I gave
All
I was
for you.
Now
I’m shedding
gallons of
tears.
I am
more hopeless
than ever.
-Tyler Knott Gregson-
"They’ve promised that dreams can come true - but forgot to mention that nightmares are dreams, too."
-Oscar Wilde (via lastdaysofmagic)
Nobody else knew of their daily ritual.
Waiting.
Every day, when the sun touched the edges of the far tree line and cast its image across the length of the lake, she would undo the clasps and buttons and ties on her dress, then climb onto the couch just under the window that looked to the road, waiting for him to come home.
Waiting.
When she saw his familiar broad-shouldered, long-legged figure appear in the distance, she would take up her skirts and slide the cloth off her hips, leaving the puddle of fabric where she stood before making her way to the door. There, she would wait for the sound of the door unlocking.
Waiting for him to open the door and see her kneeling just inside, back lightly arched and her hands folded in her lap. She would whisper “welcome home, my love” and he would smile - sometimes warmly, sometimes cruelly. No matter the expression, she would find her breath quickening and her blood heating in her veins, anticipating his calloused hands grasping her flesh roughly in his desire. Her limbs would become watery, and desire would tingle up her spine when he touched her there, already moistening for him.
“What do you say?” The whisper in her ear always made her shiver longingly.
Shame and desire would bloom in her cheeks and lower her lashes; love would make her look up at him, the ache so very visible in her eyes. “Please.”
(Source: styleslust)
