Chapter Text
September, year one.
This is a business transaction, you think, the horrible pounding of your heart giving you chest pains. A trade.
Your newlywed husband presses his lips against yours, but you don’t reciprocate. He doesn’t seem to notice, but you would blame the alcohol for that.
I’m getting more than I’m giving. His kisses slowly move downwards, and you have to resist kicking him in the face. Your fingers grip at the sheets, then quickly reach for his head once his movements go there. “Stop.”
He looks up, eyes hazy but quizzical.
You look up at the ceiling, trying to keep from crying. “No games. Just get it over with.”
After letting out a strange breath, he gets up again, pressing his waist up in between your legs. You feel both of them then, thick, long, against your skin, and you feel the first pang of real fear that you’ve felt since you laid down in his bed.
“Should we postpone?” He asks, almost the first words he’s spoken to you all day.
You shake your head, trying to even out your breathing. “I-” you shudder, “I promised your parents the production of heirs. Please, can we not just get this over with?”
“Ah, yes, this mysterious contract I have yet to read.” His words are almost slurred, and you realize that yes, he most certainly is drunk.
“You’ve made your peace with it,” you say, letting the slow spark of anger move your sadness out of mind.
“How would you know?”
“I wouldn’t say that you fucking a barmaid up against the wall at our engagement ceremony is an action of a sullen male.”
He pauses, mulling your words over, both surprised at your observation and not. Then he sneers, the facade goodwill slipping through the cracks of his features. “And what are you going to do about that? Berate me? Tell me never to look at another person again?”
“That wouldn’t do anything, would it?” You prop yourself up on your elbows, trying to pull your usual tone you take when conducting business deals. “No, I don’t think so. But you are not allowed to pitch a fit when you find me doing the same thing.”
That catches him off guard. His brow furrows, and he seems to take what you said far more seriously this time.
“We don’t have to enjoy each other’s company,” you continue, sliding down to wrap your legs around his waist, “nor do I plan taking up residence in these halls, but for me to walk out of those gates, I must do so pregnant. Do you understand?”
There’s a flicker of disgusting hope in his eyes, the kind of desperation that comes from someone dodging more and more of his responsibility as it slowly threatens to crash down around him. “And how would I know that you are carrying my children, and not some sailer’s bastard waif?”
“Would a few months of isolation following my returns and a midwife’s confirmation of an empty womb be enough to ease your nerves?” But wouldn’t that be something, though, to masquerade a bastard child of low standing as the heir to your new husband’s ridiculous fortune? Still, though, you would never try such a thing, not after such a solemn oath.
“I- yes, well, I suppose it would.” He’s almost in shock, with a layer of suspicion underlying his evident relief. You can see his manner of thinking, he’s sure this is some sort of trick, though he isn’t certain who to blame, you, or his despondent parents.
“Good,” you say, wanting to reach out and stroke him, though you’re not that brave, yet, “so you must understand the haste which I must be-”
“Yes,” he speaks before you can finish, “yes, of course. Come here.”
At least he finally understands the no-nonsense approach you want to take and obliges. There’s a sharp, pinching pain when he enters, but you grit your teeth and bear it silently. He moves with little thought for your pleasure, but you suppose that this is for the best, for having no pleasant memories from beneath him will make it unlikely for you to think of him in any light but disdain.
He gasps when he comes, and you feel his seed fill your womb, his other cock twitching and spurting uselessly onto your bare stomach. At the moment, you would like nothing more than to leave directly for a bath, scrubbing everything down with water hot enough to leave blisters across your flesh, but you don’t. You let out a breath and lay your head back, determined to let everything settle towards your ovaries. And, above all, you don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry.
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January, year one.
Dearly Beloved Wife,
It is with great pleasure that I received your midwife’s last letter. I suppose that you are much too busy in the unsteady realm of trade to update me personally on the progression of your pregnancy, but then again, as the saying goes, no news is good news.
My parents seem rather pleased at the progression of the business, at least, my mother especially. She has taken the necessary task of decorating a nursery in my wing of the estate, though I have reassured her that by the time you and our child return, they will not be in need of a crib, as the contract states so very keenly. Unfortunately, it seems that she holds out the hope that you would have become smitten with me in the few months we shared before your departure. Perhaps I am not as prolific at seduction as I previously thought.
Kind regards, Zahid Il Dharah
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February, year one.
Dearly Beloved Husband,
I think that you will find my absorbance towards you most becoming because if indeed my heart was yours, you would have shattered it wholly by now with your one of your many licentious affairs. A broken heart is prone to irrationalities, and one of us must keep our heads on in order to maintain the trades, especially if you and your mother both wish to continue your extravagant and unconstrained lifestyle. Better for everyone involved that I spare you no further thought than an extra expense on my ledger.
Much obliged, Your Wife
_____________________________
July, year one.
Adelina comes into the world with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck, face turning blue. Before you can even shed a tear of panic, the accompanying midwife picks her frail body up and smacks her on the back in three quick successions, and your little baby finally opens her eyes. She looks directly at you, her eyes dark as charcoal but sparkling in the candlelight, and screams, by god, she screams her little heart out in indignation of her birth, the sound like the sweetest music to your ears. Even after, when Adelina just doesn't seem to want to go to sleep, or when she is fussy for no reason at all, you close your eyes and remember what it felt like in the split moment where she couldn’t, and you find the noise more bearable.
You take her out on the deck of the ship only two nights later, assisted by your secretary, and show her the stars of the night. She coos gently, and your heart feels the fullest it's been since your younger sister was born.
“I promise,” you say, brushing some of the dark hair from her green face, “that you will never have to do what I did to have you.”
_____________________________
August, year one.
Dearly Beloved Wife,
It is with a joyous heart that we received the news of our child’s birth from your midwife, and the relief that she is in good health is beyond measure. Mother is beside herself at the idea of a granddaughter, and father has broken out a bourbon that would buy a small island. I will admit that this is the most elated I have seen them in a long while. Already with the news of her sex, mother is refurbishing the room to suit her, along with a portion of the wing. Something about making the area appropriate for the innocence of a child, though I know not of what she speaks.
Both of them are begging for me to request that you do us the honor of a visit.
Kind regards, Zahid Il Dharah
_____________________________
September, year two.
Dearly Beloved Husband,
I am afraid that I am too busy to visit the estate. Business is going well, as I am sure you’re noticing with your coffers being filled. As Adelina is still nursing, she stays with me.
I have taken the liberty of using a portion of the money I earned in order to buy a plot of land on a nearby island, as it is in a rather convenient place in between my most traveled destinations. You and your parents are both welcome to oversee construction, so long as you don’t stray from the already negotiated plans I’ve made with contractors over pricing and materials.
Much obliged, Your wife
_____________________________
October, year two.
Most Beloved Wife,
Both my parents express their disappointment over the circumstances keeping you and dear little Adelina but are resigned to their fate. They also request if you might estimate a period for which you plan to visit, should you find a gap within your schedule.
I will admit that I find myself curious as to Adelina’s development as a halfling child. Your midwife tells me that she is doing better than what is usual for both of her parent’s kinds. I would like to see for myself, so long as it pleases you, of course.
Happy anniversary, Zahid Il Dharah
_____________________________
Most Beloved Husband,
If you and your parents are so very determined to visit, then I will send my next destination as well as my place of temporary residence along with this letter. Be wary of the time, I shall not wait for you, for my schedule is set in stone, and there is money to be made. I will prepare separate arrangements for you and your parents should they join, for my place of temporary residence will fit no more people.
Adelina, as she is an infant who has never met her father, does not know what she is missing and, therefore, does not seem to share your curiosity. If you cannot make the trip, she will not care either way.
Much obliged, Your Wife.
_____________________________
November, year two.
You shift Adelina in your arms, bouncing her around as you watch the ship dock so painfully slow. Even though you try to manage your emotions, there’s a nervous bubble in your stomach, and you’re afraid that you will start shaking once you spot him coming from the piers. Not from fear, no, you have no reason to fear Zahid or his family. They need you, and the past year has proved so fruitful you doubt his parents allow him to spite you so.
There, on the deck, you see them. You nod at your assistant, who is in charge of carrying the gifts, and he’s quick to shuffle things around.
“Look at you!” Zahid’s mother is the first to make her way down the plank, her body covered in jewels and silken layers. “So bright and beautiful! And look at the perfect little angel!”
You’re almost immediately overcome with the desire to yank your daughter back away from her grandmother, but you swallow thickly and try to soldier it out. “The midwife says that she’s as happy and healthy as any full-blooded babe.”
“I’m sure, I’m sure,” she coos, bending over and booping Adelina on the nose. “Oh, such lovely eyes, and her skin! Such a beautiful shade of green, not a trace of human pigment. No offense, dear. Oh, Ahmed!” She turns to her husband, who has managed to slither down from the ship himself. “Look at this perfect little princess!”
Your teeth and going to break if you grit them any harder. Instead of saying anything, you turn and nod at your assistant to offer your mother-in-law her gift, of which she adequately coos and fawns over to the point you regret buying it. Your father-in-law, at least, gives you one sentence of thanks before moving on, but you’ve always liked him above all other family members.
“Is Zahid here?” You ask, pulling a cloth over the right side of your chest to try to feed Adelina, though really it’s to deter your mother-in-law from trying to hold her, there’s something about the look in her eyes that makes you nervous.
Both of his parents express some kind of… revulsion, you think, at the mention of your husband’s name. “He is,” his mother says, trying to downplay whatever news she has, “but he’s taken ill to his cabin on the ship. I wouldn’t disturb him.”
“Hangover, is it?” You’re not going to give them the satisfaction of bending to their narrative, they sure know the reckless pitiful bastard they raised him to be. They wouldn’t have been agreeable to your marriage otherwise.
Your father-in-law, at least, seems amused by your candor above all else. “Indeed, the boy drank himself into a stupor last night. Can’t even be roused to give an excuse.”
“Hm, such a shame. And yet, his letters seemed to express an eagerness to meet his daughter.” You’re careful to watch their expressions, but neither seems to give anything other than embarrassment and grim resignment. There’s nothing beyond shame, no maliciousness, so you’re confident that there’s nothing odd going on beyond the surface. Quickly, you introduce them to your assistant. “He will escort you to the villa you will be staying in, as I have some business to attend here. Adel and I will visit for dinner.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to leave Adelina with us?” Your mother-in-law eyes your baby with an almost hungry look in her eyes.
“This will take longer than she can be separated from me.” Surely you’re reading too much into her face, but your maternal instincts are still flaring. “Thank you, though, I appreciate the offer.”
“Leave her be, Salihah.” Your father-in-law does you the honor of coming to your aid, even though you were fully prepared to make a scene if needed. “She’s busy enough as it is.”
You’re already walking away, so you ignore whatever your mother-in-law says in response, letting the salty bite of the ocean slowly ease your tenseness. Calmly, you push past a few dock workers, hopping onto the plank of the arriving ship, and head up. The people here know you well enough to steer clear of your path, mothers don’t exactly come in droves to the trading hub with their infants on their breast, and no one tries to challenge your right to be on the ship, either.
It takes three tries to find his cabin, but you don’t have to stray beyond first class. Your husband is nothing more than a lump on the mattress, lying limply in an oddly contorted manner. After tracing his figure beneath the covers, you realize with only an ounce of relief that he’s alone, which is good. You don’t know how you’d handle that with Adelina in your arms, you don’t wish to expose her to that so early.
Calmly, you sit on the edge of the bed, waiting for just a moment to see if he would wake up, pulling Adelina off your breast, and slowly patting her back. She burps, and that’s when he stirs, if only out of confusion, raising his head up from the pillow.
“Good morning, most beloved husband of mine,” you say, trying to keep any sort of contempt from your voice. You doubt that he’d want to listen to anything you have to say if you do so harshly. “I see that the sea has not treated you well.”
He’s staring, blinking in the brightness of the sun, eyes on the little babe swaddled in your arms.
“I brought you a gift, maybe it will help with the sickness you feel.” You shift Adelina in your arms, his gaze following your movement with razor-sharp focus. Pulling a small pouch of coin out from your belt, you lay it down, with a parchment bearing a scribbled address you hastily scrawled before arriving. You hold it out, and he accepts it, suspicion overtaking his senses. “I think you’ll enjoy it there.”
“Is it a brothel?” He asks, testily, looking back up at you to see your reaction.
“It is,” you say without an ounce of hesitation, “the best in the city. You should have enough money to stay for a few days.”
Zahid, at least, is so taken aback that he can’t seem to actually believe that you would encourage his infidelity. “Wh- what, really? Why?”
“Because I want you and your rash recklessness out of my hair.” You wipe some drool from the side of Adelina’s mouth with your thumb. “And this seems like the best way to keep you entertained until my business here is done.”
“I see.” He reaches over to touch your baby, and all you can see is him, the night of your engagement, fingers pressed up into some random woman’s cunt. “I don’t think my parents will much approve of a week spent in lustful sin, unless, of course, it’s spent with my wife.”
“When have you ever cared about your parents’ opinion on anything?” You say, pulling Adelina out of his reach.
“I suppose you’re right,” he allows, retracting his hand.
“Excellent, so we’re in agreement.” You stand, taking a step to the door. “Glad to have this talk, goodbye.”
_____________________________
June, year three.
Dearly Beloved Wife,
My mother inquires as to when you plan to return for the attempt of another child. The estate is open and welcome to both you and Adelina, and my father is in agreement that you needn’t be locked up in some tower for a few months to assure us all of your fidelity. Mother also asked me to let you know that she is perfectly capable of caring for little Adelina during your pregnancy.
Though you haven’t responded to any of my other letters, I do hope that you do to this one. Both parents are growing impatient for a second grandchild.
Kind regards, Zahid Il Dharah
_____________________________
July, year three.
Dear Husband,
I am busy brokering a deal between two factions that seem to want nothing more than to watch the other drown, and I dare not leave them alone with each other for a moment. If your parents have such confidence in me, then it stands to reason they will accept letting you come out and visit. Should I book you a room at a nearby brothel, or would you be capable of keeping your constant perversions at bay in order to stay with Adelina and me?
Warmest regards, Your wife
_____________________________
Dearest and most beloved wife,
Mother is positively despondent over not being able to host you and our daughter, though I suppose that it can’t be helped. You are, after all, the businesswoman of the family, so if you say something, it must be so. I will make arrangements to join you as soon as possible, and staying with you and little Adelina will be my most utmost pleasure.
Give little Adelina an early happy birthday from me, as I will not arrive in time to celebrate it in person.
Regards, Zahid Il Dharah
_____________________________
August, year three
You bite your lip down so hard that it almost begins to bleed before you stop yourself. Adelina plays in the corner with her dolls, utterly oblivious to your stress, which is most definitely for the best. You don’t want her to feed into your worry, and you don’t want to slander her father before he even slithers through the door. Honest to the gods, you didn’t think he would accept your halfhearted invite to stay with the both of you, but you’re confident it’s stemming from some sort of mind game.
For what, you don’t know. Again, you glance over to your baby girl, who isn’t so much of a baby anymore. The contract says that they can not separate you from your promised three children until they are ‘of age,’ but there is a great bit of ambiguity there. You should have put your foot down about that, but that afternoon where you sat with Zahid’s parents seems like a long eternity ago.
There’s a knock on the door, and you feel like you would appreciate nothing more than to let the ground, but you stand, like a goddamn grown woman who has her shit together, and you answer. Zahid stands in the hallway of the inn, face… older, you think, from when you last saw him, which, while it was admittedly over a year ago, shouldn’t have aged him so severely. Maybe nights of carnal corruption are finally taking hold of him by the throat; maybe that’s why he seems keen on meeting you?
“Good evening,” you say because you can’t allow him to get the best of you.
“Yes,” he says, looking past your shoulder and over to where Adelina is hiding, rather conspicuously, under a desk. “Good evening.”
You turn, looking over her, and try to prod her to come over, “Adel, remember who I told you was visiting?”
She nods slightly, her glittering dark eyes looking over her father with the utmost suspicion.
“Do you want to come over and say hi?”
She shakes her head, clutching her favorite doll to her chest.
You turn your head back over to Zahid, offering a simple shrug. “You’ll have to forgive her, she is wary of…” complete strangers, “people she doesn’t know well.”
“That is understandable, and perhaps even a preferable quality for someone so young.” He glances behind him, where a servant awaits orders. “I brought you both presents.”
“How… thoughtful,” you say, unsure of what to either expect or what his intentions are, but you try to not expect the worst. “Come in, please.”
The suite that you rent is spacious, which is mainly for Adelina’s benefit, as keeping her cooped up in a small space for too long is prone to drive you both crazy. There is a sitting room with a dining table, a desk near the large, pillared windows that overlook the sea, and two bedrooms. You still don’t know the sleeping arrangements yet, but you don’t want to be in the same room as Zahid for longer than you must. The idea of having to spend a full night with him fills your body with anxiety.
“Dinner should be ready in an hour or so, I ordered it from the kitchens, but I wasn’t sure what your preferences would be.” You settle down on one of the couches, closest to where Adelina continues to hide. “I hope that it’s adequate for your particular pallet.”
“I’m sure it will be,” he settles down in the chair opposite of the room, thankfully giving you space. His servant steps into the room, setting a few boxes on the table, and then immediately leaves.
You stare at him, awkwardly, trying to dredge up some small talk. “How was your trip?”
“As fine as being stuck on a wooden tub for a few weeks can be,” he says, the tip of his tail flicking. “I don’t care much for sea travel.”
“You get used to it once you’re almost always on a ship,” you say, folding your hands together, your nails biting into your skin.
“Hm, perhaps, but I’m afraid that I don’t quite have the disposition for that.” He leans back further into the chair, looking back over to where Adelina has begun to play again, far more quietly, though. “She has two legs.”
You look over at your daughter, too. “Did the midwife not tell you in her extensive letter?”
“I… suppose she did,” Zahid says, slowly, “but seeing it… a child with my people’s features but on two separate legs… it is odd, you have to admit.”
You’ve never truly thought about it, as Adelina has always been just… Adelina. Your daughter. Your sweet little baby. “Perhaps it is,” you say, “for anyone who hasn’t been around her for very long.”
His glittering blue eyes snap onto yours, and you can see him mull the sly jab over his head. “And whose fault would that be?”
You try not to bristle, and also do your very best to keep your voice calm and steady. “I’m not the one who plunged your family into financial ruin, nor I will not allow you or your parents to pollute Adel’s head with your destitute lifestyle of liquor and whores.”
His mouth twitches, but to his credit, he says nothing more in argument. At least he seems in agreement that cycling through prostitutes might not be the best environment for your daughter to deal with; perhaps he is not that stupid. “Mother misses her terribly.”
“She is free to visit us at any time.”
“We are... appreciative of your openness,” the tip of his tail wiggles a bit more aggressively, “though you know how my parents despise traveling, far more than I.”
“Then, that’s a shame, because you will find that I am horribly busy keeping your family’s failing company afloat.”
“Ah, yes, I am well aware.” He lounges back into the chair, gaze darkening slightly, forked tongue flickering out for just a moment. “The Miracle Worker, they call you. Everyone is gossiping about how you dredged up the husk of my grandfather’s pride and joy and somehow managed to return it to its previous glory.”
“There’s a reason your parents agreed to the arrangement,” you cross your legs, “I’m prolific when it comes to these sorts of things.”
“A Mozart with the ledgers,” he allows, almost sullenly, as though… as though he’s somehow jealous.
“It’s not just- Adelina!” You jump up from the couch and grab her chubby body from making its way onto the table. “We don’t climb on things, remember?”
She shrieks with a malicious kind of joy, absolutely enthralled at finally pulling your attention away from your husband. You bring her wiggling body back to the couch, having to adjust and readjust your grip as she squirms in your arms, trying to escape to climb up onto the table again.
“She’s a handful,” Zahid observes in the most helpful and endearing way he possibly can.
“She’s three,” you say, “toddlers get themselves into trouble when they can. This-” you narrowly avoid getting headbutted, “is why I wanted our children spaced out in age. Can’t handle an infant and the terrible twos.”
“Yes, I remember my parents threw a large fit about the gap between attempts.”
“Your parents had an army of nursemaids to do their bidding.”
“I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want the same,” he says, most likely the first time being fully candid about your decisions since the two of you met.
“I mean no offense, but,” you gesture in his general direction, “how did that work out for them?”
He laughs dryly. “I suppose that you are right, as per usual, wife.”
You hate it when he calls you that, but you say nothing in response, only letting Adelina down from your arms so that she may resume playing with her dolls. There’s a strange, morose silence that is only rescued by the knock of the inn’s servants as they bring in dinner. You’re quick to hop to your feet, directing their movements and helping them set everything up as Zahid still lounges on the chair, watching you with a remiss expression, tapping his fingers on the armrest.
Carefully, you set Adelina down on one of the massive oak chairs, scooting it into her place on the table. Absentmindedly, you glance over to Zahid. “Will you be joining us?”
“I suppose I will,” he says, rising out of the chair and approaching the table with interest.
Thankfully, supper seems to pass with no incidents, you were afraid that the evening would be plagued with complaints that would try your patience beyond what you are capable of handling. It’s also silent, Zahid offers only a few, clumsy words of praise to the food that you know he doesn’t mean.
It takes about an hour to put Adelina to bed, she’s restless with the guest and doesn’t want to actually go down to sleep. Every time you breathe wrong, her little head pops up, and you’re back to softly soothing lullabies. Given the genre of activities you’re about to partake in, you don’t want her wandering into the master bedroom in search of you should she not be wholly asleep, so you take extra care to leave the bed in slow, gradual steps. Rolling softly off the mattress, you pause when you hear her little hiccup, then continue out the door, cringing at the noise it makes as you shut it.
You give yourself a moment to collect yourself, forehead pressed up against the door, closing your eyes, and silently count to ten. Swallowing thickly, you turn, looking over at Zahid, and you cross your arms in defeat. “Okay,” you say, “let’s get this over with.”
“Do you despise sex that much?” He asks, cocking his head to the side.
“Not sex in itself,” you say, “just sex with you.”
Oh, he is aghast by that statement, as though you’ve spat on his mother’s very grave. His face twists, first in confusion, then in anger, and finally with a grim determination. “You wouldn’t say such things if you weren’t so drunk during the night of our consummation.”
“Actually, I was fully present, physically, and mentally, for the ten seconds it lasted.”
He’s even more upset now, sputtering with indignation. “You were the one, if you remember, that asked me to merely only fill you with my seed. If you had allowed for some pleasure, you would not say such things.”
“Perhaps, and lower your voice, I don’t want to put Adel back to bed again.” You head over to the master bedroom. “It’s better if we do it like this, anyway, this isn’t one of your passionate affairs. This is a business transaction.”
“Is that all you think of me, then?” He asks dully. “Nothing more than a means to an end?”
“You haven’t made yourself out to be much more than that,” you say, perhaps a little too harshly, but your point still stands. “You’re not the sort of male I would allow in my bed if we weren’t bound by the marriage contract.”
“I see.” If he has any feelings left in the shriveled pit of his soul, they would be hurt, that much you can see on his face. “I hadn’t realized you possessed such a low opinion of me.”
“Not low,” you allow, “but inconsequential, I suppose.”
Calmly, you pull your lower clothes off, finding no need to expose your chest to him, then lay your back flat against the mattress. He slithers in between your legs, placing a hand on either of your knees, gaze looking down at you like… like he’d rather be literally anywhere else, which is a feeling you share. Glancing over at the wall, he tries to slowly rub an erection up against your core, staring up at the ceiling as though he can’t stand to look at your face.
“I can’t do this,” he says, suddenly, pulling back away from your body.
You prop yourself up on your elbows. “Why, what’s wrong?”
“This- is passionless,” he draws his hands up to his scalp, running his fingers through his hair, “bland. You can’t expect me to perform in these conditions.”
“You didn’t have an issue last time.”
He’s quiet for a moment, looking out the window, arms crossed across his chest. “Yes- yes, but...”
“But?”
He doesn’t seem to know what to say, you can see the gears turning in his head to downplay whatever excuse he’s about to offer.
“Did you start with someone else that night?” You ask, calmly.
After a breath that’s almost ashamed, he nods.
“I see.” Guess you shouldn’t be surprised that he would do something so revolting on the night of your wedding, but there’s still a slight sting to the idea of him feeling someone up before entering the marriage room. “What do you need to do, then?”
“If I told you I needed to invite a whore into the room, would you agree?”
He cannot be serious, surely he’s just trying to get a rise out of you. “I wouldn’t be present for it,” you say, slowly, “but if you need someone to help you with arousal, I suppose that it can’t be helped.”
Again, you’ve seemed to say all the correct things for him to be at a loss for words. He crosses his arms, mouth in a thin line as he mulls your agreement over, bobbing back and forth against his tail. “No, no,” he finally says, “that won’t be necessary, so long as you might at least act like you want me.”
“But I don’t.”
“That’s why you would be acting, dearest wife,” he says, “I am well aware of your feelings for me. If you are all about efficiency, then wouldn’t it be easier for you to play the part of the low-class prostitute rather than fetching one?”
It’s too dark for him to see you rolling your eyes, but you sit up, legs still spread. “Fine. Do whatever you need to do, I suppose.”
“How generous,” he says, pressing his mouth against yours in a kiss so shockingly innocent you’re sure that he’s been replaced by a changeling. His fingers slowly pull at your top, shoving one of his cool hands under the fabric to fondle at your breasts.
You’re frozen, wholly unsure of how to handle this show of affection, because even though the night is pitch, even though it’s easy to imagine literally anyone else in his place, his scent, his figure, they’re all so distinctly him that you can’t pull yourself from the moment.
“It would help if you tried to reciprocate, or at least loosen your muscles,” his breath is hot in your ear, “you’re stiff as a board.”
It almost feels like you’re somehow losing to something, but this is still you getting what you want. You pet some of his dark hair from his face and kiss him, trying not to cringe at your own sheer unenthusiasm over the contact, but Zahid, at least, doesn’t seem to be terribly bothered over your lack of commitment to the part. Impatient with his groping, you take off your top, as the feeling of it tangling over his hands makes you feel more suffocated.
Slowly, he eases you back onto the mattress, mouth on one of your breasts, and you have to keep yourself from smacking his head away. He must have sensed your wishes, though, because he leaves them alone, electing to instead move lower- lower-
“No, we’re not doing that,” you say, breathlessly, grabbing onto his hair and pulling him back up.
“Why not?” He has the audacity to ask. “Is this not something you enjoy?”
You’re afraid if you say what’s really on your mind- not with you, not ever, he’ll lose whatever ounce of arousal he’s gained from these silly games. “Just… come back up here.”
At least he obeys your quiet request, coming back up to cover your face in kisses. You silently take the barrage, holding his face and neck with what you hope is the gentle caress of a lover. This show of affection isn’t all for not, thankfully, you can feel two erections steadily develop between your legs, so you reach down and begin to gently stroke them.
He lets out a shuddering breath, body gravitating to your hand as you try to tease both his cocks into growing fully. As you slowly continue to pump your fingers up and down, he bends over, brushing his lips against yours in a far more gentlemanly manner, cupping your face with a soft, hesitant touch.
When you think that at least one of his cocks is hard enough to work with, you try to encourage him closer, looking up at him with what you’re hoping is not uncomfortable disgust. Slowly, he eases in, his hands on both of your legs, and you don’t experience the same, sharp pain you had to bear during your consummation. He lets out a breath once he’s already in, his thumb rubbing circles on your thighs.
“Alright,” he says, “the difficult part is over, you can lay limp if that’s your heart’s truest desire.”
“It is,” you say, sinking back into the mattress.
“However,” he continues, “haven’t you heard what the doctors are saying about increasing the chances of pregnancy?”
You don’t like where this conversation is going, and the fact that he’s already inside you while having it? “Can’t we get this over with.”
“Of course, wife, I’m just saying, if you’re so keen on becoming pregnant quickly, doctors are saying that your orgasm increases your chances.”
Oh, he’s only saying this to rile you up, isn’t it enough that you’ve had to tease him into an erection? “We didn’t seem to find that much of a problem with Adelina.”
“Oh, dearest wife, why do you insist on vexing me so?” You feel his fingers slowly inch towards where he and you meet in flesh. “Your only memory of me is so horrendously unfortunate, yet you won’t allow me the pleasure of righting those wrongs.”
“Do you want to know why?” You ask, pressing your arm against his elbow to stop his exploration.
“I do,” he says.
“Then, I will tell you, after you finish.”
He lets out a frustrated moan, thrusting. “You’re impossible.”
You let out an amused exhale. For once, you feel a faint twinge of pride at the… well, it’s not praise, most likely, but the satisfaction of actually, you don’t know, gaining such a response from him… and that scares you. Even before you know how deeply his hedonistic lifestyle was ingrained in his very soul, you had sworn to yourself that you would never, ever allow him to grow on you, because feelings in this situation are dangerous. Slowly, you build back up the part of the wall Zahid had somehow wormed his way through, and you let yourself go limp.
He might have noticed your sudden change of behavior, going only on the way he almost stumbles in his pace, but he doesn’t say anything. It only takes a few more minutes for him to fully spill into you, you suppose that the deafening silence except for the slap of skin-on-skin doesn’t do much to excite him, and as he pulls out, you lay, still, in that position, for a few moments.
Though you’d like to suffer this embarrassment of lifeless sex in silence, Zahid seems to take you up on your promise. “Why?”
“Why, what?”
“Why do you insist on depriving yourself of pleasure?”
There’s a lot of reasons why, but you try to grasp on the closest one that seems to at least put a silence on the topic… at least for a little while. “Because I don’t want to enjoy our time together.”
Again, he shifts in the bed, turning to face you. “Why?”
“To remind myself of what I’m here for.”
“And you can’t do that and allow yourself the pleasure of contact?”
“Not with you.”
He lets the words settle into his mind for a moment. “What qualities about me do you find so repulsive you can’t bring yourself to enjoy the moment?”
“Do I really have to answer?” You ask wearily.
“I won’t fill you with my precious seed again unless you do,” he threatens, though not entirely serious. At least, you hope he’s not serious.
You stare up at the ceiling, trying to steel yourself for the answer because you know that it will sound silly the moment you say it out loud, and the last thing you want to do is stroke his already oppressively massive ego. “I can’t crave something that I’ve never had.”
He takes a moment to mull your statement over. “You’re saying that you would become so unwittingly beguiled with me if we-”
“No,” you snap, “yes, and no. I am well aware that, for all your faults, that you do indeed possess prowess in the bedroom equal to well-trained prostitutes, but I don’t wish to experience it.”
“Why, what’s wrong with that?”
“Because that’s a line I don’t want to cross.”
“Do you think that it will make you somehow less of a person?”
“No,” you take a deep breath, “I enjoy having sex with other people.”
“But you don’t want to enjoy sex… with me.” It’s like he’s hearing this new concept for the first time in his life
“Yes, because you treat people like toys. I don't expect anything different just because I'm your wife, especially since you don't even want to be in this relationship. I can handle sex with other people because I understand there's a mutual sense of respect, but I don't get that with you."
He's quiet, then mumbles a muted, "I respect you."
"Not in the way I want to be respected."
"And what way is that?"
You're growing exasperated. "As equals."
"I do," he offers a half-hearted rebuttal and says, again, with more conviction, "I do see you as an equal."
"I don't believe you, and this conversation is over."
He settles back down on the pillow, pausing. “Is there anyone that you are seeing that treats you as an equal?”
“That’s none of your business.”
He snorts without humor. “I’m your husband, I think that it is.”
“I don’t ask about any of your affairs, so you should stay out of mine.”
“I’d tell you if you did,” Zahid folds his hands over his chest, “ask about my many different lovers, I mean. Anything you’d like to know.”
You scrunch up your nose in disgust. “I’d rather be ignorant of where your cocks have been, thank you.”
That seems to be the end of the conversation, and so you get up, satisfied with the time you spent dedicating your body to his seed, and clean yourself off in the bathroom. When you return, he’s either asleep or carefully pretending to be so he doesn’t have to speak to you. Silently, you climb into bed and bury yourself under the covers, careful to sleep on the very edge of the mattress so you won’t accidentally brush up against him in your sleep.
_____________________________
May, year four
When Uriah is born, like his sister, he is blue in the face. Though, in the end, he doesn’t begin to breathe, no matter the steps taken by your midwife. You hold the twisted and mangled corpse of your baby, rocking, sobbing, for three days and three nights.
________________________
Dearest Wife,
I have read of the tragedy that has befallen us from your midwife. I know words mean nothing in the wake of something so terribly horrendous, but I hope that you know that I, from the depths of my heart, am so sorry over the loss of our son. The bereavement that we both feel is of the worst origins, but I know that what you are affected by this far worse than me by tenfold. I am aware that I can offer nothing more than a comforting hand in this time of grief, so I urge you to return to my family’s estate so that you and little Adelina might have a place to fully express such sorrow in peace.
Sincerely, Zahid Il Dharah
_____________________________
?????
Dearest Wife,
I haven’t had the pleasure of receiving a letter from you, so I assume that you are too weak with grief to write or dictate one. Your midwife tells me that you are traveling over to the island estate you had purchased a few years ago, but I instead respectfully request that both of you come back to my family’s home instead. Mother is sick with worry over how you and little Adelina are taking this loss and urges that I tell you how strongly she is in agreement with me over this. There is a plot of land on our estate that has been used to bury our family for generations, and both my parents are in agreement that this will be our son’s final resting place.
Please send a response when you are able.
Sincerely, Zahid Il Dharah
_____________________________
?????
To my most beloved wife,
Please come home.
_____________________________
???????
To my most beloved daughter-in-law,
Your midwife tells me that you are not taking food or visitors, but I want to urge you to try to regain your footing once again and rise above this. We have the best doctors in this city who would be more than willing to make sure your body is recovering properly, and once this incident is behind you, can help you and our most dearest Zahid try again.
I am sure that Zahid has told you about our wishes to bury our grandson on our property and to have a proper funeral for him. Already our neighbors are giving their condolences, though to each one I say “not for me- for my son’s most lovely wife, please,” for I understand that you are taking this bereavement so very terribly, darling. Once you are under our care, though, I’m sure your recovery will be swift, and another successful attempt will be made.
Yours truly, Salihah Dharah
_____________________________
??????????
Dearest Wife,
I am sailing over to your island estate. I will make no further attempts to convince you to join my family in their grieving and will only be a fervent servant to your wishes. If you find this arrangement disagreeable, remember that the loss is shared between us. I wish to only aid in your recovery and make sure little Adelina knows that both parents will stand by her in times of hardship. No tricks, no manipulation.
With respect, Zahid Il Dharah