Wild, Beguile prompt for The Flame
They sat discussing the children, sipping their tea and acting like the perfect couple.
Dearest Nancy had been introduced to him by his fine friend, John, many years ago and, after a lengthy courtship, they had married in a perfect little ceremony by the sea. Since then he had risen through the ranks of Scotland Yard, and she lived as the perfect lady of the house.
He smiled as he watched his dear little wife as she delicately bit into the shortbread biscuits he had purchased with their tea. She played the role that was expected of her perfectly. He could remember the words dear John had used to describe her - enchantingly beautiful, sweet and demure. She had thoroughly lived up to his expectations - at first anyway.
With tea finished, he helped her out of her chair and she brushed crumbs from the delicate fabric of her cream-coloured skirts. His hand rested on her lower back as they made their way out of the cafe. Stepping out into the rain, he opened his large black umbrella, and they walked casually through the sodden streets. She chattered happily about the flowers she had planted in their window boxes and of their son’s successes at school.
He woke several hours later; his mouth swollen with her devilish kisses and bruises over his naked body where she had bitten him. Chuckling, he struggled against the silk scarves that tied him to the bed. She never could behave for long. His sweet, humble wife was also a wild and passionate thing; a brilliant actress that fooled the world.
Finally freeing himself, he rubbed the sore flesh of his wrists and hoped that the feeling in them would come back soon. He pulled on some trousers and headed for the kitchen. Cook would have gone home by now, but hopefully there would be something to eat in the pantry.
“Hello dearest,” she murmured as he entered the room.
If he hadn’t known her so well, he might have been surprised at her presence in the corner of the room. She sat perched on a wooden chair, rather like a bird of prey, dressed in a scandalous red that she would never wear publically. He knew that she had been waiting for him.
“Good evening, my love. Hungry?” he asked.
She nodded and gestured to the table beside her. Food was piled upon it randomly: apple crumble with Yorkshire puddings, roasted lamb with scones and many other things as well. He could see that she held a chicken leg in one hand while she licked custard off a spoon in the other. Clearly, she had worked hard tonight.
Together they munched through the muddled midnight feast - not bothering with the manners and patterns they worked so hard to maintain in the daylight hours. When they finally finished, she stood. With a sly smile she leaned close to him until her lips almost touched his. She lingered there, teasing him for the shortest of moments and then, like some sort of wild thing, licked the gravy that had dribbled down his chin in one long sweep of her catlike tongue. Her eyes glowed at him as she left the room, another kind of hunger now leading her and burning into him with her gaze.
He pushed away the mess of their meal for the servants to clear in the morning and walked across the kitchen. At the doorway he glanced around for one final time - he wanted to know what the game had been while he slept. A smirk flitted across his lips when he saw. He turned off the lamps and hurried upstairs to his woman.
In the shimmering light of the dying fire something glinted on the kitchen table. Stolen rubies, diamonds, emeralds and gold spilled out from a black velvet bag.
Dearest Nancy had been introduced to him by his fine friend, John, many years ago and, after a lengthy courtship, they had married in a perfect little ceremony by the sea. Since then he had risen through the ranks of Scotland Yard, and she lived as the perfect lady of the house.
He smiled as he watched his dear little wife as she delicately bit into the shortbread biscuits he had purchased with their tea. She played the role that was expected of her perfectly. He could remember the words dear John had used to describe her - enchantingly beautiful, sweet and demure. She had thoroughly lived up to his expectations - at first anyway.
With tea finished, he helped her out of her chair and she brushed crumbs from the delicate fabric of her cream-coloured skirts. His hand rested on her lower back as they made their way out of the cafe. Stepping out into the rain, he opened his large black umbrella, and they walked casually through the sodden streets. She chattered happily about the flowers she had planted in their window boxes and of their son’s successes at school.
He woke several hours later; his mouth swollen with her devilish kisses and bruises over his naked body where she had bitten him. Chuckling, he struggled against the silk scarves that tied him to the bed. She never could behave for long. His sweet, humble wife was also a wild and passionate thing; a brilliant actress that fooled the world.
Finally freeing himself, he rubbed the sore flesh of his wrists and hoped that the feeling in them would come back soon. He pulled on some trousers and headed for the kitchen. Cook would have gone home by now, but hopefully there would be something to eat in the pantry.
“Hello dearest,” she murmured as he entered the room.
If he hadn’t known her so well, he might have been surprised at her presence in the corner of the room. She sat perched on a wooden chair, rather like a bird of prey, dressed in a scandalous red that she would never wear publically. He knew that she had been waiting for him.
“Good evening, my love. Hungry?” he asked.
She nodded and gestured to the table beside her. Food was piled upon it randomly: apple crumble with Yorkshire puddings, roasted lamb with scones and many other things as well. He could see that she held a chicken leg in one hand while she licked custard off a spoon in the other. Clearly, she had worked hard tonight.
Together they munched through the muddled midnight feast - not bothering with the manners and patterns they worked so hard to maintain in the daylight hours. When they finally finished, she stood. With a sly smile she leaned close to him until her lips almost touched his. She lingered there, teasing him for the shortest of moments and then, like some sort of wild thing, licked the gravy that had dribbled down his chin in one long sweep of her catlike tongue. Her eyes glowed at him as she left the room, another kind of hunger now leading her and burning into him with her gaze.
He pushed away the mess of their meal for the servants to clear in the morning and walked across the kitchen. At the doorway he glanced around for one final time - he wanted to know what the game had been while he slept. A smirk flitted across his lips when he saw. He turned off the lamps and hurried upstairs to his woman.
In the shimmering light of the dying fire something glinted on the kitchen table. Stolen rubies, diamonds, emeralds and gold spilled out from a black velvet bag.