The Unwanted Marriage: Dion and Faye’s Story (The Windsors)

I walk into the house, only to pause at the sound of a haunting melody that I don’t recognize. It’s beautiful yet filled with such deep pain and despair that it’s almost hard to listen to.

My heart is pounding wildly as I step into our dark living room, Faye’s silhouette illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the windows. She’s in a white, silky nightgown tonight, and I can’t take my eyes off her. It isn’t just the way her long hair falls down her straight back or the speed and grace at which her fingers move, nor is it the fact that she’s playing my mother’s piano in a way I won’t soon forget.

It’s the way her eyes are closed, her head tipped back just a little, as though she’s losing herself in her music — she looks like she’s misery personified but doesn’t want to be, like she’s clinging to the last shreds of her sanity.

I’m so captivated by her that I nearly fail to notice her ivories are no longer… ivory. They’re stained with a vibrant red, and my heart constricts painfully.

I walk up to her and gently grab her shoulders, startling her. Her hands pause, and I note the way they shake, the tips of her fingers bloody. She doesn’t turn to look at me. Instead, she begins to play again, ignoring her injuries and my presence.

“Stop,” I plead, kneeling behind her. “You’re hurting yourself, Faye.”

I wrap my arms around her and reach for her wrists, keeping them in place as I rest my chin on her shoulder. “I can’t,” she tells me, her voice breaking. “I can’t stop. Please don’t make me stop, Dion. I need this. I need… I need to feel alive. This is… it’s all I have.”

I turn her around on her piano bench so she’s facing me, my gaze dropping to her hands. I take them into mine carefully, studying her broken skin. She must’ve been playing for hours — at least ten, if I’m guessing correctly, based on her injuries and my own personal experience.

“No,” I murmur as I lift her hand to my lips and kiss the back of it, steering clear of the parts that must hurt. “That’s not all you have, Faye. You’ve got me. Tell me what you need.”

She finally lifts her gaze to look at me then, and the vulnerability in her beautiful deep blues takes my breath away. She looks desperate and broken, and it fucking kills me, because I know exactly what it’s like to feel that way. I know how hard it is to claw your way out of that kind of darkness.

What I don’t understand is what brought this on. Is it me? She seemed fine all week. Did my leaving finally give her enough time to digest everything that’s happened between us? Did I do this to her? If being trapped in this marriage with me is destroying her already, how much will be left of her in the end?

“I need… I need to forget,” she whispers.

Pain unlike anything I’ve ever known tears through me, and I nod. I can pretty much guess what she needs to forget, or who.

I look into her eyes as I place my hands on her legs, my movements slow, careful. She inhales sharply when I part them, some of her despondency wavering as her nightgown bunches around her hips, revealing her white lace panties. “Let me show you a different kind of escape,” I murmur, my voice soft.

She nods, her gaze unreadable as I lean in and kiss her thigh, working my way up slowly, my touch rougher than she’s used to. I leave little marks all over her skin, and the soft gasps that escape her throat soothe my tattered soul.

My lips brush over the lace she’s wearing, and a soft moan fills the room. “Missed this pussy,” I murmur, my teeth wrapping around the fabric. I push it aside and press another kiss to her bare skin. Faye’s hand moves into my hair, and I glance up at her as I drag my tongue right down her pussy in one fluid, slow movement. She moans loudly, her eyes on mine, fire flickering in them.

I do it again, needing to see her burn for me. Both nights without her were torture — I’ve imagined fucking her with my tongue just the way I am right now, flicking past her clit, circling it the way that makes her arousal spike without sending her over the edge.

I drag my tongue down and push it in, drawing a whimper from her. Having her seated beside her piano, her gaze burning with need and her eyes blind to everything but me… fuck. I close my eyes when I feel her tremble, barely able to take it. My cock is throbbing with need, but this isn’t about me. I gently suck on her sensitive clit, and her moans get louder, needier.

“Dion,” she pleads. “Yes.”

Her grip on my hair tightens, and she pushes her hips into my face harder. There’s something so fucking sexy about seeing my wife be honest with her feelings for once — no hiding, no pretenses, just her chasing a high she trusts me to give. Her fingers graze over my scalp, and my own desire spikes as I flick her clit with my tongue, setting a pace that I know will push her over.

I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more. I need her to come just like this, with my mouth on her pussy and my name on her lips. I need this as badly as she does. Knowing that I’m the one who took away her sorrow and replaced it with the pure lust that’s overtaken her is fucking priceless. I may not be able to offer her the consolation she needs, nor will I ever be the man she deserves, but I can give her this.

My wife comes on my tongue just like that, with her pussy fluttering around my fingers as her moans fill our living room, her legs wrapped around my neck. I keep lapping at her until she comes down from her high, my eyes finding hers. There’s still sorrow in them, but the weight of it has lessened.

I move from my position on my knees and sit back on the floor, extending my legs around her bench, my palms pressed to the marble underneath me as I lean back. I should move, but I’m enchanted — I can’t help but watch her for a moment, taking her in in all her glory, with her hair wild and her legs parted, a ravenous look in her eyes. It’s hard to believe that she’s mine, yet the wedding ring around her finger proves it.

I expect her to snap out of it and hide away, but instead she reaches for me and places her hands on my shoulders, her grip tight as she lowers herself onto my lap. She looks up at me as she seats herself on my thighs, her hands trembling as she undoes the button on my pants. I inhale sharply when she frees my cock, my eyes falling closed for a moment.

Faye lifts herself up a little and positions me at her entrance, her eyes on mine when she slowly takes my cock, her pussy tight, hot, and utterly perfect. “Fuck,” I groan, my hands still behind me to hold me up. I’m itching to touch her, to turn us over and take her with desperate strokes, but instead, I let her take control. “Ride me,” I whisper. “Take what you need from me, Faye. I’m yours for the taking.”

She whimpers and lowers her full weight on top of me until I’m buried deep inside her. I groan, my heart hammering in my chest.

She looks at me like I’m her salvation, blissfully unaware that I’m the reason she needs saving. I’ll lead her to her ruin, and in doing so, I’ll damn us both.

Even so… I won’t let her go. I can’t.