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Today was a typical day. It should be. Spring bloomed like its assorted flowers and their buds, which unveiled themselves beneath the sun, their petals unfolding in the open fields, and Eliza's nurturing care for their needs, including a refreshing shower.
That was how Alexander perceived the morning, at first—not when a household staff was outside waiting for him, informing him that his wife had suddenly become ill-stricken, and that's when Alexander lunged through the stairs and into their master bedroom.
"Eliza!"
The moment Alexander closed the distance with his bedridden wife, she was writhing beneath the sheets, her skin flushed with a feverish heat that seemed to burn through the thick cotton. There was already a hand towel wrapped like a bundle plastered on her forehead; he assumed ice was inside it, but that did not stop Eliza's continuous sweating.
She rolls back and forth under the blanket before fluttering her eyes open, dark and unfocused, her pupils were blown wide as if there is some hunger to it.
"Alexander…" she breathed, her voice a husky whisper.
Alexander quickly reached out to remove the iced towel on her forehead so he could test how hot she was feeling, but the moment his palm made contact, Eliza gasped and jumped from his touch.
"Oh, Eliza, what happened to you?" he fretted, his voice dripped with anxiety, as these types of situations do not frequent, rather the other way around.
Eliza shivered. Alexander could not decipher her look, but something prayed to him that it might be something far more dangerous than a simple fever. He was transfixed over her, but at the corner of his eyes, he could see a slight movement beneath the blanket that kept rummaging top to bottom; he pretended he did not see that as her gaze held a desperate plea that he couldn't quite comprehend.
"I saw an unknown flower blooming," she whispered, her voice crackling, "I merely poured it a splash of water, before inhaling its strong scent. I thought it simply carried a strong fragrance, but I could not foresee the heat getting to me in an instant."
As Alexander tried to remember the feeling and intensity of his palms against Eliza's, it dawned on him that the scorching heat was like lava. He opts for a swifter response, "Do not worry, my Eliza, I will fetch the best of doctors—"
"No!" she cried out, shocking Alexander with her eyes wild in desperation, but he could not scan what kind. "No doctor. Please."
"Then pray tell, Eliza, please, what do you need?"
Eliza's shortening, yet fast, breaths filled the silence of the room. Something was definitely clouding her thoughts to not properly tell Alexander what she truly needed.
A minute has barely passed, but Alexander could not wait against the time's sudden slack. "Eliza, please! You don't want a doctor, so what do you truly need?"
"You."
Alexander blinks. His eyes pulsed wide, both brows rose to such an extent, and he could not let a single word out of his mouth.
Now it was his turn to be silent, and Eliza did not like it. "Oh, you fool!" she gasped, her face formed a deep crease of frustration, and it is a certain type of frustration. "We already have Philip, has it not dawned on you that I am..!"
Eliza does not admit it out loud, she wouldn't just wanna say she's deeply, sexually frustrated, merely longing to be fucked 'till unconscious. It feels unholy in her tongue, but her husband is an idiot, and they have household staff roaming around; one of them is just outside as they argue.
Luckily, it clicks for Alexander as his mouth soon forms an 'o' with his brows arched high in astonishment.
"There is a flower that can do that?"
"Just usher the staff already to have an early leave!"
And Alexander exactly does so, while probably ushering Philip to sleep too. But, unfortunately for Eliza, it took some time for they had too many staff, and she was left alone.
She changed herself to her simple chemise, so it would be ideal for her to lift the hem slightly and slip her hand to her thigh, dragging her fingers to the slicked innermost and maybe insert a finger or two—
She does not do that. Yes, it is tempting. But she, as a civilized woman and follower of God, mustn't give in to her own desires for she must embody virtue no matter what.
That is what is supposed to be, until a minute has passed, and her mind, excuse her vulgarity, screams to herself to fuck it.
Her husband is aforementioned, an idiot—her idiot, to be exact—but oh, she truly wished she could've just shut him with her mouth on his during their short conversation.
She pictures herself enveloped in his strong cologne. Her legs are draped over his back, the weight of his body pressing her into the mattress, quenching the restless heat that threatens to consume her to ash.
Beneath the blankets, her hand trembles as she pulls the hem of her thin chemise over to her hips. The cool air brushes her skin; a brief, startling contrast to the inferno raging beneath her skin.
Her other empty hand slips under the chemise, tracing paths slowly and up to her heaving breasts, and she fantasizes more.
Eyes fluttering as they shut tight, her dominant hand ventures further to her clenched thighs, which are completely soaked in wetness. She tests the waters as her palm is pressed against her undergarments, and a jolt is sent up through her spine as she chokes on her own saliva. It seems the flower also made her extra sensitive, and gave her natural lubricant.
So how would Alexander have done it? She imagines two sides of him: one gentle, his presence close and steady, his voice low as he murmurs soft, reassuring words meant only for her; and another more relentless, unyielding in a way that leaves no room for doubt, where even the air between them feels charged and unrestrained.
She whimpers as her mind wires her more desperate. Her fingers, slick with arousal, slid through the folds of her undergarment, where she finds the sensitive bud that throbbed with a frantic, painful rhythm.
Her hand is relentless as she attempts to chase a sensation she can't quite satisfy. Her back arches slightly as she lets out a sharp breath when a jolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure shoots through her. Her body strained against the moment, but it was only a temporary bandage on a raging wound—it is not enough to sustain her fiery desire; she needs him.
After what felt like hours for Eliza, she finally heard the sound of the bedroom door clicking open, then shut. Alexander's heavy, hurried footsteps crossed the floor. He was back.
He stood by the bed, his chest heaving, his eyes dark as they roamed over her. "Eliza," he called worriedly. He pulls away the blanket in one movement and tosses it to a nearby chair.
And he catches a glimpse of an extraordinary sight—he thinks—of his wife: the chemise bunched around her waist, her hand still buried between her legs, her face a mask of desperate, beautiful agony.
The last time they were sexually intimate, it wasn't like this. So it was difficult for Alexander to pin whether Eliza preferred it that way or the other, but the sight had already struck a nerve in his now-tented pants, and he decides to take it slow.
Eliza's lips then slightly parted, as though she tried to speak, but was cut off with Alexander's mouth on hers, just as her short daydream went about.
She instantly melts in his mouth. The kiss was unlike their usual gentle pecks. Alexander's lips were firm but caring, his tongue slipping into her mouth somehow so tenderly, savoring the moment. He slowly makes his way into the bed to be on top of Eliza, who responds with more fervor.
Her legs are clasped together against Alexander's knees while her drenched hands come up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper.
Woe is Eliza, for Alexander saw right through her and pulled away to press his calloused fingers onto her soft, damp lips. He playfully whispers, "I'd rather have it slow than have you hurt, Betsy."
His voice was low and velvety. The nickname rolled off so well on his tongue that Eliza had squirmed under his presence while she groans, voice strained, "And I would rather have you rendered undressed for how ridiculous your mouth is."
"You presume my oratory skills are inadequate?"
"I am saying they are being wasted on conversation when they could be put to far better use."
A grin spreads across his face. "I've figured. An excellent point, may I also add," he chuckled, "Allow me to address your primary grievance."
He made quick work of his cravat and waistcoat, his movements efficient but filled with a trembling urgency. As his shirt falls and unveils his chest, it earns a hitched breathing from Eliza. It isn't like it is their first time now, but something about the sight of him, all lean muscle and warm skin in the dim light, was a balm and a catalyst all at once.
Eliza's gaze was clear as glass, which made Alexander laugh. "Better?"
"A marginal improvement," she managed to tease, though her voice was thick with desire as he lowered his head to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin of her shoulder. "But you have yet to address my… 'primary grievance'."
"Patience, my love," he murmured against her skin, his breath sending shivers down her spine.
Alexander leans in once again, drawn back to Eliza. His lips find hers again, it was a kiss of promises—dipped in devotion, threaded with a quiet, undeniable hunger.
While his hair is combed by her fingers, his other hand makes a slow, deliberate journey down her body. He traced the curve of her waist, his touch light enough to make her shiver, before his palm came to rest on the gentle swell of her hip.
The kiss breaks, and Alexander eyes down to Eliza's swollen breasts, the thin chemise doing little to conceal their hardened peaks.
Eliza could clearly see where his gaze landed, but before she could form a witty retort, Alexander's head was lowered, and his mouth closed over one cloth-covered nipple. The sensation of the damp fabric combined with the heat of his mouth electrified Eliza; it enraged the fiery pollen within her.
"Alexander," she gasped, her grip on his hair tightening as he suckled gently, then with more pressure, his tongue swirling in a maddening rhythm that had her crying out and arching her back, pressing herself more firmly against him.
He lifts his head, a smug grin plastered on his face. "Patience I said. It hasn't been a year with Philip."
He laughs when he elicits a pouting Eliza, her body writhing beneath him due to the prolonged pleasure. "Stop laughing and do what you're supposed to do."
"Hm?" Alexander hummed. His fingers, with infuriatingly deliberate slowness, hooked onto the hem of her chemise, undressed her, and cupped her ample bosoms.
Eliza answers with a long, airy moan, and Alexander does not wait for an answer. His head lowers to Eliza's bare neck, where he begins peppering gentle kisses as his hands are occupied kneading her chest.
"What am I supposed to do, Eliza?" Alexander then places his mouth on the direct, flushed side of Eliza's neck, and he waits for her verbal answer.
"Don't make me say it," she sighed, feeling another pleasuring shot to her core when Alexander flicked her nipples. Her head was clouded with physical longing and she could not entertain Alexander anymore.
"You can talk," he breathed, long and hot, onto Eliza's silky skin, "so speak for me, Betsy."
When he receives a whine from Eliza, he decides to give her a hickey, which he has not done before.
Eliza's heart skips a beat when she feels a tingling from his gentle suction. She tips her head to the opposite side, where he continues to suck.
"In me," she sighed, breath fleeting as desire consumes her. "I want you in me."
Something in Eliza's desperateness and firmness made Alexander sense a surge of his appetite deeper than ever as he lifted his head from the newly bloomed mark. "Not yet," he simply said, "let me lay the proper foundation, it'll be swift."
Eliza couldn't voice her frustration when Alexander made moves by traveling down on her, where he props up some pillows on her hip and places his hands on her abdomen, tracing slow circles onto the smooth, luminous porcelain skin, burning with a quiet intensity.
Each unnecessarily slow stroke set Eliza ablaze. Her surroundings became a blur and were instead filled with nice and lovely praises of sorts from Alexander that Eliza could not make sense of, even if she wanted to.
Alexander does not waste time. His hands full on her child-bearing hips, and he claims her most sensitive flesh with a practiced skill that immediately sends her to see the stars.
He licked and sucked and nibbled. His tongue explored an inch of her, his hand holding her hips steady as she bucked and writhed beneath him. He feels a bundle of legs wrapped around his midsection, lying tight as it presses him further into such a lascivious flower, his claim.
"Ah— Alexander," Eliza moaned, her voice a ragged sob. She is overwhelmed by the sensation when a tidal wave of pleasure threatens to thrash her. Her back arches when she feels the pressure building in as a tight coil winds tighter and tighter in her belly with Alexander's constant lapping.
On the other hand, he could sense she was close, and if anything, he intensified his efforts instead. His tongue moved faster, lavishing in and out of her. "Come for me, Eliza," he managed to coo, his voice deep and commanding, "let me taste you."
She was close, so close, at this point: she might as well be with the stars.
And she does—not literally but still—she shatters.
The climax ripples through her body. It was a blinding and explosive force that left her trembling and breathless, her body convulsing with the force of her release.
Alexander finally pulls away from her legs as he licked his lips, tasting the saltiness of Eliza, a flavor he will forever relish.
He does not give her the chance to recover, for he climbs up on her and claims her once again in a deep, passionate kiss, allowing her to taste her own essence on her lips; something he has never done before, but it lit something in Eliza despite her body's betrayal to still its quivering.
The kiss was ephemeral (unfortunate for Eliza), until she realizes he had managed to take off his breeches at some point during the oral when her half-lidded eyes gets a glimpse of his hard length settled up and erected, dripped with pre-come, just hovering on her stomach.
He then reached over to the small nightstand, his movements quick and sure, and retrieved a small bottle of golden olive oil.
Eliza watched, her breath catching in her throat, as he poured a generous amount into his palm. The scent of olives mingled with some sort of intoxication, reminding her of the unknown flower's perfume, a heady combination that made her head spin.
He warmed the oil between his hands before reaching down, his slick fingers coating his length with a glistening sheen. The sight was so erotic, so utterly decadent, that a fresh wave of desire washed over her, leaving her breathless and wanting.
He returned to her, his body hovering over hers, his hard length, now glistening and ready, just above her stomach. The faint, earthy scent of the oil was a new, thrilling layer to their shared intimacy.
"Are you ready, my dearest Betsy?"
Eliza could only manage a desperate nod, her body still trembling from the force of her release. She attempts to maneuver herself and sit up straight and straddle on top of him.
For once, Alexander goes with her unspoken request and guides her onto his lap. He helps her legs wrap around his waist with her hands dug into his shoulders as a silent plea. He assumes it is a message until he sees that she immediately tries to plunge herself into him, to which he refuses.
"Ah, ah," he clicked his tongue in disappointment. "You will have what you need, but on my terms."
Alexander quickly let out an 'ouch' the moment he finished his sentence. He felt Eliza's nails dig deep into his skin in the midst of her head hidden and breathing icy hot on the side of his neck.
"Oh my god, Alexander," she hissed, probably out of irritation rather than desire, "just fuck me."
Or maybe not, Alexander foolishly thinks.
He hums again, "with pleasure."
He draws Eliza close, their foreheads nearly touching as he tries to steady her above his tip, and he finally enters in one, smooth, deep thrust. It does not fill her completely, but the sensation was enough for her.
The movement is made with the utmost gentleness, yet the strange heat within Eliza surges, stronger.
She embraces Alexander almost instantly, certain he could also feel the frantic rhythm of her heart echoing through his chest, could he also feel the sparkling fire inside of her belly?
He began to move, his hips rocking first in a slow, steady rhythm, both made in tenderness and possessiveness. He ensured to himself to make a descent to fill Eliza completely with soft and caring love.
It was a bit distracting, especially when their bodies are pressed hard together. It gathered a warmth that they themselves cannot name, yet both understood: it was something deeper than heat, something tender and consuming, something that could only belong to love.
"Would," Eliza gasps for once, after moaning Alexander's name and gibberish for a while, "would it be funny if this is the way how our second child is made?" Her voice strained, luckily comprehensive.
A low chuckle rumbled in Alexander's chest, a pleasant vibration against her own. "oh Betsy," he grunted, sinking Eliza's hips to almost meet his. "They will always be made out of love."
The words were tender and profound, a shocking contrast to what was happening physically between the two, but it was an affinity that they always shared.
Eliza tries to reply, but she instead lets out a desperate cry when her hips are slammed down, completely filling her up in one swift motion. She barely registered that Alexander had been upping his pace as he drove up into her.
Her hands fly across on his back, where she digs her nails deep again as she feels
He catches a glimpse of her face, but her head fell back, her dark hair a wild cascade down her spine, her mouth open as it contained ragged moans and cut off words of Alexander's name.
"Betsy," he barely panted out, feeling the familiar tightening in his groin. "I love you so much."
Eliza thinks about the sudden declaration that caught her off-guard, but she doesn't say it back when her inner walls clamped down on his length then her body convulses once again, unleashing another orgasm against his still-thrusting length.
It does not long for Alexander to follow after. With a hoarse shout of her name, mixed with a guttural sound of release, he buried himself to the hilt, his body wavering as he spilled himself deep in her.
They collapsed together onto the bed, a heap of tangled limbs and sweat-soaked sheets. For a moment, only the sounds of their shortened breath, swelling into a symphony before it returns to normal.
The feverish heat that plagued Eliza has faded and replaced by a warm, sated glow. She makes the first move as she stirs in her spot, tracing lazy patterns onto Alexander's chest. "I love you too."
Alexander returns with a giddy smile that Eliza senses is up to no good. "So, will you show me where you inhaled that flower?"
Eliza dramatically rolls her eye with a scoff. "Oh, Alexander, please," she sighed, snuggling closer, her head rested on his chest. "Who knows what you're up to when I tell you when."
"And let it wilt? I could never," Alexander lamented.
Eliza only huffs a laugh as she drifted into an exhausted, well-earned slumber, falling asleep to the lovely rhythm of Alexander's heart.
✦
When the next morning rises, Alexander is gone and Eliza has forgotten she was supposed to meet her sisters today.
She was in a long embrace between her two sisters after not meeting for so long, even she could feel a tear prickling her eyes. She is happy, but still sore from what occurred yesterday, she does not tell them.
With no plans in the first place of telling them directly that there was a new flower in her garden that bloomed and it , she only informs them the bees are rapid.
Angelica and Peggy seemed to bought it at first, that is until Eliza decides to pick up Philip from his cradle. He absentmindedly played with her hair, revealing the bruise-looking spot that turned out to be a hickey, initially catching Peggy's attention.
Her face became somewhat contorted, trying to figure out the bruise, and it snaps Eliza out of trance as she tries to cover it back up; she has absolutely forgotten about the fact Alexander had given her a hickey!
"Is something wrong, Eliza?" Angelica worriedly asked, that is when Peggy's brows rose up with a smug-like face and began whispering something to Angelica whose face lit up in an instant.
Eliza bites back her tongue as a preventative measure to not scream in embarrassment. She stiffens but tries to recompose herself considering she's still carrying Philip at the moment.
"It is not what the both of you are thinking," she faintly refuted.
The both of them stifle a laugh. "Indeed, yes," Angelica sarcastically remarked, "Alexander did not hit you, instead—"
"Lunch must be served, I should go now!"
Eliza puts Philip back in his cradle and rushes hurriedly in the opposite direction from her sisters' cackling direction.
She plans to scold Alexander once he gets home.