Buried alive

Buried alive Chapter 7

Gomez had carried Morticia inside the house. She was certainly glad that the house was empty. Mama, Thing and Uncle Fester had gone bat hunting with the children in a disused coal mine. Lurch had retired to his room hours ago. Her family was spared from another involuntary glimpse into their private life: He carrying her over his shoulder, shovel in hand, grinning face and pants most likely showing of the contours of his affection. She hanging as a butchered animal, soil and moss in her hair, broken nails and dried blood on her hands. A ruined beauty indeed. Discretion had never been their strongest side as a couple.

Morticia laid on a solid table made out of blood beech. It was placed in the middle of the dank library. A small fire was crackling in the fireplace raising its shoulders up against the huge shadows moving over the giant bookshelves. Morticia couldn't help it, she had to peek through her lashes. She was impressed by the way he had decorated the table with flowers. Pale lilies and beheaded dark red roses mixed with poison ivy made an intricate frame around her messy dark hair and slender body. She didn't knew her husband had a knack for flower decorations. She was about to compliment him for this hidden talent, always quick to praise his skills and the effort he put into their relationship. But she stopped herself in time, remembering her role in this game. To dead to speak, she thought to herself. Even in french. Morticia wondered if Gomez missed her vocal encouragements. The french would usually drip from her tongue like honey during their lovemaking. She would whisper, scream and hiss in french, abandoning English altogether as long as their moment would last. Her darling was the only one who could get her load, the only one who could make her scream, he was very aware of that and quite proud of it.

Gomez lit a cigar and smoked it while watching her. She really looked dead now with her pale and peaceful face. Gorgeous, thick lashes fanning over cold skin, her chest completely still at the moment. The sight of her moved him, he was never able to look at his querida without being filled by some sort of strong emotions. At the moment he felt a wave of melancholy as words for her eulogy started to line up in his mind. If she really was gone...he could clearly see it now, just how beautiful she would look in an open casket, but oh, how her death would break not only his heart but his entire being. The loss of her would mean the end of him. His mouth started to shiver and he was exhaling smoke in small, shaky puffs. For a second he felt like shaking her narrow shoulders to make her open her eyes and comfort him in french.

Morticia inhaled the familiar smell of cigar smoke. Her marriage had made her a dedicated second hand smoker. The smell made her calm and excited at the same time. It meant her beloved was near and her world was complete. Unable to reach for him she quietly hoped for him to touch her again.

He did. With the cigar placed in the corner of his mouth and the joyous look of a kid on Christmas eve on his face he started to loosen up the fancy dragonfly buttons of her dress. Morticia enjoyed being exposed before him and his gentle fondling with the buttons made her nerve fibers tingle with pleasure while her lips, once again looking red and healthy remained firmly closed.

- Precious stones, he mumbled, cigar in mouth- might be worth a nice, little fortune.

- You don't need them where you are going, my darling, he whispered and stroke her cheek with the back of his hand before he let his thumb gently brush over her bottom lip.

- Your husband must have been a very lucky man. She could hear the smile in his voice.

- Too bad to be leaving such a glorious body to rot.

Gomez placed his hands on her now bare abdomen and moved the unbuttoned dress to the sides, revealing more pale, luscious skin. Morticia noticed with complacency how he held his breath for a few seconds, taking in the sight of her heavenly nakedness, once more admiring this goddess who was his forever and ever.

Morticia wasn't prepared for him to crush his cigar against the smooth skin on her left shoulder. She flinched and sensations of pain mixed with pleasure jumped across her skin. How could she forget how he loved to mark his ownership on her body when he was the one being dominant? She should probably let him have that role more often.