The Marriage Contract

by Rose Wulf

  Alice laughed over the sound of running water. “I can accept that. What matters is that it was ‘good’ in your opinion.”

  “Alice, I’m answering questions, not actually considering him!”

  Her friend was still grinning too widely when she made her way back into the living room, empty-handed. “See, Ophelia, that’s the problem. You never consider men. I’m trying to teach you how to change that.”

  Ophelia arched a brow. “Why? I’m perfectly happy the way I am.” It was a good thing she was used to lying through her teeth or she might have choked on that one. Instead, she almost wanted to cry at the ease with which it rolled off her tongue.

  “Maybe today you’re satisfied,” Alice conceded. “But someday you’re going to wake up and realize your life is lacking. You might feel incomplete, or lonely, or just like you wouldn’t mind seeing someone look at you like you mattered.” She held up a finger deliberately. “You need to be ready for that day. And, Ophelia, you’re almost twenty-eight. You should really consider dating.”

  Ophelia rolled her eyes in an effort to maintain her story as much as to disguise the sting of the truth in Alice’s words. “What does my age have to do with when and why I consider dating?”

  “Because the market thins out the older you get.” She said it so matter-of-factly, Ophelia couldn’t argue.

  Instead, she sighed again, not intentionally. “I appreciate that you’re worried about me, but honestly, Keith Butler isn’t my Prince Charming.”

  “Yeah,” Alice said, snatching a decorative pillow and clutching it to her chest as she sat sideways on the couch, facing Ophelia. “Disney way oversold that fantasy. Lower your standards.”

  Ophelia cringed. “Alice…”

  Alice waved a hand dismissively. “That came out worse than I meant it to,” she said quickly. “All I meant is, there’s no love-at-first-sight, magic-in-the-air kind of feeling. You have to build to it. It starts with attraction. So, first, we have to find a guy who catches your interest. Someone you find good-looking that you can also have at least some kind of conversation with.”

  “I’m really not looking to be a pet-project, Alice,” Ophelia insisted.

  “You don’t want to find love?” Alice challenged.

  Ophelia’s chest burned. She set her jaw. “Can we talk about something else?”

  Alice studied her for a moment before sighing dramatically. “Fine, fine.” She paused, her lips twitching. “Did you know your neighbor’s actually kind of hot?”

  Ophelia nearly fell off the couch. “Alice!”

  Alice laughed and chucked the pillow at her. “You should see your face! You’re so easy! Come on, Ophelia, let’s watch a movie or something. Something bloody, maybe.”

  Chapter Four

  It was late when Ophelia returned from taking Alice home. They’d watched a horror movie, Alice’s choice, and talked for a while about superfluous things. Yet she still couldn’t get Alice’s words out of her head.

  “You might feel incomplete, or lonely … you don’t want to find love?”

  Alice had no idea how on the head she’d hit that nail. She never could.

  Ophelia locked the door and turned off the lights one by one as she made her way to her bedroom. She shed her dirty clothes and stepped into a steaming hot shower, her mind spinning. She did feel lonely. Every day, every night, every waking moment. Almost. There were occasional, secret exceptions. Moments she wasn’t even supposed to appreciate. Her eyes stung and she lifted her head, letting the tears mix with the hot streams of water on her face. She was the air, that was her nature, so why did she feel so … empty? Shouldn’t she appreciate being free, being able to live apart?

  There was no sense dwelling on the old, familiar questions again. No matter the hours she’d sunk into them in the past, she’d yet to find an answer. A satisfying one, anyway.

  After scrubbing herself clean of the day and washing out her hair—she needed to refresh her dye, but that was fine, since she’d bought more—Ophelia stepped from the shower stall. Her bathroom was fairly spacious, in fact, it was her favorite room of the house. It gave her plenty of space and the privacy she needed. She lifted from her feet, just a couple of inches, and spun in a tight circle, arms out and hair free. The water lingering on her body flew off. She spun again, a little slower, using the air to wipe the walls and surfaces of the fresh droplets.

  Once she was dry and everything was clean, Ophelia touched down again and her hair fell, covering her back. She stepped from the bathroom, crossed the short distance of the hall into her bedroom, and pulled on her panties and her nightgown. The sleeping dress had barely settled around her thighs when she paused and pulled her lip between her teeth. A glance at the clock told her how late it was. And Gods, how she knew better. Neither of those things meant she wasn’t tempted.

  Don’t do it, Ophelia.

  She released a breath and moved toward her bed. Her cold, empty, uninviting bed.

  She clenched a hand over her chest subconsciously. I could peek.

  Before she could talk sense into herself, she floated to her hanging bathrobe, slipped it on, and moved to the fake coat closet just past the bedroom in the hall. On his side, the doorway was a display case, but on hers, it was an actual door, allowing for the space between the houses. If roughly three feet of room counted as “space.” There was no light inside and there was a bar overhead, which she used to hang just a few coats. Mostly in case someone ever poked their head in. The darkness always gave her the chills, but she wasn’t the one who’d designed the room. Salamanders could see perfectly well in the dark. She doubted it had occurred to his family to install a light. Regardless, it was a small space, and most of the far wall was the door to his side. She could fumble around blind and find it easily.

  By now, she didn’t need to fumble.

  With her door shut behind her, she gave a gentle shove and the false wall moved back, swinging silently open. She stepped onto smooth hardwood identical to the flooring in her own home and looked toward the bedroom. The house was dark enough she could guess he wasn’t sitting in front of the television, so she didn’t bother starting in the other direction. He might be asleep. She made sure the door settled quietly back into place and carefully made her way toward his room, not wanting to wake him if he was, in fact, already sleeping.

  The door was open—she wondered if he ever closed it—and the tableside lamp was on, illuminating her husband and most of the room in dim lighting. He sat up, back against the headboard, tablet in hand, finger hovering over the screen as if waiting to scroll. Very much not asleep.

  Ophelia was a little concerned at the relief she felt. “Batson,” she called softly, still not wanting to startle him.

  His shoulders twitched and his head snapped up and around. She wasn’t surprised he hadn’t heard her coming. She’d more or less walked on air to keep from making a sound that might disturb him. “Lia?” He glanced at the screen, probably checking the time. “Shit, it’s late, is something wrong?”

  She shook her head and moved into the room, suddenly unsure of how to explain why she was there. How could she convey the feelings that had compelled her? “No, I…” Her voice trailed and she found herself fiddling with the sleeves of her fluffy, sky-blue robe. “It’s stupid.”

  Batson scowled and set his tablet on the nightstand. “Try me.” He stretched out his arm, flipped back the comforter, and patted the empty side of the bed. Her side. “Sit.”

  Ophelia obediently moved around and climbed onto the mattress, curling her legs up beside her and angling so she was leaning a little on the headboard but facing him. By the time she was settled, Batson had rotated around enough to see her without holding his head entirely sideways. She couldn’t help but take a moment to look at him. He was dressed for bed, of course, and that meant he likely had on nothing but a pair of boxer shorts beneath the comforter pooled in his lap. His entire upper body was on display. All those tight, chiseled muscles.

  �
��Lia.”

  She drew a breath, telling herself she took no special joy in the way her nickname rolled off his tongue in his deep, gravelly voice. “It’s something Alice said,” she started before she could think better of it. “It’s … haunting me, I guess.”

  He frowned, something between impatience and concern in his ruby eyes. She pushed the rest of the words out. “I’m lonely.”

  Batson released a breath and reached over, slipping his hand beneath the high collar of her robe until he had hold of her nape, and drew her closer. “You could’ve just said that,” he mumbled, his warm breath tickling her skin.

  Ophelia shivered and scooted up to him, letting a hand rest beneath his collarbone. His skin was firm and warm to the touch. “Batson,” she whispered as she tilted her head up to meet his descending lips.

  Their mouths connected in a hot, wet kiss. He held her in place with the hand at her nape, bringing his other arm across his body and around her back. Ophelia spread both her hands over his pecs and slowly slid them up to his broad shoulders as their tongues danced. She sucked on his, he teased hers with his teeth. His fingers slipped into her hair and she moaned, curving her arms higher on his shoulders in order to reach his back. Pulling herself closer. He rumbled with something close to a growl.

  Suddenly, she was burning up, the usually comfortable, snuggly bathrobe becoming a stifling, unbearable burden on her body. It’d been too long. Gods, it’d been far too long. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him.

  Batson broke the kiss with a guttural groan. “Lia.”

  Afraid he might be working up the strength to stop, thinking he was taking advantage of her or something equally ridiculous, Ophelia dug her fingers into the skin between his shoulder blades and brought her lips to his ear. “Please, let me stay. I want this.”

  His arm tightened around her and he found her throat with his lips, carelessly burying his face in the fluffy collar of her robe in the process. Between the rough kisses and the thick fabric, she barely heard the words of consent, but she absolutely felt them. All the way to her toes. She sucked in a breath when he nipped at the skin over her pulse point, then slid his tongue through the hollow at the base of her neck.

  “B-Batson,” she stammered. “You’re—that’ll—mark!”

  “Fuck it,” he growled, making his way back up toward her ear. “Stay in tomorrow. It’ll be fine.” He caught her earlobe with his teeth and her argument scattered.

  There was only one thing she cared about. “Help me,” she murmured. “Help me get this off.”

  He made a sound, like a release of air, that brought the image of his smirk to mind before his face came back into her line of sight. And there it was, that devilish grin, emphasized with his glittering red eyes. It was like a spell that sent fire shooting through her blood. He caught her lips again as he shifted his hold and easily pulled the knot free. His warm, calloused touch pushed the robe from her shoulders and with a little shifting, the heavy material was pulled from her body. In the process, Batson managed to turn them around and, with a hand on her full thigh, dragged her entirely over his lap.

  The kiss broke and he raked his gaze over her. “Goddamn, Lia,” he said, voice low and thick.

  She shivered as he slipped his fingers beneath the ridden-up hem of her nightgown, teasing the edges of her panties. The look in his eyes was unmistakable, even if she didn’t entirely understand the “why.” She pulled her lip between her teeth for a moment and glanced toward the lamp.

  “Forget it,” he said firmly, hands once again planted on her thighs. “Besides, I’d be able to see you just fine, anyway.”

  Was she that easy to read? Ophelia looked back at him and pressed her fingertips into his chest. “You know I’m self-conscious,” she whispered.

  “So you keep saying,” he replied. “I’ll never understand it.” He fingered her nightgown deliberately. “The sight of you straddling my hips, in this thin little satin thing, is sexy as fuck.”

  The timbre of his voice when he said those words almost made her believe them all on its own. Ophelia swallowed heavily. “Batson,” she pleaded quietly.

  He didn’t seem to need her to articulate more. He sat up, lifting his hands as he went, and peeled the gown over her head. Leaving her in only her panties. His arms folded around her and he crushed her to his chest, claiming her lips in a hot, demanding kiss and grinding his erection against her aching center. He sucked her tongue into his mouth and she moaned, her hands straining to reach whatever contours of muscle she could over his back. One of his hands lowered and took hold of her ass, giving it a squeeze. He untangled his other hand from her hair and eased back from her just enough to catch one full breast in his palm.

  Ophelia panted as the kiss broke, Batson’s thumb brushing firmly over her nipple while the fingers on her rear teased the edge of her underwear. Every touch sent a fresh lick of heat to her core. She arched her back, pressing her chest more into his hand, rocking her hips again over his.

  “Fuck,” he mumbled. He adjusted his hold and leaned down, latching his lips to her neglected boob. Her fingers threaded his thick brown hair while he teased and tormented her. He squeezed, licked, and pinched until her head fell back on a low moan. Then the hand on her ass lowered and slid inside her panties, until his fingers stroked over her slick folds.

  She gasped sharply and dug her nails into his scalp and the back of his neck.

  He grazed her nipple with his teeth and rubbed his digits along her mercilessly. “You’re fuckin’ soaked,” he murmured, barely removing his lips enough to speak. The gentle vibration of the words was extra titillation on her skin.

  Ophelia tried to respond, but as soon as she opened her mouth, he buried two slicked fingers inside her. All that came out was a loud moan of appreciation.

  Batson finally released her breasts, wrapped his free arm around her to pull her close, and trailed his tongue over the length of her throat as he moved his hand in short, sharp strokes. Working her up, as if she weren’t already throbbing with want. When he reached her ear, he curled his fingers in her channel and whispered thickly, “Tell me you’re still on birth control.”

  She could barely breathe, let alone think. It took her a second to translate his words. “Y-yes,” she finally managed.

  He pulled his hand from her body, lifted her, and tugged her panties down with an incoherent grunt. Somewhere along the way, they tumbled over and he landed on top of her, devoid of the boxers he’d previously been wearing. She practically salivated at the sight of him, the way his muscular torso tapered into lean hips over powerful thighs and, of course, his almost intimidating erection. All poised between her legs and leaning over her as she fought to catch her breath.

  Batson ghosted his lips over hers, brushed his hands over her skin, reached down, and spread her legs as far as they would go. He locked his stare onto hers as he lined himself up and she felt him push against her. Her body trembled with anticipation. It really had been too long since she’d let him touch her like this. She exhaled and he snapped his hips forward with a hard thrust, burying himself all the way inside her.

  Ophelia gasped and threw her head back as the sensation overtook her.

  Batson rumbled deep in his throat and skimmed his hands up to her hips. “Shit, Lia,” he said with a grunt. He withdrew slowly, as if trying to torture them both, then surged back in. Both of them groaned.

  She reached up and pressed her fingers into his arm, the best form of grabbing hold of him she could manage.

  Batson picked up a satisfyingly deep, hard pace and leaned over her. Weight braced on one forearm, he caught her lips in another searing kiss and brought his remaining hand up to tangle in her hair. Holding her head to his as he drove his cock into her core repeatedly. She moaned into his kiss and reached up, wrapping her arms around his torso, holding on to him for all she was worth.

  He was everywhere. His unique heat completely engulfed her and she loved it. Somehow, even as her body raced towa
rd oblivion, she felt safe. Invincible, even.

  He broke the kiss with one last nibble on her lip, shifted his weight, and pulled one of her legs over his shoulder. Fingers digging, just shy of burning, into her thigh, he swirled his tongue around her navel and said, “Don’t hold back on me, Lia.”

  She wanted to assure him she wouldn’t, because she couldn’t, but she didn’t have the strength for the words as her body rocked with his increasing tempo. Unable to properly reach his skin now, she grabbed hold of his sheet and bucked her hips to meet his. All she wanted was him buried inside her when she came, and she was so close she could almost will herself the rest of the way.

  Finally, with a thick roar of completion, Batson plunged into her at just the right angle and Ophelia’s orgasm crashed over her, ripping a pleasured cry from her throat.

  At some point after her heart began to near a normal pace again, Batson crawled over her body—both of her legs once again on the mattress—and tenderly kissed her swollen lips. “You’re staying over tonight.” Not a question, not a request.

  She smiled and ran her fingers over his sweaty torso. “You need to change the sheet. And we’re a mess.”

  Batson grinned, his eyes flashing. “Both of those things are fixable.”

  She suspected he didn’t mean a simple washcloth and change of bedding. Tonight, she didn’t care.

  ****

  Ophelia rubbed her fingers absently over the soft sleeve of her robe the next morning, watching from her seat at the small dining table as Batson finished plating their breakfast. He’d pulled on sweatpants but hadn’t bothered with a shirt, and since he hadn’t run a comb through his hair, the mop of brown on his head was even messier than usual. The combination was sinfully sexy. She smiled quietly to herself. It was the rare moments like these that almost made her forget their complicated lives. They almost never got to be so domestic. In truth, that was probably what made it the hardest.