ONE

"𝕊𝕠 𝕚𝕥'𝕤 𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕖, 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕒𝕚𝕕 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕕𝕠𝕟𝕖, 𝕘𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕗 𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕨𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕪 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖."

― 𝔼.𝔸. 𝔹𝕦𝕔𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕒𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕚, 𝔹𝕣𝕦𝕤𝕙𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕒 𝔾𝕒𝕕𝕗𝕝𝕪,

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.

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Thud!

He had her by the waist, and he clutched her so tight she felt his nails dig like claws into her skin. She was cinched like pinched paper in his iron grip before he threw her to the bed. She felt the impact of the hungry force before she felt the sinking of her backside into the mattress.

She took sharp breaths, struggling to keep up in the whirlwind of action and excitement thundering in her trembling body.

She couldn't keep up with the movement of his hands. First then were working to pry off the thin nightgown she was in. Then they were own her again rubbing and touching all over yet not yet in the place she was desperate for.

Sweat trickled down her glistened skin and she a rumbling heat burning in her pelvis as she moved her legs. She parted her knees slightly feeling a moistness growing damp on her thighs. She felt a raw hot tongue tracing over her pointed nipples and a free hand roaming wildly.

She panted, struggling to speak through trembling teeth. "...It's...not..." She sputtered out words through moans. "...It's not enough...Ben."

He clutched one of her breasts, her hardened nipples pressing against the center of his palm. "Not enough?"

She twitched, erupting into a moan again.

He slid his hands downwards, sending electricity to her skin as he slid into her panties. "Then, shall I touch you here, Elizabeth?"

"Please---!"

---She jolted awake, fluttering wide eyes and trembling limbs. Her breathing was still uneven and erratic but she steadied it with deep slow breaths. For a moment, she laid there; skin pulsating and tingling, body aching and burning, and her lower half soaked.

Sighing, she clenched her legs together and rubbed her weary eyes. She was utterly tempted to close her eyes and return to her dreaming, but it had been too late. The burn of noon sunlight had already hit her squinting eyes.

Exhaling hot air, she rose from her bed and stood. But as she stood, she felt her slick thighs brushing against each other, a direct result of her nightgown limiting her range of movement.

She swallowed.

The motion alone made her tremble and her eyes immediately draw downwards.

She was still throbbing, sweaty, hot, and starved for more. She placed her hand against her lower stomach. Her fingers wanted to crawl downwards and touch where she was soaking from.

But her hand didn't move.

Instead, let it rest there against her lower stomach as she breathed.

Something blinding bright, sparkly, and large stopped her.

With slow molasses speed, she observed the diamond ring wrapped tight around her ring finger. Most nights she remembered to take it off before she slept.

But she had forgotten this time, and the hand that rested around her lower stomach now owned a bloated finger. Maybe bloated wasn't correct. The skin appeared thin and sickly below the band and fat and red swollen above it. Even her long unpainted nails were turning a pale blue.

For a moment, she thought about removing it and freeing her constricted finger, but rather than removing it, she simply adjusted it to provide minor comfort.

A surge of blood began moving in the finger, yet it still appeared tightly coiled, almost as if it were the wrong size, likely because it was.

When she became Elizabeth Raynes, wife of Benjamin Raynes, the richest man in Eastside from a family who owned a 3rd of the entire Oil industry, the arraigned marriage planning of 23 years had missed a tiny little detail.

Somehow through all the hustle and bustle of the dowry squabbling, being fitted in the right dress, and finding the most extravagant wedding venue, it was neglected to ask the bride what size was her ring finger. Thus, she wore a ring luckily not too big, but clearly too tight.

She rubbed her ring finger in circles, musing over the thought. She knew Benjamin never knew. After all, it wasn't him who selected the ring. It was a family heirloom from the Raynes family passed down from generation to generation. It was one she knew she had no place to refuse or change, not when she was Elizabeth Raynes and not ever, for as long as she would own the name.

Slowly pulling her hand away from her lower stomach, she swallowed air and paced from her large king-size bed to ring the large service bell contraption by her room door.

She had been idle too long. She had a regimen she had to start, lest she waste the whole day away. Her mind wanted to wander but she turned away her desires and thoughts of the past with shaking of her head and a light slap to her cheeks.

"Miss Raynes?" There was a knock from behind the door. "You ringed for service?"

"Yes." She took a deep breath. "Come in."

The door clicked and one of her female attendants entered in quietly and quick. "Miss." The attendant greeted her with a light curtsy and stood a few paces away from the door with a bowed head, awaiting orders.

"Gretchen." Elizabeth glanced once at the freckled nosed brown hair girl. "Cup of water, please. Then run the bath." She requested with a sway of her hand. Turning her back to the nodding attendant, she paced to her vanity desk and loosened the strings on her long white nightgown. As she moved, the dress slide down into a circle of frilled fabric around her bare feet.

Stepping over it, she peered into wide oval vanity mirror to momentarily view her face.

Her honey brown skin was looking ashen, jet-black eyes were dull, and short wavy hair was a mangled mess around her neck. Not only that, she was looking gaunt again. Her cheek bones were protruding with a slight bulge. And her eyes eye bags seemed only to be expanding.

Grimacing, she touched and traced them the lines in sickly appearance gently. "Gretchen?"

"Miss?" The attendant replied fiddling with filling up a water cup from a water basin in other corner of the room.

"Make sure the makeup covers my skin more thoroughly," she said, pulling her gaze away from the mirror.

"Yes, Miss Raynes." She approached offering a glass of cool water.

"Thank you." Elizabeth took the cup, creating a scripted smile.

Gretchen simply bowed her head in response, picked up the nightgown from the floor, and went off to the side of the room to enter the bathing room.

Turning away from the sounds of shuffling coming from the bathroom, Elizabeth took gradual sips from her water with a raised pinky. She guzzled it down with tiny gulps. The refreshing water running over her tongue enough to quench her dehydration and thirst.

She finished the glass and sat it down on her vanity desk with a thud.

For a second, she stared as she caught a glimpse of her naked body in the vanity mirror's reflection. Her breast sat upright and perky, and her nipples were still hardened. She felt a draft of air swift by her.

Damp. She still felt damp. She had a flashback to her dream, and it made her swallow automatically.

Yes, the water was indeed refreshing. But water alone would not be enough to quell her...thirst for other things.

She knew that was a problem.

"Miss Raynes?" A distant voice alerted her ears. "The bathwater is ready."

A problem she had to ignore.

"On my way." She swallowed again, and paced into the bathroom.