Where The Spirit Meets The Bone

Thirty-nine: Alina Starkov

Thirty-nine:

Alina Starkov

There were rumors of white stags, but Alina thought they had all died out. Once, every fifty years or so, someone would see one. The legend of Ravka was that they were good luck. Alina took the glimpse of the mythical stag to mean that she wasn't doomed. Her marriage could be happy.

Aleksander put down the basket, opened it, and took out a black blanket. She watched as he set about making their picnic. There were sandwiches, strawberries, two glasses, and a bottle of wine.

"Oh," she said, "that's nice. What kind of sandwiches?"

"Ham, with peppers and cheese," said Aleksander.

"Peppers?" Alina said. "Why peppers?"

"I thought we could use something to get us in the mood."

"Do we need something?" she asked. "I thought it was the only mood that you had."

He laughed. "I'm not so ravenous."

"You're insatiable," she said, "although my thighs are well exercised."

"Well," he said, "can you blame me? You're beautiful."

"I don't want to be just.... just that. I want to do something."

"I've been thinking about that," he said, "I know someone at the Royal Museum back in Os Alta. I might be able to get you a position as an archivist if you are interested. Perhaps it could get you some footing in the art world until you figured out what it is that you want to do."

"An archivist?" Alina said. "Like someone that restores old paintings?"

He nodded. "It's not the most glamorous of work but it would be in a field that you love."

"I could do that," she said, "I would love that. Who do you know?"

"The Museum Head," he explained with a smile, "want a strawberry?"

She laughed and was going to take it from his hand when he surprised her by putting the strawberry in her mouth. Alina bit down into it, juices dribbling down her chin. He wiped it with his thumb, then licked it off his own fingers. She thought that as they had walked to the lake she was hungry. But as she watched Aleksander lick his fingers, all she could think about was a different kind of hunger that she needed sated. A whimper came from her.

"Alina," he said, "are you alright?"

She groaned. "You have turned me into a deviant."

He paused, his eyes locking with Alina's. "What are you thinking about, my Little Wife?"

"Your fingers," she replied.

"Oh?" his eyebrows rose. "Doing what?"

She licked her lips. Her center, right between her legs, was pulsing, and her breath was becoming raspy with desire. His fingers weren't even on her. But she knew what it was to have him inside her, to enjoy his touch, and she was not at all hungry for sandwiches and wine. All she could think about was him again. "Aleks..."

"Tell me, Alina," he said, "tell me what you want, my darling wife."

"You," she let out, breathless.

He grinned. "You shall have me. But first, I want something from you."

"What?"

"Lay down on your back," he said, "I noticed you wore a yellow dress for our outing today. Did you do that on purpose, my darling girl? To make it easier for me?"

She blushed and nodded wordlessly. He smiled. He was beautiful when he smiled, it lit up his whole face. It was rare and refreshing to see. There were two Aleksander's she decided. There was Lord Morozova, who appeared at public functions or court. A dark, shadowy figure that most people knew. Then, there was her Aleksander.

Her husband, who made sure she got tea every day. Who left notes on her pillow when he was gone so she would know in the morning. Who tried to know what she was interested in so that she might have a life outside of him. That was her Aleksander. Kind, and thoughtful, so much so she might be in danger of falling in love with him. "What do you want me to do?" she whispered.

"Have you ever played with yourself, Alina?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No," she said, "no, I've only ever been touched by you. I've never touched myself like that."

"I want you to," he said, "I want to watch you come undone before me. Lift the hem of your dress up, Alina. Let me see those white, cotton panties of yours that I know you have under there. So simple, and yet they drive me crazy every time."

Slowly, Alina lifted her dress, showing her bare thighs, and then when the hem of her sun yellow dress was raised, she stuck her hand in her panties.

"Put your finger in between your thighs," he ordered, "and I want you to rub. I want you to rub yourself, until you are overcome."

"Overcome? With what?"

"Ecstasy," he replied.

Alina slid her finger in between her center. Then she began to rub. She rubbed circles on her folds, rubbing until she could feel herself dripping with need, until there were parts of her curling from tension she didn't even know could. Her body arched, and then a shuddering cry went through her that was so loud she was certain it frightened the birds in the nearby trees. As she let out her cry, she saw Aleksander beginning to undo his belt, and pull down his pants and boxers.

"Oh, I'm hard already my Little Wife," he said, "and ready for you."

He straddled her. Then, he pulled her panties off. She was bare, and he placed his hand between her curls. "You've no idea how much I love that this is all mine," he growled. Then he moved his hand, and he thrust inside her, rolling his hips against hers as Alina arched into him to keep up the pace. He gripped her shoulders tightly as he did. This time, there was something feral about it, as if he were in desperate need to fill every bit of her up. When he finally did, he clenched his whole body as his seed spilled inside of her.

"My Alina," he murmured, "mine."

Then, he worked part of her dress off of her shoulder, and bit into it, leaving a mark for all of the world to see.