The Don's Wife

15 | Live Painting

It's been half an hour of waiting yet she was still nowhere to be seen. My foot started to release its rhytmic taps as my patience grew thinner within each second my watch ticks.

"What's taking her so long?" I grunted irritably at Mary who's currently dusting the balusters.

Mary briefly halted her task. She took a quick glance at me and smiled before she went back to dusting. "Patience, Sir. Us women are perfectionists when it comes to appearance. And when you say to dress her best, she will make sure to be better than best."

I had tried to comply with Mary's reason and wait for a little while longer, but my impatience got the better of me. So I stormed through the stairs to her room.

Wanting to let urgency be known, I gave a loud, rapid knock on her door.

"Just a minute!" She answered.

"Hurry it up, princess! We're going to be late!" I shouted.

"Alright! Just.. putting finishing touches."

Sensing the lack of certainty in her voice, I was compelled to ask. "You okay in there?"

"Um.. yeah.. could you perhaps come in and help me please?" Her tone grew more timid than before, sounding ashamed of her own request.

Knowing that it must be one of those women's dressing matter, I groaned to myself. I thought about letting Mary handle this type of stuff, but to call and wait for her to arrive would be too time consuming. So fuck it, I decided to enter her room.

Better than best? How good can a woman look?

And right there and then, my thoughts were completely proven wrong by the view that revealed before my eyes.

The setting sun casted its warm reddish-orange rays through the window pannels, lighting up the live painting that stood gracefully in the middle of the room. In her backless satin long dress, with her back to me, head leaned sideway displaying her angelic profile.

As if the dress was exclusively made for her, the olive colored silk sat effortlessly upon her heavenly curves and mounds, further accentuating her goddesslike physique.

With the help of her updo, its backside flaunted an ideal amount of her bare milky flesh, from the nape of her neck down to her waist. In contrast with its revealing part, the front side of the dress covered her frame corteously. With its v-neck line that hunged just right before her cleavage, its short sleeves, and the ankle-length laced hem skirt, the dress balanced itself well between sexy and elegant.

I've never seen a beauty far beyond perfect. She was an art herself. An art bathed in sensuality, which enticed me to bend her over and deflower her right there and then.

"James." Hearing how sweetly my name rolled off her tongue made me wonder how much sweeter it would sound to have her screamed it.

"James?" Louder.

"James!" She shouted, finally snapping me out of my haze.

"Is something wrong?" Already facing towards me, she tilted her head.

I cleared my throat to wash away all my dirty thoughts, as well as trying to maintain my best composure. "No. Why would there be?"

She suddenly furrowed her brows and groaned. "Oh no, it's the dress is it? Does it look weird on me? It does, does it?" Twisting and turning, she inspected different parts of her dress.

Tell me she's joking.

"Do you perhaps have difficulty hearing what other people say? Nothing is wrong." I said sternly.