Sickeningly Sweet Indeed Lmao - Tumblr Posts

"Because..." You're supposed to be, she wants to say, but can't bring herself to utter them. Her fingers continue combing through his hair, finally gathering enough courage to meet his gaze and when she does, her cheek flush.

His reaction isn't what she anticipates and it feels like a weight is lifted from her shoulders. She'd always thought if she confessed such a thing to a man, they'd think she was a wanton. Just like George had thought she was. It had been easier to hide when she'd separated herself from everyone, when she kept everyone she met at a distance.

When he pulls her forward, she can't hide the smile on her face. The feeling of his hands on her thighs is maddening, a sensation she'd been imagining for weeks. She sways her hips, just enough to tease, just enough to keep him wanting her. Men were always eager at first, but they lost interest once they got what they were chasing. Anne didn't want him to lose interest, even after their romp of the night was through.

She doesn't need more encouragement, with eager hands, she moves to lift his shirt, only pulling away to pull it from his head. She takes a moment to look at him, to drink him in. Her husband. Her John. A flicker of desire rumbles through her as she traces her hands down his chest, fingers lightly skimming over the jagged scar. When the time was right, she'd ask him about it. She'd hold his hand and kiss every place he'd ever been wounded. But for now, it didn't matter. Scars, quirks, flaws... None of it mattered when it was him.

"Hopefully I can live up to your expectations." Anne quipped back, her lips quirked into a smile. As if returning the favor, she takes his hands and slides them further up her thighs, beneath her chemise and onto her stomach, goosebumps rising on her skin as his touch fueled her with a foreign sense of belonging. She watches his eyes as she slowly guides his hands up, up, up until they stop on her breasts. She holds his hands there for a moment, not moving, not speaking, just letting her body acclimate to his touch.

"I'm afraid so. Terribly in love." She teases with a coy expression. Despite her straddling him, his hands on her chest, the taste of him on her lips... She still felt unfamiliar confessing her love to someone. Even if it was her husband. But a part of her thinks she's loved him since that first day. When she'd walked into the drawing room and saw him sitting by himself, a part of her knew he would haunt her for the rest of her life. His sad eyes would appear in her dreams, his gentle voice lingering her mind long after they parted ways. "Me too. I don't think there's a world in which I wouldn't have loved you."

After he kissed her, he kept his face pressed to her middle, relishing in her softness, in her warmth, content with the respite that came with just holding her. He never believed himself capable of marriage, all those years spent believing he would die in a field thousands of miles from home before a c.easefire was ordered. They'd lost the w.ar, yes, but for some reason he hadn't lost his life.

"I... Yes."

With her admittance came relief for he didn't want to play the role of teacher; that was just another thing added to his list of past transgressions.

"But not like this. Not with someone I love."

John felt her words in his gut and he swallowed, tilting his face to gaze up at her, shuddering when she brushed her fingers through his hair. He noticed the furrow to her brow, "Please don't be upset."

"Why would I be upset? I asked so I could know if this would startle you," and as he spoke he slid his hands from her waist to the backs of her thighs, summoning her forward so she was settled overtop of him, straddling his lap. He kissed her again, his hands slipping under the risen material of her shift and resting on her bare thighs. When she shifted in his lap, her hips rocking into his, he nearly groaned into their kiss as he fought the urge to pull her flush against him.

Reaching for her, he guided one of her hands to the hem of his shirt, wanting her to be the one to undress him, wanting her to be a participant, not some witness.

"I wasn't either," he said, breaking their kiss long enough to breathe, "in love, I mean. I wasn't in love my first time either."

He moved to kiss her again then stopped, his lips ghosting over hers, a teasing smile on his mouth, "Is that what we are, Anne? Are we in love?" he sobered then, speaking quietly, "I think I was already a little in love with you when I agree to all this."