Kitty glided along the corridors of her new home, hands clasped demurely at her waist. The two dogs frolicked around her, as comfortable indoors as two children. She looked up a flight of stairs, innate sense of curiosity making her nose positively twitch. Two staircases spiraled, one left, one right, from the top of the landing. Everything here was beautiful - well cared for older pieces - but there was a pervasive smell of dust. She sneezed twice in a row. No wonder Raoul had chosen to go riding.
The past few days had been an absolute blur of meeting tenants and getting to know her new home. Getting to know her husband – she felt her lips tilt up at the thought – had been most…informative. She had never realized men suffered from the same confidence issues that women did.
“Stop that,” he had hissed at her, blushing, as she ran a gentle finger along where his hip bone met his belly. Even on his back, his tummy slid to the side enough that there was a yummy little piece that pushed out.
“Yip!” he had jumped. “That is ticklish – why do you love torturing me so! Leave my fat alone!”
When she just grinned at him and began suckling and nibbling on his flesh he had turned very red, moaning for her to stop it, it made him feel horrible…but his manhood slowly stiffened.
She felt herself moisten, and looked around, hoping no one had seen her daydreaming in the middle of the stair case. She licked her lip and continued up. The temptation of going with her love on a ride had nearly been overwhelming – but something in his reticent body language and his shifting eyes had tipped off the detective in her. Something was amiss in her new home, and she wasn’t supposed to find out. She had heard rumors of money problems, but the estate seemed to be faring well enough. Everything was a little run down, but only mildly so. Her wedding had been lavish enough, and her pin money was generous. So what didn’t her love want her to find out?
Mounting the final landing she paused, admiring the long row of what must be Raoul’s forefathers. Interspaced between the portraits were doors, all of which were locked, she discovered upon casual inspection. A furtive look through the keyhole showed furniture draped in white linen. Why was so much of the house shut up?
Her gaze was drawn back to the paintings. Although each looked different from the others, they all shared a lean, swarthy, and vaguely naughty look. Most pictures like this she has seen were more formal, haughty, and you could tell the artist had taken great pains to conceal the object’s faults. The men in these portraits gazed down on her with a wicked, dangerous glint to their eyes, as if daring her to do her damndest – in the bedroom.
The last painting broke this look and must have been Raoul’s father, based on the nearly identical features. Instead of her love’s blurred jaw line and rounded cheeks, this man had a cut jaw and clear cheekbones, and an aquiline nose which he scowled down at her. He looked positively horrid. She tried to imagine walking into that man’s study and being disciplined. She shivered, and sidled past the portrait.
The door at the end of the large hallway was a heavy office door. Unlike the others, this one creaked open as she tried the handle. Inside was a beautiful, masculine study. Dark wood and fabric were brightly lit by the early afternoon sunlight streaming in through the bay windows. Also unlike every other room, this room was aired out and well lit. A huge desk dominated the room, and a large sum book was open on the desk. Kitty craned her neck. Unable to see, she bit her lip and glanced down the hallway furtively, sliding a hand slowly around the desk.
The numbers on the ledger astonished her.
“That is…impossible,” she murmured, brow furrowing. She flipped back several years, skimming over the estate’s finances. Sums themselves had never intimidated her, it was being stuck inside that had always had her trying to sneak away from her lessons. Bringing the heavy, bound book to one of the bay windows she settled herself, feet tucked underneath her. She carefully opened the window and bent to her study.
“Oh my god…” she mumbled, trembling fingers pressed to her lips. No wonder all of the things in the house were older and so well cared for – there was no money to replace anything. But Raoul had given her gifts, and…the wedding…her stomach knotted. It was one thing to splurge when you had money, but to waste when you had so little made the penny pincher in her cringe. Why hadn’t the fool married an heiress? Her insides warmed, even though she felt like weeping. He obviously did love her…she had no money to her name, nothing to offer him, and it was going to cost him everything.
Well, there was only one thing to do. Revenue versus expenses. What had precipitated this? What were the fixed expenses and what could be trimmed? She brought the book back to the desk. She carefully trimmed the nib on the quill, and began writing. When she finally stopped her hand was cramping. Stretching and clenching her fingers she looked down at her work. Why were the tenant farmers sucking so much money instead of bringing it in? It didn’t make sense…
The hairs on the back of her neck tingled, and she became aware of someone in the room with her. The familiar musky scent filled her nose, and she smiled. “How was your ride, my love?”
She raised her eyes and looked into the startled brown eyes of ….not Raoul.
Her body and mind reeled, and she barely realized her legs were giving out until her hip bumped into the desk painfully. Grasping the edge, she stared at the doppelganger of her love.
“Are you alright?” The young man’s voice was smoother, without the growling edge of her husband’s. He extended his hands to help her, but, seeming to perceive he was the cause of her present distress, let them drop. Her immediate impression was wrong. He was lean and muscular, with heavy arms and shoulders tapering into a lean waist. His features nearly identical to Raoul’s, but it was mainly in his good natured expression that they differed.
Kitty swallowed. The implications were making her mind reel. Her body was reacting oddly, and she felt wretched until she realized it was his similarity to her husband in look and smell that was attracting her, not the man himself. Was this Raoul’s son? He would have been…
Understanding dawned on the muscular man in front of her. Hastily waving his hands to ward off that thought he grinned. “No, madam, I am not Raoul’s son. I am no love child. I am his younger brother.”
Relief made her knees weak, and she leaned her buttocks against the desk.
“Thank god,” she gasped, involuntarily giggling in her anxiety. The other man grinned back at her.
“You must be my brother’s beautiful wife. I am Harry Nottingham.” He extended her a completely proper bow. Taking her hand, he placed it on his arm with all of the good natured confidence she wished Raoul possessed.
The ledgers caught his eye and he sighed. “Yes, the estate is not in a good way.”
“Do you know why?”
“I confess I do not. I was never one for figures. Or for books. I can read, of course,” he added hastily at her titter. He looked highly uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry – I was not laughing at you,” she responded instantly, waiting for the backlash of self conscious irritation that she had come to expect from Raoul. When Harry just flushed slightly and grinned she was gratified and relieved.
“No, it is rather amusing... I am always putting my foot in my mouth – as long as I amuse and not offend I can live with it.” They walked down the hall, talking of small things until they came to the landing. He took her hands, facing her.
“I am very pleased that my brother has found an intelligent, attractive woman. I wish you both the best of happiness.” He raised her hands and placed a chaste kiss on her knuckles. She found himself genuinely liking her brother in law, and she smiled warmly.
“Hello, Harry.” Raoul stood at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed over his thick chest, framing his bulging belly in a way that made her knees weak. His legs were spread apart, and his hair was ruffled from his ride. He glanced at her. She started towards him, only to be stopped by his expression. He looked up at them with an expression of barely concealed jealousy and hostility.
“Raoul,” His brother acknowledged him civilly - and coldly. “I just had the pleasure of…meeting…your wife.”
His emphasis on the sentence made her aware of a subtext she was not privy to.
Raoul’s throat worked, and after a moment he swallowed and raised his hand to Kitty. “Come, love.”
She had never before seen the expression in his eyes, but she didn’t even glance at Harry or hesitate before rushing into Raoul’s arms. They tightened about her possessively, forcing her into his softened chest and burgeoning gut. She felt him tuck her head under his soft chin.
An awkward silence flew above her head. Raoul was holding her so tightly she could barely breathe, let alone move to look at either of them.
“There is no reason to look at me like that. I merely took the opportunity to greet your wife.”
“She is beautiful.” There was nothing she could perceive in his tone, but Raoul’s arms tightened in response to this, but he made no response other than a low, guttural growl that rumbled from deep within him.
“Auntie sent me to congratulate you on your recent nuptials, and to inform you she will be here in a month or so to meet the newest member of our family.”
Raoul made no response. After a moment, Kitty felt a breeze as Harry passed. After several long moments she pushed at her husband’s chest lightly. He loosened his arms enough that she was able to look up at him. His swarthy face was ashen, and he had that same strange expression on his face.
Instead of answering her unspoken query as to his behaviour, he buried his face in her neck.
“Childhood rivalry?” she ventured after a few long moments. She kissed his nose when he looked down at her, then each cheek, both of his eyelids, and then his lips. After a moment he sighed deeply and kissed her back, at first slowly, then with increasing passion until his arms were all that was keeping her upright. Her hands slipped under his coat, and slid up the back of his waistcoat until her hands rested on his thick lovehandles.
“Kitty…” He sighed, wincing.
“What?” She demanded, throbbing and impatient. She glanced about furtively, fumbling at his waistcoat buttons. She was having difficulty, as the button was caught in the buttonholes, held there by the pressure his belly was exerting on the fabric.
“My Aunt….well….my brother…”
“Mmm?” She replied, barely interested. Blasted buttons.
He paused. “What…did you…think of him?”
“He seemed nice. Good looking young man. He looks like you.” She had managed to undo one of his waistcoat buttons, and was working on the next.
“He isn’t that much younger,” Raoul protested grumpily. The frown lines deepened between his brows until Kitty’s fingers touched them.
“I know,” he sighed. “I look older.”
He was becoming distracted by her mouth and fingers, but continued to mutter incomprehensibly about his brother as she had backed him up the stairs and through their bedroom doorway. He only stopped when she kicked the door closed.
Raoul sat at the breakfast table, watching in silence as his love, and the man who had stolen his first love from him sat and laughed together. He pushed the bacon from side to side, brooding over the circumstances that had just “happened” to have his brother at his home at the same time he brought his newlywed home.
His Aunt was a cruel woman, sending him here. Every time Harry made her laugh it was a knife to his growing gut. He looked at her beautiful face and made a promise. He was going to conquer his food weakness. He should be everything that Harry was and more – he wasn’t that old, he could still get his old figure back and maintain it if he tried. Couldn’t he? If he wasn’t a fat fool, maybe he could keep her interest. Maybe….maybe it would be different this time.
Kitty looked at him, head tilted to the side. “Raoul? Are you feeling well? You have barely touched your breakfast!”
“I’m fine.” He stood up, pressing his hand into her shoulder and kissing her forehead. “I’m not hungry.”
“Not hungry?” She seemed startled, excusing herself from the room and following him out into the hall. “Are you sick?”
Only of being too obese to fit into my clothes. Of being winded walking up the stairs to my bedroom. Of losing the woman I love to my damn brother again, he thought, but stopped himself, swallowing the hateful words in the face of her concern and bewilderment. “I’m fine.”
His stomach snarled at him in response to her gentle kiss, which smelled and tasted of bacon and tea.
“Harry suggested we go riding today – I missed the chance yesterday. Will you come with us?”
The thought of his beautiful wife being alone with Harry was too much to be borne, despite the growing heat outside. He acquiesced, but it was only a quarter of an hour into their ride that he began to regret his decision. His black stud was chafing at the bit, taking every ounce of calmness and expertise to keep him in line. Kitty’s own black mount was calm, even with the two dogs practically underfoot. Harry, always the ultimate horseman, was able to converse with her easily, despite his mare’s antics, leaving Raoul to brood alone in silence.
Sweat began to trickle down his back. His face grew moist, then hot and sweaty with exertion. Unable to release the reins to wipe his face, his mood grew more surly with every quarter mile, sweat trickling into his cravat.
“I think we need to slow down, I think my brother has grown soft with city living.” Harry said, nodding to Raoul. When all he received was a stream of foul language, he laughed, face and eyes mocking. Focused on appraising her husband Kitty didn’t see the gesture, but did see what Harry missed - the approaching fist.
Kitty was struggling to get out of her saddle, skirts tangling. His brother leaped up from the ground, cursing, fists swinging as Raoul dropped from his own saddle. For every punch Hary landed, Raoul landed three. The fight might have lasted a while, because Raoul was a trained boxer while his brother was not. However, he was out of shape, tired and hot. His brother, being more fit, was able to duck away from most of his blows. He could hear Kitty yelling at him in the background to stop it.
When they both wound down, gasping, they realized all three horses were gone, as were the dogs and Kitty herself. She was still visible, riding back down the path at a trot with her back stiff. Neither were injured, but both were sore and winded.
Harry braced himself on his knees, bruised but still grinning. “I think your wife believes a long walk home will cool our temper.”
“It will take a lot more than that to get me to forgive you!” Raoul gasped.
“For what? Breaking the dam? That was years ago. I didn’t mean to do it, the drought wasn’t my fault! Besides, I convinced Aunt to spot us!” He refused to meet his brother’s eyes.
“I could forgive you that! You know what this is about!” Raoul pushed him backwards.
The smile disappeared, and Harry windmilled his arms, panting. “How was I to know she was yours?”
Raoul roared. It wasn’t voluntary. It was instinctual, loud, and made his already dry throat ache. He struggled to get his temper under control, knowing he was going to be baited by his brother the entire way home. “Look – I don’t care, but if you don’t leave my wife alone, I swear…”
He began walking home, cursing himself for not wearing his comfortable boots. His brother caught up to him, dusting his coat off.
They walked in silence for a mile, until Harry finally turned to face him. “Look….I’m sorry.”
Raoul clenched his fist, and Harry fell silent. “Enough. What is past is past. Forgive and forget.”
Harry seemed surprised and suspicious, grey eyes narrowing. Raoul had been told they looked incredibly similar, but the only thing he could see was the colour of their eyes and hair. His brother had always had happy manners, a silver tongue, and the ability to eat like a horse and stay thin – the exact opposite to himself. Harry had the Nottingham temper, but it was more like their father – the flares were cold, calculating, and a slow burn. Raoul knew his own to be like his grandfather’s – quick to rouse, quick to forgive, quick to love.
“I don’t expect you to ever forgive me for before.” Harry said, looking warily at his brother’s hands. “But I truly am sorry for how I have been acting to Kitty. I am not attracted to her, honestly. You were just so cold…after all of these years I hoped….”
Should he be offended that he wasn’t attracted? Or relieved? It was Raoul’s turn to be suspicious. “So like a dog, any reaction is a good reaction?”
Harry laughed. “If I didn’t know how much you love your dogs I might be offended. I should be so lucky to be loved like Bird or Hedge.”
“Yes, well, dogs are loyal.” He couldn’t keep the bitter bite out of his voice.
Harry winced. “I suppose I deserved that. Although their allegiance does seem to have shifted…They seem utterly devoted to your wife.”
“She is worth being utterly loyal to.” Raoul wished Harry would drop the subject. He did not want to forgive his little brother.
Harry, unfortunately, seemed driven to fill the awkward silence.
“You look good…very happy,” he added hastily to the glare his brother shot him. He sighed. “I’m jealous of you, to be honest.”
“Then eat more. You’ll catch up.” Raoul said grumpily, taking his coat off and unbuttoning his waistcoat. He wished he could take it off as well, but was too self conscious with his brother watching. He tugged his cravat off and threw it into a bush, sighing as air reached his skin. “You have always had everything I have ever wanted, and when I did get something, you took it from me. I want to hate you more than you know.”
“You can’t hate me, you don’t hold grudges. I’m surprised you’ve held it this long,” Harry rolled his eyes, tugging off his own messily tied cravat and following suit. “And what did I do? What did I take?”
It was true – he had missed his brother just as much as he had hated him, and even now he felt more raw and hurt than angry. “You had the looks, the manners, the luck – you were good at everything you did!”
“No,” Harry corrected him. “I only did things I was good at. I wasn’t lucky, I took the time to calculate so I wouldn’t lose. I never took risks and had fun like you did, I always sat in the back and watched, and waited because you were the brave one, not me. And what do you mean, the looks? We have almost looked identical our whole lives!”
Now that was a strange thought. He considered the memories he had of their childhood. When they had fished in the shallow pond he had always seemed to catch a fish even when they all came back empty handed – but Raoul could still remember taunted him to stop looking for a better place to fish and just stick his lure in. Maybe he was just careful, not lucky. Then there was women. Raoul was always the one to put himself forward, going for what he wanted, and he had taken a few hits along the way. It had always seemed that his brother just seemed to scoop them up from him…but maybe he was shy all along? He actually couldn’t recall a woman his brother had gone for on his own.
Harry was plowing on, the bit in his teeth. “You have everything I have ever wanted. You are bold, and get what you want. I mean look at your wife – you only had to decide you wanted it, and it was yours! You have a home, a beautiful wife, and the love, loyalty, and friendship of everyone who knows you. I will only ever just be your little brother to everyone.”
The last was said with bitterness. Raoul considered his little brother, some of the rawness fading away.
“Of course you’ll always be my little brother,” he said roughly, clearing his throat. “Not “just” my little brother. My only little brother.”
Harry seemed to feel the awkward closeness between them as well. He brought anguished eyes to meet his brother’s. It was like looking into a mirror.
“I didn’t know, Raoul. She didn’t tell me, and your affair was so secret.” His voice broke. “You have no idea….I thought she picked me for who I was, not for being a carbon copy of you.”
He raised a hand to forestall the response. “No, I don’t want you to forgive me, I can’t forgive myself. I was so stupid to think she chose me – every woman I ever wanted always chose you. I should have realized….if I had known, I swear to you I would have thrown her from my house.”
Raoul had thought that the betrayal and hurt would never heal. He had been the victim for so long, giving that up felt like losing a piece of himself. When he had seen Edith with his little brother it had been the ultimate betrayal. His had felt bloated, unloved, unwanted….Now he could only image how he would have felt in his brother’s position when he learned that Edith had chosen him only when he grew too fat. Not only the blow to Harry’s pride, but knowing that the split with his brother, which had never made sense before, was brought into sudden clarity with no hope of resolution.
Kitty had changed that. Edith had not loved him. He had been smitten with her, but it was not the love he felt for his wife. Raoul clasped his brother in a quick, rough hug.
Harry returned the quick embrace and grinned up at him. “I distinctly remember that the last time you hugged me was after we had a fist fight too.”
“Yes, well, you deserved that once too,” Raoul said complacently.
They walked back to the house, the silence now comfortable. Before they reached the door, Raoul rounded on his brother. “You truly will leave Kitty alone?”
Harry looked unaccountably awkward. “She is my sister. I’ve always wanted a sister.”
He looked wistful. “I would like to be a brother to her, and if she will have me, for her to be a sister to me.”
“Of course she will. You are our family. She loves you already.” The words smarted a little, but the look of gratification on his brothers face made it worth it.
Wow!! I just read your latest installment and then found another; so quick! I completely enjoy this story and will never get tired of reading it as long as you post more Period pieces are my favorite and this one is very intriguing at every turn. Poor Raoul is just so tortured, I want to see how everything goes for him.
Thank you for all the positive feedback! The next few parts might be a little explicit...
Men were ridiculous. She rubbed down all three horses vigorously, ignoring the hovering stable man. Eventually she found her way back to the house, hot and irritated. Kitty threw her hat into the corner, waving off the serving woman who tried to help her. No matter how many times she told them she didn’t need their help they still tried. Raoul especially was ridiculous. Stupid…idiotic….words failed her. She tugged off her gloves, handing them to the hovering woman reluctantly. The woman actually looked grateful! Everyone was an idiot!
Stalking down the hallway made her feel better. So did stalking back. She couldn’t decide who she was more irritated with – Harry for visiting and ruining their honeymoon, her husband for acting a lout, or herself for storming off. Even now worry was worming its way through her gut. What if one or both of them was seriously hurt? Should she go back? She warred with herself, watching through the window.
The need to make a decision was removed, however, when she saw the two men walking up the path. Both had looks of satisfaction on their broad faces, as well as an awkwardness she couldn’t place. The sunlight glistened off their dark, sweaty hair, and made their grey eyes shine. They were both gorgeous, but it was her husband who drew her eye. It was the first time she had seen him in anything less than full dress outside their bedroom. His throat was bared, and his coat was hanging over his arm. Although his waistcoat was still on, it was unbuttoned, and sweat had caused it to stick to the slowly jiggling globe of his belly. Every time his foot connected with the ground it caused his stomach to drop lightly, and the bottom of the burgeoning mass to quiver lightly. She found herself staring, still angry but unable to look away.
She only brought her eyes up when they opened the front door, and only to look her husband in the eye while she poked a hard finger into his chest. A cheerful smile, identical to the one on Harry’s face was her only response, and she was picked up and twirled around until the room spun. Pushing back slightly, now dirty and sweaty as well, she glared at the two of them.
“Justification, please? You meet yesterday and are cold and hostile. You get in a fistfight like two drunken men outside a bar, then come home with everything well between you?”
“This is home, isn’t it?” Raoul said, nuzzling her nose with his own and kissing her on the lips.
“Of course this is home!” She cried, exasperated. Once she was done checking her husband for injuries she turned her attention to Harry. He seemed acutely embarrassed, especially when she kissed his cheek. “Now, will my husband and my brother get cleaned up so that we can eat lunch?”
Both men cast glances at each other. Harry scuffed a foot on the floor. “You sound just like Mother.”
“I can only imagine what you put the poor woman through! Now go!” Raoul headed up the stairs, followed by Harry. “Oh, and boys?” They both flushed and turned to look at her. “I wont pry into you’re your business…but enough fighting, if you please.” Their flushes darkened, and they scurried upstairs. Placing her hands on her hips, Kitty observed herself in the hall mirror. Well, at least her dress wasn’t ruined, just dirty.
She followed more slowly, slipping into their bedchamber quietly. Raoul was naked to his waist. Rivulets of water were sliding down his skin, and she found herself wrapping her arms around him from behind. He was still in a good mood from whatever had gone on between Harry and himself. His grin was infectious, and her anger drained away like the water on his soft skin. He toweled himself off briskly, sending jiggles through his softened body. He grimaced, but blushed when he saw her watching avidly. He had put on weight since their engagement. His stomach was slowly growing in breadth and depth. It was wide, merging into the pads of growing fat on his sides. It was also getting heavy – it was beginning to fold under its own weight when he bent down. The bottom of his belly was just starting to sag lightly, creating a sexy line when unclothed.
She took a clean cloth and dabbed at the dirt on her dress. It was hopeless. There were bars of dirt where he had hugged her. “I will have to change my dress because of you!” She scolded him playfully, getting him to loosen the strings. His strong, warm hands sent shivers down her spine. She moved quickly to fetch a new dress, realizing that he would easily let her entice him, which would delay going back downstairs.
She came out of the closet with a front lacing dress. It was only Harry, no need for formality here. She could see Raoul in the reflection of the mirror, facing away from her. His ass looked good enough to bite, nearly popping the stitches on his pants.
“Mm..” The admiring sound was out before she realized, and he blushed, darting a furtive look over his shoulder.
“I’ll…meet you downstairs.” Raoul kissed her lips softly and tugged on the pull to bring his manservant.
Men were so odd. If men were predators and hunters, why did she feel as if she was the one stalking him?
She visited the kitchen briefly, giving orders for lunch. When she entered the parlour she found Harry and Raoul sitting together, nibbling on the cold sandwiches she had ordered. She was impressed – their servants were very prompt.
Or rather, Harry was nibbling, and Raoul looked like he was avoiding breathing in the smell as well as consuming it. Sitting on a chair, she picked up a piece and observed them. There was still something between them, but much of the anger she had felt earlier was gone. “Eat,” she said, startling the two men, who seemed quietly absorbed in their own thoughts.
Harry took another piece, but Raoul still sat with his own untouched on his plate. He slowly took a bite under her stare, grimacing. He looked sore, and also uncomfortable. The clothes he was wearing were some of the first she had seen in him. They had always been form fitting, but now they looked like they were a second skin, biting into the softness on his thighs, encasing his limbs like sausages. She hadn’t thought he had put on that much weight, but the seams on his clothes looked like they were about to pop. The buttons on his waistcoat were barely hooked into the adjoining fabric holes, and the white of his shirt was visible through the crescent shapes of stressed fabric.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” a maid curtsied, interrupting her thoughts. “Martha says she would like to see Master Harry when he is available.”
“Martha?” Harry jumped to his feet, looking delighted. He nearly ran from the room, with the maid closing the door behind her, nodding to Kitty’s strict orders for them not to be disturbed.
Enough of this self consciousness. One moment he would eat normally, the next he would overeat, and the moment after that he would starve himself. It was exhausting, and also emotionally tender for her. On a good day he would tease her with his weight (if shyly), but on a bad day all it took was her making an appreciative noise to throw him into a brooding fit. One day he would rub her with his belly until she was groaning and wet, and the next he would go limp if she grabbed the wrong spot.
Raoul was still looking down at his plate. He seemed intensely distracted, almost starting when she took the plate from him. She knelt before him. Reaching forward slowly, as if he was a wild animal that was might take flight, she pulled the buttons from the holes in his jacket. The button closest to his middle ripped from the fabric, making a loud noise as it hit the table. Red slowly suffused his neck. She removed his cravat, caressing the soft skin of his neck, covered by slight stubble. He stared into her eyes, silent and unmoving as she tried to tug his shirt from his pants. He made no move to help her, even as she wrestled with his pants. She had no idea how the servant had managed to stuff him into them, or why he had let him do it. She knew that he had better fitting clothes. She had been with him when he had ordered them, grousing as his tailor read off the measurements. She knew her own waist to be thirty inches, with her hips and breasts being thirty eight. Large, but not unreasonably so. She didn’t see why he was so upset with his waist being thirty six, when her own hips were larger. Perhaps it was just because he had been so fit and muscular that he felt huge in comparison? Or maybe just in comparison to his brother?
Kitty grinned at his lack of response or assistance. A frown flickered over his face, more like a pout. Fine - if he wanted to be a big baby she would treat him like one. Retrieving a small pair of sewing scissors from the side table, she simply cut his shirt at the nape of the neck, ripping the fabric right down. His poor soft tummy was being crushed by his pants, causing the pieces above to flower outwards painfully. She cut the laces on his pants, ignoring his widened eyes.
“What are you doing?” Raoul gasped, trying to suck in his belly even as it slid forward, plump flesh quivering and expanding outwards in its freedom.
“Making you more comfortable. You looked like your clothes were too tight for you to eat – now that is fixed.” Whatever concerns he had about his body, they were certainly not hers. She itched to kiss his bare flesh.
Raoul stared at her until she shoved a piece of sandwich in his mouth. Sputtering, he swallowed, opening his mouth to tell her off, if the look on his face was any indication. Instead, she shoved another piece in. He growled, huge hands grabbing her buttocks and lifting her onto his lap. Ignoring his irritation, she fed him another piece of sandwich. “Stop it,” he told her through his teeth so she couldn’t put any more food in his mouth.
“Why? You are hungry. When you are hungry you should eat. It is a wife’s duty to make sure her husband has the comforts he needs. Why do you make food out to be such a big deal? Remember our picnic together, when we just enjoyed food together.
“Yes – I remember. I remember I ate almost all of it, and we got in a fight about it!”
Kitty snorted. “No, you ate all of it, and had me in your grasp and under your spell – you could have had me right there, I am sure. Then you got cold and hurtful because….what? You ate too much? How does that even make sense?”
“You have no idea what it is like,” he rasped. “I’m like a dog - put food in front of me and I will just eat, and eat, and eat.”
Ah – at last some give from him. At least he was admitting he loved food. If he was going to skirt the subject, however, she would play dumb. “Again - why is this a problem?”
His jaw worked. “You’re just going to make me come out and say it, aren’t you?” He leaned forward, finishing off the sandwich in her hands in two huge, vicious bites. “I am already fat. If I keep eating, I will continue to get fatter until I am bloated like a pig ready for slaughter.” She must have had a stunned look on her face, which he obviously misinterpreted for dismay instead of arousal, because he leaned back with a look of satisfaction and self loathing look on his face.
It was as if he was congratulating himself for hating himself, as if he was worthy of that feeling. The temptation to push was overwhelming. So what if he liked food? So what if he got fat? Most gentlemen did. She thought…she was pretty sure he knew she liked it. But maybe he didn’t know….maybe he thought she didn’t like it? That truly made no sense - she had always been so open with him. Open, yes….but not direct, not confrontational, not clear. Harry had pushed, and they seemed to have resolved their issues. Maybe it would work for her. She picked up another sandwich, holding it to his lips. “I don’t believe you. You can barely finish a sandwich.”
“I can finish that entire bloody plate of sandwiches.” Raoul muttered, looking torn between longing for the food and irritation at her challenging him.
“Then do it.”
“No.” He released her hands, which he had grabbed to prevent her feeding him any more, and crossed his arms over his huge chest.
“Fine. I’ll just get rid of these, then. Such a pity they will go to waste.” She stood, taking the large platter in both hands. It was jerked from her hands.
“Why must you always challenge me? Why wont you take my word? Do you really want to see what I am capable of? Do you?” His words alone might have been interpreted as a threat, but his eyes were locked on the platter of food. He looked up at her, eyes hard and distant. “Watch, then. Watch and see what you married.” There was a bitter self hatred in his voice that nearly broke her heart. She tried to push the platter away, regretting pushing him, but he snatched it back with a guttural noise.
There was seven sandwiches left, split into fourths. He destroyed the first four in only a few bites per piece, eyes never breaking from hers. He barely seemed to taste the cool bread and meat passing his lips he ate so quickly. He was neat though, not a bite falling. Those gorgeous lips moved as he chewed, cheeks puffing out with the contents in his mouth. Each bite made his little double chin deepen, then relax.
Kitty bit her lip, unsure if she should try to stop him or feed him herself. She felt intensely restless and anxious, shivering at the hooded, contended look which was seeping into his eyes.
Before picking up the fifth he slid his hands under his own belly, lifting it free of the containing fabric. His stomach was just big enough that when he let it go it fell, rippled, and bounced. The bottom of his full stomach was just hovering over his thighs, and each bite seemed – at least to her – to bring it closer to touching.
She stared at his gut, so aroused she could barely move. It literally called to her, and she placed the palms of her cold hands on his belly, rubbing the firming surface. He inhaled sharply, but seemed wholly focused on finishing every bite. During the fifth and sixth he leaned back, belly now aggressively rounded. The bottom of his belly was now resting on his thighs. He finished the seventh lazily, slumped back into his chair, belly quaking lightly around his navel. He let out a burp and looked at her, shame and regret on his face.
Kitty was so wet that she was sure it was leaking through her dress. Her entire body was goosepimpled, nipples scratching painfully against her smallclothes. Her own breathing was as ragged as his. When he struggled forward she almost fainted. His full stomach, unable to compress, forced his legs to spread as he leaned towards the table. She really did see blackness and stars when he took the small plate of deserts from the table and forced each one into his mouth. He seemed unable to put the plate back on the table, so simply let it drop onto the floor. His stomach looked firm, but also looked like it would yield to her fingers if she pressed.
He closed his eyes, breathing heavy. “Do you see what I am? You have married a glutton.” The word was filled not only with his own loathing, but the loathing of society. Glutton – lazy, fat, pig. Instead of disgust, she felt like she would explode if he wasn’t inside her. She had always heard women describe sex as an ordeal to be endured. To her it was a release, and the wait was what had to be endured. And this was unbearable.
Her field of vision had narrowed into a tunnel, and her heart thundered in her chest until it hurt. Numb fingers worked at her garments, fumbling in near frenzy. Spying the scissors, she cut her dress and smallclothes off. Clambering onto his muscular, meaty thighs, she ripped his pants down so violently her husband was nearly deposited on the floor as his thick ass slid across the seat.
Its a mixture of having sketched the template of the stories previously, and sexual frustration...my own guy is currently absorbed in Minecraft...Seeing him there, munching away in just boxer shorts and a too small tshirt is driving me nuts!!