Guilty Pleasure

“What is it?” Narcissa placed her brush on the vanity and locked eyes with her husband’s reflection in the mirror. He stood in the doorway of her bedroom…their bedroom. Her bedroom. It had been ages since they had shared a bed. He looked out of place somehow now.

Lucius did not reply to his wife. He simply turned and closed the door behind him. Narcissa kept her eyes on him, wary of this strange intrusion. She felt exposed in her thin nightshift, and she thought of her robe hanging just inside her closet. She wished she had it now. The room seemed suddenly cold.

“What?” she questioned again when Lucius loomed up behind her and stood staring at her – no, through her – in the mirror. She shivered, and lost her resolve, lowering her eyes submissively to where her hands fidgeted with the ornate hairbrush. “You went into London today?” she asked obligingly, trying to ease the tension.

“I did,” Lucius replied softly before sighing and turning away. He walked across the room loosening and removing clothing, as though he had done so every night of his life. He carefully draped both his cloak and jacket over the back of a chair and then stood in the soft glow of the bedside lamp in his crisp white shirtsleeves and removed his cuff links.

Narcissa rose from her seat and slowly crossed to Lucius, helpless against the power he seemed to have over her. He was a ridiculously handsome man; always had been. And though there were times when she cursed the day her gaze had locked with those deadly blue eyes, she had never loved anyone else. Even as alone as she had been, there was no one but Lucius for her. He owned her, body and soul.

“How is Cordelia?” she asked, reaching up to unbutton his collar as he raised his chin.

Lucius shrugged. “The same,” he said indifferently. He stood for her to unbutton him the rest of the way, watching her closely as she worked with trembling hands. “Are you cold?” he whispered, though there was no concern in the question. He sounded almost pleased.

“A little,” Narcissa lied. She couldn’t tell him that his very presence was enough to make her tremble with apprehension. She couldn’t tell him that he was both the thing she dreaded most and the thing she wanted most. She had long ago given up trying to discern whether it was Lucius that she feared, or her own reaction to him. When he was elsewhere, she could convince herself that she despised him. But standing with his body a fraction of an inch from hers, head bowed, watching her, she was at his absolute mercy. And she hated herself for it.

Lucius, acutely aware of his wife’s vulnerability, placed one finger under her chin and gently raised her face so that her eyes met his. To his delight, he felt her sway slightly, overcome by him. The corners of his mouth curved slowly into a satisfied smile. “It has been a long time, my dear,” he said softly as he traced the tip of his finger down her throat to the cleft between her breasts. She was nearly panting with anticipation.

“Lucius,” Narcissa whispered as he lowered his mouth to her neck and she closed her eyes. He fed hungrily on her throat with a hot, wet force that made her skin flush pink. His hands worked over her as well, rubbing and squeezing her breasts and backside with bruising force. Narcissa moaned in response, shamelessly enjoying her husband’s assault. She slipped her hands under his unbuttoned shirt and clung to his strong shoulders, urging him with soft whispers, begging him to take her.

All at once he tore himself from her, stepped back panting, and eyed her as he smoothed the few long rogue blonde strands of hair back from his face. The coldness in his eyes was inhuman. They were not the eyes of a loving husband, but a cruel predator. Narcissa felt a momentary rush of panic. But before she could act on her impulse, he returned to her and backed her the few steps it took to reach the bed where he shoved her down and she landed with a yelp.

Lucius looked down at her with a mixture of wickedness and disgust. Narcissa closed her eyes and reacquainted herself with the sensation of being both highly aroused and completely degraded. How could she have forgotten? It was shameful, being used like a whore by her own husband. And yet she ached for him to do just that, and she parted her thighs as she watched him open the front of his trousers.

In the next moment he was between her thighs and then with a grunt and quick thrust of his hips he pushed his cock deep into her. Narcissa gasped and squirmed from the shock of the rough use of her body, but Lucius held her fast beneath him. “Hold still,” he snarled. Narcissa obeyed and though she fought hard against the tears, she couldn’t keep them at bay when Lucius thrust harder and harder still, jarring her body from the inside out with an ever-increasing violence. The bed shook and creaked under the strain, and Narcissa heard a voice crying out in both agony and ecstasy, and realized that though it sounded distant, it was in fact her own.

He finished with her quickly. The frantic encounter ending when he managed to grind himself into her one last time, reaching her farthest depths and spilling his hot seed with a satisfied groan. He remained poised over her for a moment, eyes closed and body rigid until the final waves had passed from his loins. Then, he slowly opened his eyes, looked down at his wife’s tear-stained face, and without a word he withdrew from her. He spoke not one word as he refastened his trousers, buttoned his shirt back, and gathered his coat and cloak.

He left the room without so much as a glance back at the bed where the woman lay curled on her side, sobbing.