Howdy, friends. Thanks for dropping by for another Weekend Writing Warriors eight sentences from Famine.
We’ve seen Bartholomew be harsh, and we’ve seen him be tender. How about we give him a pleasant interlude this time? (Iona is what Seattle historically, and euphemistically, referred to as a seamstress.)
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This work is in the public domain in the United States, and those countries with a copyright term of life of the author plus 100 years or less.
His fingers bumped over the boning, the silk and ribbons, caught and released the frills and lace that women thought made them alluring. “Très belle.” He pulled her body back against his, and her breath hitched.
Bartholomew wrapped his other arm around Iona and trailed his lips from her shoulder to her neck to her ear. She hesitated then permitted him to capture her lips and turn her to face him. His lips parted and his tongue encouraged hers open. Their tongues touched, stroked, but when she tried to speed his leisurely pace, he slowed her.
“Non, I wish to enjoy your pleasure,” he said against her lips, and she exhaled into his mouth.
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See? I’m not always putting him through the wringer. (Okay, okay, just 99% of the time.)
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Once again, I encourage you to check out the work of all the other writers who are participating in this week’s WeWriWa hop.
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He closed his eyes and remembered returning to his wife after a long campaign in Barbaricum. How she had bared her body to him, opened herself to his need, and taken all of his longing. She had never asked about the scars he bore; he was a soldier, a Gaul, a warrior. Scars were part of his history, and she’d said they warned of his strength to any man who would question his power.
He’d searched eleven hundred years for her. He could wait another twenty. He could protect her and see to her education. Matilde would become the Catcher. Bartholomew would be her Guardian.
“Too painful to see yourself in a ravener like me?” She smirked, dropped the shirt, and added, “Perhaps a soul isn’t so attractive after all, aesir. It makes you weak.” She turned for the door, but paused and said over her shoulder, “That’s why the Horsemen wanted to escape. We’re the only ones from the Outer Darkness with any spine.”
Ehtishem sealed the opening and we were cut off from all communication. He rappelled back to the floor and shed his harness.