ known.”

“Over here.”

“Ay, to be sure, at th’ missus’s death. Yo’ need na be feared of my telling; for Mary and me, we knowed it all along, only we held our peace, for we got it through Mary working in th’ house.”

“And he was over. It was her brother.”

[dianakc]

I was walking through the toy aisle at Target when I found this thing and had a VIOLENT AND IMMEDIATE FLASHBACK to when JP first came out and they had a bunch of REALLY COOL T Rex toys that I would have sold one of my scrawny small-child limbs for but my mother wouldn’t get me one because they were “too violent and also ate people” :(

[dianakc]

"Night after night he took books and papers into his own private room, and sate up there long after the family were gone to bed. He thought no one knew of this occupation of the hours he should have spent in sleep."

[dianakc]

"But now had come one of those periods of bad trade, when the market falling brought down the value of all large stocks; Mr. Thornton’s fell to nearly half. No orders were coming in; so he lost the interest of the capital he had locked up in machinery; indeed, it was difficult to get payment for the orders completed; yet there was the constant drain of expenses for working the business. Then the bills became due for the cotton he had purchased; and money being scarce, he could only borrow at exorbitant interest, and yet he could not realise any of his property."

[dianakc]

[dianakc]

"And there was no tone of regret, or emotion of any kind in the voice with which he said good-bye; and the offered hand was taken with a resolute calmness, and dropped as carelessly as if it had been a dead and withered flower. But none in his household saw Mr. Thornton again that day. He was busily engaged; or so he said."

[dianakc]

Happy Valentine's Day from John Mouse

[dianakc]

'At this instant Mr. Thornton entered the room; he had only just returned from Oxford. His mourning suit spoke of the reason that had called him there.

“John,” said his mother, “this lady is Mrs. Shaw, Miss Hale’s aunt. I am sorry to say, that Miss Hale’s call is to wish us good-bye.”

“You are going then!” said he in a low voice.

“Yes,” said Margaret. “We leave to-morrow.”'

[dianakc]

The Ties That Bind ~ Chapter Twelve

Summary: Although Erebor is his once more, Thorin knows there is still a great threat to the peace of Middle Earth. Azog is gone, but another has taken his place and has sworn to finish what Azog began. Erebor is back, but it’s sadly lacking in protection and as much as he hates the thought of it, Thorin knows there is one thing that will guarantee the safety and continuation of his line.

War is coming and all Eirlys of Mirkwood wishes to do is fight alongside her brother Legolas and the other elves, united with Men and Dwarves in their attempt to quell the renewed tensions between them and the orc army of the north. But, her father, Thranduíl has other plans. Unite his kingdom with the newly reestablished kingdom of Erebor and use the power of both to defeat the orcs.

An arranged marriage that neither side wants, but both sides need. But what happens when the two sides realize that maybe—just maybe—being together isn't quite as bad as they'd thought...

Pairing: Thorin x ofc Eirlys of Mirkwood

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.9k

Read on AO3

When she opened her eyes the next morning, Eirlys was alone and she thought for a moment that perhaps she’d dreamed the previous night. Dreamed the previous weeks. 

But then she heard the soft pad of bare feet on wood and rolled onto her belly to gaze out at the terrace. There, dressed in only his trousers, was her husband. She smiled. He is my husband. 

The chill in the morning air did not seem to faze him. He did not shiver. Didn’t rub his hands along his thick biceps or forearms to try to keep warm. Instead, he bent slightly forward—most likely leaning against the railing as she often did—and let the pale early morning sun splash across his skin. It highlighted the swells of muscle along his broad shoulders, down his equally broad back, but her smile faded at the sight of the scars that marred his skin, for there were quite a few. When he moved and the hair that fell halfway down his back shifted, it exposed still more marks. Some were old and had gone white, some were newer and still pink. Some were smooth, but more than one had jagged margins, and she wondered how he’d come by them. 

The sunlight shone along his black hair, the ornaments he’d woven into it glinting, throwing off flashes of light here and there with the slightest of movement. She didn't know what he watched, but something seemed to have caught his attention. 

She snuggled into the pillow beneath her cheek, perfectly content to simply study him. The previous evening had been nothing short of magical and while she hated to see the morning come, she knew there would be more nights like their first and she looked very much forward to them. 

He turned then and her breath hitched. If she’d thought him beautiful in the moonlight, that was nothing compare to him in the daylight. Her dwarf was the powerfully built man she’d ever seen and when he smiled, her heart actually skipped a beat, a soft laugh bubbling to her lips when he grinned and greeted her with, “So that’s why my back grew warm.”

“I’ll not apologize. You’re quite handsome, you know.”

His grin widened as he came back into the room. “I thank you for the compliment, but I’m certain not many would agree with you.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she replied, rising to prop her head on her fist. “They must need glasses, to think such a thing.”

He sank onto the edge of the bed. “I thought this moment might be awkward,” he confessed, trailing his fingers along the length of her hair. 

“Why? We did nothing wrong.”

“No, we didn’t. But… it was still nothing I could have prepared for. And I mean that in the nicest way, before you think I found fault with it, or you.”

He skimmed along her hair, over her shoulder, and the caress sent heat streaking through her. Her eyes grew heavy-lidded, but she refused to let them close even as she shivered beneath his touch. “I also found no fault with you, Thorin,” she told him softly. 

“So I did not disappoint you, then?”

She heard the note of teasing, the hint of a smile, in his voice, and shook her head. “Not at all. Did I disappoint you?”

His eyes darkened slightly and he shifted to ease himself over her. The hair curling away from his chest tickled her bare back, and he nuzzled her, whispering, “I think it impossible for you to ever do such a thing.”

Now she let her eyes close, his lips soft and warm, his beard coarse and tickling her skin as he swept teasing kisses along first her cheek, then over her jaw. Sweeping her hair to let it spill over her left shoulder, he then kissed his way down along her neck, over her nape, across her shoulder. With each pass of his lips, her skin grew more sensitive, the warmth that uncoiled in her belly bubbled into heat that spread through her veins.

He slid one hand along her arm, to her hand, beneath her pillow, and covered it, linking his fingers with hers as he whispered, “Does anyone expect us at this hour?”

Her thoughts came muddy and slow, thick and lazy as she managed to murmur, “I care not, to be honest.”

A soft laugh whispered across her back and her toes actually curled as he kissed down over her left shoulder blade. “Good.”

Thorin crept lower, drawing the sheet down to her hips, pausing when she shivered. “Are you cold, mesmel?”

“No.” She could barely make her voice go above a whisper, she felt so languorous. He punctuated each kiss with a teasing sweep of his tongue, and with each caress, the heat within her grew. The now-familiar knots slowly tightened, slowly lowered into her core. He came back up, flattening again her, his breath warm against her ear.

“Your Majesty?”

Eirlys and Thorin groaned in unison at Madris’ voice. With a muffled growl, Thorin eased off her, onto his back and she winced, calling back, “What is it, Madris?”

“Your father sent me up to remind you of the breakfast before everyone departs.”

Eirlys bit back the oath rising to her lips. She’d forgotten about the breakfast. “Give us a minute, please?”

“Of course.”

“I forgot about the breakfast,” she sighed, sinking back into her pillows.

“It is of no matter.” His words wafted slowly into the air, heavy with what sounded like regret. “There will be other mornings.”

That brought a smile to her lips, one that stayed there even as he gave a rough sigh and rose from the bed to go to the wardrobe, where his chest stood alongside it. “Do you promise?”

“Why, Queen Eirlys, you sound almost wanton.”

He said it with a grin, which warmed her blood once more. “Is that a yes, King Thorin?”

Crouching before the chest to lift the lid, he bobbed his head. “It is most definitely a yes.”

“Good.”

“And now,” he stood, a heavy dark grey henley clutched in both hands, “I will go and assure your maid I’ve not been in here ravishing you silly and if you don't mind clumsy dwarven hands assisting you, I will help you dress.”

“She might not believe you.”

“I am very persuasive when I wish to be.” He drew the henley over his head, winking as he emerged through the neck. “Although, I might warn her we will be late to the breakfast. I think she will understand though, given that we are newlyweds.”

“Thorin, we can’t keep our guests waiting.”

He thumped past her, pausing to bend and press a kiss into her forehead. “If they have complaints, they can come visit me in Erebor to voice them.”

“I like how you think.”

He winked once more and then crossed to the door, where he tugged it open and stepped to into the corridor. Eirlys sighed softly, then reluctantly rose from the bed, crouching to swipe her nightgown from the floor, where it had spent the night. The wrapper lay beside it, but further under the bed, and she snatched that as well, balling both in her hands as she stood. 

She moved around the foot of the bed, toward the basket where she’d dump the garments, when something caught her attention from the corner of her eye. 

The dark splotch stood out vibrantly against the white linens. Blood. 

“I thought you might not want your maid to see that.”

Thorin’s voice suddenly in her ear made her jump. He’d come up behind her without a sound, and slid an arm about her waist as he spoke. A feeling of foolishness swirled through her at her starting the way she had, but at the same time, his concern touched her as well. “It’s silly to be concerned about it,” she murmured, shaking her head. “It isn’t as if no one knows what happened here last eve.”

“Still… it’s no one else’s concern, either.” The arm about her waist tightened briefly. “Although, I’ll wager both houses will await the announcement of an heir’s imminent arrival in the coming year.” 

“An heir…” She peered up at him over her shoulder. “I do hope we might adjust to being married first.”

“Of course. But…” He smiled as he released her, and stepped around to whisk the linens from the bed and balled them in his arms. “I rather enjoy how one goes about begetting an heir, so I daresay, we will have one sooner rather than later.”

She didn't answer, not that he gave her a chance. Instead, he tossed the ruined linens into the basket and then crossed back to the wardrobe to tug open the doors. “What did you wish to wear today, Eirlys?”

A sense of unease settled about her even as she forced a smile to her face and said, “I think the pale blue will suffice.”

By early afternoon, the palace became a frantic hive of activity as the wedding guests readied to take their leave. Her father and Thorin had disappeared after breakfast, although neither would tell her why, which irritated her as much as Thorin’s statement about begetting an heir troubled her, and Eirlys tried not to dwell on either as she went in search of Madris to aid her in the packing they need to do to make the trip to Erebor in the coming days.

“Eirlys?”

She paused at a very familiar voice, one she had not heard in what seemed like a lifetime, and turned to smile. “Lachon? Is that really you?”

Lachon of Rivendell hurried toward her, sweeping her up to swing her around. “Did you think I would miss an event such as this? Princess Eirlys of Mirkwood actually settling down and taking a husband?”

She couldn't help her laughter as he set her down, and she smiled up into his warm dark eyes. “My father was none too fond of you, if I recall.”

“Well, now, that would be because he caught me attempting to take liberties with you, if you will also recall.”

“Lachon, we were but children when that happened.”

“I was a boy, yes,” he nodded, tucking her arm through his, “but you were anything but a child.”

Her cheeks grew warm. “Either way, it was a lifetime ago, so I suppose Papa thought it would be safe.”

“And he judged correctly. I would never have missed this.” He looked around, the sunlight glinting russet over the reddish-gold hair streaming down his back. “But, where is your new husband? I should like to offer him my congratulations on winning your hand.”

“He is in with my father even as we speak.” She peered over her shoulder, toward the Throne Room, where she figured her father and Thorin were discing whatever it was they discussed. “I’m sure it has something to do with how many soldiers will accompany us back to Erebor.”

“A wise idea, to be sure.” Lachon bobbed his head as they strolled along the walkway, where sun splashed the wood as if lightning their path. “Gundabad has grown far bolder and if you are making your way from here to the Lonely Mountain, it would be best to have as many soldiers as your father might spare.”

She paused, peering up at him. “Have they grown so bold? I know they’ve ventured closer to our borders in the last few weeks, but are they stronger? They have no leader.”

“Oh, but they do once more have a leader.” He turned to her. “And by all reports, he is far worse than Azog or Bolg would ever be.”

She tried to ignore the sudden knots in her stomach, the sense of unease that settled about her. “And has he a name?”

“Rildu. He is a cousin to Azog, or more aptly, was a cousin to him. And that blood knows no mercy, no empathy, and no compassion. And yes, they are stronger now. Stronger and far more determined to rule whatever they can.” Lachon nodded in the direction of the Throne Room. “From what I understand, he is also to out for revenge for what your husband did to his cousin, and what your brother did to Azog’s son.”

“Wonderful.” Her unease grew. Erebor was almost two days’ travel from Mirkwood. Not incredibly far, but a good portion of their journey would be along open road, which would leave them more than a little vulnerable to attack.

“Let’s not talk about it now,” she told him, forcing a smile to her lips, forcing a cheeriness she did not feel into her voice. “Instead, tell me what you’ve been doing since we last met?”

“A little of this, a little of that.” He shrugged. “You know how I am, Eirlys. I’m not overly fond of doing the same thing over and over.”

“I know, but I’d have thought Elrond would have given you the opportunity to channel your energies into one objective.”

Lachon chuckled. “He has. More than once.”

“And still nothing, eh?” 

“I tried to have him speak with your father,” he replied, his smile fading and his eyes growing soft. 

A hint of unease unfurled in her belly. “We’ve been through this before, Lachon. And besides, I’m married now, remember?”

“I know, more’s the pity. Although,” the familiar gleam leaped into his eyes once more, “I am happy for you and Thorin, is his name?”

She cocked her head to the side. “You very well know his name and do not try to pretend otherwise.”

“Guilty. But tell me,” he lowered his voice, “does the fact that he is a dwarf trouble you at all?”

“No,” she replied without hesitation, shaking her head, “not one bit. Why should it?”

He offered up a long look. “Surely, you remember well the last time they passed through here. We heard about it all the way in Imladris.”

She sighed. “The last time they passed through here, it was for the wedding of the king’s nephew to our own Tauriel. So, I’ll wager whatever you heard of that was not nearly as horrifying as what I think you’re alluding to.”

“Don’t be daft, Eirlys. You knew I meant the last time they were here uninvited.”

She stared hard at him. Of course she knew what happened when her father imprisoned the dwarves. They escaped and made their way first to Esgaroth, then to Erebor itself, unleashed Smaug and destroyed the town on the lake.

But, all she said to Lachon was, “What is it you’re saying, man? Don’t beat about the bush, but man up and say it.”

“Your dwarf king went mad. Went mad and nearly wiped out your father’s army, your brother  and Tauriel, all of Esgaroth, as well as his own kin.” Lachon’s dark eyes almost glowed. “And yet you’ve married him just the same, which astounds me.”

“Why?”

“Because when I asked for your hand, you refused. And yet you willingly pledged your troth to him—a dwarf?”

She rolled her eyes. “I refused you because we wanted different things, if you’ll recall. You had our lives all planned out and yet failed to ask me what I felt about any single aspect. I’d rather not have a husband who plans my life for me without any input from me.”

“And your dwarf has listened to you? Has he taken into account what you want?”

“Although, I’ll wager both houses will await the announcement of an heir’s imminent arrival in the coming year.” 

“An heir…” She peered up at him over her shoulder. “I do hope we might adjust to being married first.”

“Of course. But…” He smiled as he released her, and stepped around to whisk the linens from the bed and balled them in his arms. “I rather enjoy how one goes about begetting an heir, so I daresay, we will have one sooner rather than later.”

Still, she couldn't very well tell Lachon how Thorin had not troubled himself to ask her whether or not she even wished to have children. “Lachon, you know how families such as mine are when it comes to marriage. It’s all about the alliances that are created.”

“So, it’s one of convenience,” Lachon nodded, “so why not simply say so?”

He stepped closer and before she could do anything, he caught her around the waist to pull her close. “Remember, my grandmother was Oropher’s mistress. We should continue the tradition, Eirlys.”

“What our grandparents did has no bearing on what we do, and you know as well as I do that those rumors were never more than that—rumors,” she told him, shaking her head. “Now, unhand me.”

“We belong together, you know,” his voice lowered, grew throatier, his arms in fact tightening about her, “and you would be but wasted on that fool, mad dwarf.”

“Lachon, don’t you—”

Before she could finish, he caught her lips in a fierce kiss, his arms like bands of steel about her, pressing her own arms almost painfully against her sides. She tried to jerk back, to pull just beyond his reach, but she had no leverage and no way to force him to yield.

“What goes on here?”

The angry growl of Thorin’s deep voice was enough to make Lachon pull back and she was able to yank free of his grasp. “Thorin, I didn't hear you coming.”

“No,” he growled, turning cold blue eyes to her, “I’ll wager you did not. It’s time for us to take our leave.”

She smiled. “Good. I was just coming to find you.”

“Were you?” His gaze shifted to Lachon. “Did you perhaps mistake an elf for me?”

Her belly knotted. “It isn’t quite what you think.”

“Really?” Thorin came up to them, putting himself between her and Lachon. “You were at the ceremony yesterday, weren’t you?”

Lachon bobbed his head. “I was, indeed.”

“So you know that her Majesty is now married. To me.”

“I do.”

“Good.” Thorin offered up a mild smile and then, to both Eirlys’ and Lachon’s surprise, leveled the elf with a punch that seemingly came from nowhere. 

Lachon crumpled to his knees and Thorin crouched before him, adding, “If you come near her again, I will kill you. Do you understand that, elf?”

Blood trickled from the corner of Lachon’s mouth, and he gingerly prodded at his already swelling bottom lip as he nodded. 

Eirlys pressed her lips together to hold back her smile as she looked over at Thorin. He’d seen the kiss, but he’d no doubt seen her fighting Lachon off as well, which filled her with relief. At least his anger was aimed at the right person.

She moved to slip her arm through his. “I’ve never been so thankful to see you, Thorin,” she whispered, giving his arm a gentle squeeze.

“Indeed,” he replied, his voice cold, “and now it is time for us to take our leave.”

With that, he started off, and she stumbled as she tried to fall into step with him. Fury practically radiated from him as he stalked away from Lachon, still on the floor. Eirlys had to practically run to keep up with him, and as they rounded the corner leading to her chambers, she said, “What is the matter?”

“The matter is that you were kissing another man the morning after our wedding.”

“Wait,” she dug her heels into the floor to halt him, yanking her arm free, “I was what?”

“I saw you.” He spun around to face her. “Laughing with him and then the next minute, kissing him. Now, I know you and I might not know each other well yet, and perhaps that isn’t exactly how a marriage should begin, but—”

“I want’t kissing him. He was kissing me.”

He stared at her, eyes cold, arms folded. “As if there is a difference.”

“There is this time! He kissed me and made it so I couldn’t free myself.”

“Is that so? I thought you were trained alongside your brother, with Tauriel, with the others, to defend yourself. Didn’t you tell me that? That you are skilled with a bow and arrow as well as steel? And yet, you could not avoid a single kiss?”

“I couldn't when he’d pinned my arms to my sides, you fool!”

“I am indeed a fool,” he replied with a sharp bob of his head, “for now I am bound to you, my faithless queen, for the rest of my days. You should have but told me your heart belonged to another, for I would have refrained from consummating our marriage and then could have possibly freed myself.”

Her heart beat at triple its pace as she held his angry stare. “If that is what you wish to do, then leave for Erebor without me. I will tell no one of last evening.”

“Your sheets were stained with your virgin’s blood, your maid saw them and for all I know, they’ve been presented to your father as proof of our joining. So, as much as I would now rather just leave you behind, I can do no such thing.”

“I did not ask him to kiss me. I did not want him to kiss me, Thorin. But he did so anyway. I’ve not betrayed you nor am I faithless, but instead fell prey to a man who used his size and strength against me to his advantage and for all I know, he saw you there and that was why he did what he did.”

“We will never know, I suppose.”

“No, but you’ve already made up your mind as it is, so I don't suppose it matters one way or the other.”

“No. It doesn’t.” He turned and strode away, calling over one shoulder, “We leave in thirty minutes’ time and do not think to hide in your chambers. You will be with me in my coach if I must throw you over my shoulder and put you there myself.”

“I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction,” she snapped.

He paused then, turning back toward her. “Satisfaction?” He shook his head. “There is no satisfaction. I knew better than to trust Thranduíl. Woodland elves lack all honor and now I am trapped with one for the rest of my days.”

“Thorin, I do not lie when I say I tried to free myself from him. I—”

“Of course you did. I saw what a struggle you put up. Please, do not insult my intelligence.”

He bit off the last part as he whipped about and stalked off without a look back. A heavy sigh rose to Eirlys’ lips as she watched him go, watched the way the light played along his silver-streaked black hair, the way it glinted off the silver ornaments woven into those long curls. As soon as he calmed down, he would realize she told the truth. Why else would he hit Lachon the way he did?

Lachon.

She stalked back to where he still sat, his back against the wall, probing the swollen lower part of his face. Crouching alongside him, she said, “If you ever come near me again, Lachon, I will see to it that you never know another woman again. Am I clear?”

“Bugger off,” he mumbled around his puffy bottom lip.

“Gladly.”

With that, she stood up and marched off, wondering who had been fool enough to invite him to the wedding and how she untangled herself from the mess his being invited had created for her. 

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[dianakc]

'"So it is. Will you take work with me? That’s what I came to ask.”

Higgins’s obstinacy wavered, recovered strength, and stood firm. He would not speak. Mr. Thornton would not ask again. Higgins’s eye fell on the children.

“Yo’ve called me impudent, and a liar, and a mischief-maker, and yo’ might ha’ said wi’ some truth, as I were now and then given to drink. An’, I ha’ called you a tyrant, an’ an oud bull dog, and a hard, cruel master; that’s where it stands. But for th’ childer, Measter, do yo’ think we can e’er get on together?”

“Well!” said Mr. Thornton, half-laughing, “it was not my proposal that we should go together."'

[dianakc]

'“Why, sir, it seems to me that I have got a pretty distinct chain of evidence, inculpating a gentleman who was walking with Miss Hale that night at the Outwood station, as the man who struck or pushed Leonards off the platform and so caused his death. But the young lady denies that she was there at the time.”

“Miss Hale denies she was there!” repeated Mr. Thornton in an altered voice.'

[dianakc]

“No!” Mr. Thornton said. “Give the basket to me,—I’ll take it.”

It took up both his hands to carry it; and he had to pass through the busiest part of the town for feminine shopping. Many a young lady of his acquaintance turned to look after him, and thought it strange to see him occupied just like a porter or an errand-boy.

He was thinking, “I will not be daunted from doing as I choose by the thought of her. I like to take this fruit to the poor mother, and it is simply right that I should. She shall never scorn me out of doing what I please. A pretty joke, indeed, if, for fear of a haughty girl, I failed in doing a kindness to a man I liked! I do it for Mr. Hale; I do it in defiance of her.”

[dianakc]

Late

A/N: Well, yes, I am back with more Richard and Lorelei! What can I say? I just love these two so much and cannot control my muse 🙈

After watching Missing You a few weeks ago, I just couldn't stop thinking about RA in those suits in his office, which gave me major Professor Armitage vibes, so I decided to revisit an old one-shot I had written and here we are 😈

I actually posted this one on AO3 a little while ago, but figured I should post it here as well. However, given that engagement is a bit low on here, I may only post future fics on AO3, so be sure to subscribe to my profile and the series so you don't miss out!

Summary: Richard and Lorelei are getting ready for an alumni event at the college when they get a little distracted...

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word count: 1.6K

Rating: E

Read on AO3

“The black or the grey one?” I ask as I step into the bedroom, holding up two dresses. “The grey one is a little boring, but the black is a quite short, so I’m not sure it’s really right for an alumni event…”

Richard, who was fiddling with his tie, pauses and looks up at me. Then, with a mischievous smirk I know all too well, he walks toward me and says, “I like this one,” as he wraps his arms around my naked waist.

Though my blush tells him all he needs to know, I shake my head and step out of his embrace. 

“Be serious,” I say as I turn to face the full-length mirror. “I need your help.” 

“You know what? I think you’re taking this too seriously and it would do you good to relax before we leave.”

Ignoring his suggestive tone, I toss the black one on the chair next to the door and start to unzip the grey dress. The more conservative and professional choice. 

Richard, however, has other plans. He steps in and takes the grey dress from my hands, tossing it aside before wrapping his arms around me from behind. 

“Not the grey one. It’s too serious—and it doesn’t do you justice.” As he speaks, he caresses my bare stomach with one of his large hands, staining my skin with goosebumps. 

“Richard,” I groan in frustration. “You’re not helping!”

“Why don’t we just stay here, then?” he suggests, ignoring the look on my face to press a lingering kiss onto my shoulder, and despite my best intentions, I lean back against his broad chest. 

“We can’t stay here; our presence is expected,” I say, trying to remain reasonable. “Besides, I’ve never been to one of these events before.”

“It’s boring—trust me,” he replies, now moving to nuzzle my neck, his beard scratching me softly, and when his lips close in on the sensitive spot below my ear, I can’t hold back my sigh. 

“Well, I won’t know until I go, won’t I?” When he doesn’t reply, I shake my head. “You’re just trying to get into my pants.”

With a wide smirk, he looks up to meet my gaze through the mirror in front of us. “I’d say I’m pretty close.”

I can’t hold back my laugh, causing Richard to smile against my skin. “The event is in an hour, so you’re gonna have to control yourself and help me get dressed,” I insist despite very much wanting to stay here with him and let him continue. His hand on my stomach does not move, but the mere thought of it exploring all the sensitive places of my body makes me lick my lips. Suddenly, Richard’s smile widens, and I know he has not missed the frustration in my voice. 

The hand that now moves across my back is further proof that he can too easily read the signs of arousal in my body. When his fingers close in on my bra and effortlessly unclasp it, it takes a great deal of effort for me to protest. 

“Richard,” I groan and turn my head toward him as he pushes the straps down my arms and onto the floor, but I forget what I intended to say next as he silences me with a deep, hungry kiss. 

Despite all my best intentions, my resistance crumbles in an instant. His beard scratches my heated skin in a most alluring way as his tongue slips between my lips to meet mine, sending fiery tingles swirling through me. Even months into our relationship, his kisses are enough to make me yearn for him in ways I had never thought possible with previous partners. His passion is intense, sometimes even rough, but he is always tender and patient, leaving no inch of my skin uncherished, and now, despite the ticking clock, all I can do is melt in his arms and beg for more of his intoxicating caresses. 

Desperately needing to touch him and give him as much pleasure as he lavishes upon me, I try to turn around to face him, but he holds me firmly in place. One of his arms is wrapped around my middle, holding me tight against him, while the other hand moves to cover my breast and squeeze it, his thumb grazing my hardening nipple. Need begins to pulse in my core as he continues to tease me, but as pleasurable as his touch is, I need more. I need him , but he holds me tight, and when I finally manage to beg for him to let me touch him, he shakes his head. Then, to my surprise and confusion, he gently turns my head toward the mirror.

“I want you to watch as I pleasure you,” he explains in a low, almost growling tone. 

Heat pools between my thighs at his words, and I cannot help but whimper. Shyness surges through me as I see myself in the mirror—my hair slightly in disarray, my cheeks flushed, and my chest heaving—but the burning lust in his gaze and the large hands that explore my curves chase that feeling away. As though hypnotized, I follow the hand that now slides down my bare stomach and, finally ,  under my knickers. He stills for a moment, his eyes gazing into mine, and the smile that graces his lips tells me he knows exactly how much I am enjoying this. 

With the tips of his fingers, he teasingly traces my folds, coating me with my arousal, all while his other hand continues to caress my breast. Unwittingly, my hips buck against his hand, wordlessly begging for more, and a pleased sigh escapes my lips when he grants me my wish. He lets go of my breast for a moment to drag my knickers down my legs, then wraps his arms around me once more. There is something so incredibly arousing about standing completely naked in front of the mirror while he stands behind me, dressed in his black suit, and a low moan escapes me even before his hand returns to worship the most intimate parts of my body. 

“ Richard… ” I whimper when his thumb brushes against my clit, sending sparks of pleasure through me. 

In response, Richard chuckles against my ear before biting my earlobe, and I shiver. I am sure he will slide a finger inside me or even make me face him so he can make love to me, but he does no such thing. His fingers settle into a steady rhythm against my clit, one he knows will shatter me in no time, and I am forced to hold onto his forearm to steady myself as my core throbs against him. When a particularly powerful jolt of pleasure erupts inside me, I arch against him, my bum pressing into his growing hardness, which leaves me with no doubt as to how much he wants me, yet still, he does not move. 

“I want you,” I manage to say between breathy moans, looking up to meet his eyes in the mirror as he continues to caress me. 

To my surprise, despite his ragged breaths against my ear, he replies by saying, “Later,” then presses a lingering kiss into the crook of my neck. 

His fingers increase their pressure on my clit, and that tightening, throbbing ache deep inside me grows almost unbearable as I stand suspended on the edge of release. Nothing I say makes much sense, but Richard does not need words to understand that I am now begging him not to stop. He knows I am close, even if only by the way I now roll my hips against him to increase the friction of his hand. I desperately want to keep watching us in the mirror, but as wave after wave of rapture crashes against my core, I let my eyes flutter close. 

“I told you to watch,” Richard suddenly growls in my ear. 

Whimpering, I obey him, and the burning intensity of his gaze and the perfect movements of his fingers against me bring me over the edge. The whole room spins around us as sweet, burning ecstasy licks me from the inside out, leaving me a trembling, moaning mess in his arms. Only once he is sure my orgasm has subsided does Richard remove his hand, though he still holds me tight against him, for which I am very grateful as my whole body feels boneless. 

“What time is it?” I ask reluctantly after a while, still slightly breathless. 

“We’ll be a bit late,” Richard replies, causing me to groan. “Don’t worry, love.”

“But what about you—”

“Don’t worry about me—we have to go.” He finally lets go of me, and I turn around to face him, only for my gaze to drift down to his very prominent bulge. My core throbs at the sight. “Just get dressed; that will already make it easier for me,” he chuckles. “And we can continue this when we come back.”

“Alright,” I say with an apologetic smile. Then, as I reach for my bra and knickers, my eyes widen, and I exclaim, “Shit, I still don’t know what to wear.” 

“What about your navy dress—the one with the short sleeves and the polka dots.”

“Wait, that’s actually perfect!” I say with a relieved laugh. “And you say you have no fashion sense.” 

“I just know what looks good on you, sweetheart,” he replies with a smile, and my heart flutters.

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[dianakc]

"Margaret compressed her lips. She would not speak in answer to such accusations. But, for all that—for all his savage words, he could have thrown himself at her feet, and kissed the hem of her garment. She did not speak; she did not move. The tears of wounded pride fell hot and fast. He waited awhile, longing for her to say something, even a taunt, to which he might reply. But she was silent. He took up his hat.

“One word more. You look as if you thought it tainted you to be loved by me. You cannot avoid it. Nay, I, if I would, cannot cleanse you from it. But I would not if I could. I have never loved any woman before: my life has been too busy, my thoughts too much absorbed with other things. Now I love, and will love."'