His glassed wife

The swirling time of night, in the awakening of moon, cold wind of autumn knocked on the windows.

But the married couple couldn't spare their mind at the calling of frost, while they were inside the warmth of their room and under the comfort of duvets, tangled on the bed.

Ishmael had his arms wrapped around his wife, her body soft and moreish—he couldn't ever get enough of her.

Ishmael lowered above Neva, kissing her so passionately, devouring her mouth obsessively. Hands balancing a closed space—on either side of Neva's head, her own grip, clenching the collar of his black silk pajama shirt.

His lips drew her swollen bottom one, nipping and sucking, eliciting a moan out her lips against his.

He cupped her cheek, their tongues dancing, savoring the sweetness of pleasure.

He groaned an animalistic sound, his body tensed and burning with the need to be as attached and deeply one they could ever be.

Neva's arms moved to wrap around Ishmael's neck, unceasingly kissing, the deprivation of air forgotten, wanting him closer.

The kiss deepening, the desire of intimacy flaming unbearably to suffice the aching bodies.

Ishmael's hand slid down sensually from her neck to grazing the rift in her bosom, arising shivers, making her suck in the stomach at his yearning.

Neva out of breath gently pushed him by his chest, gasping, chest heaving heavily. And Ishmael only swam his swollen lips, kissing and marking her neck, slithering down her shoulders, all the while he's sliding down the thin straps of her red night gown.

The air around was heated, stuffed and feverish. The wet noises of loving and grinding bodies with only the riling thin fabric seperating, Ishmael dawned them off her flesh, wanting her all, to take her to the pristine and depths.

"Ish–Ishmael," Neva breathed, while he just hummed lowly in intoxication, nibbling everwhere on her soft, milky–white skin.

"Wait," Neva whispered, her breathing ponderous, her eyes closed, mind dizzy and center hot. "We should stop."

"I don't want to." Ishmael returned in a hoarse voice.

"I–I want to ask you something," Neva managed, gripping his arms.

"Later," he mumbled against her skin, tasting all her sweetness, gliding tongue, licking and moisting her sensitive surface.

"Please," she urged, holding back a moan—body squeezing fisting the sheets, eyes shut tight and respiration ragged.

Ishmael sighed, barely managing to part slowly and gaze down at her glittering eyes in the dim golden lumination of the lamp on the nightstand, roaming on her flushed cheeks, her gorgeous enslaving features hued in summoning rapture. The throbbing unbearable, he captured her gleaming lips once again.

Neva's form tautened, and feeling her hardly responding, Ishmael pulled away and raised his head to thread their eyes.

"What's wrong?" Ishmael frowned, worry tinting his gaze at her teary cocoa pools.

Neva pursed her lips, then she sighed, pulling back her straps to cover the bared chest.

When her mind trailed away, Ishmael caressed her face and pecked her forehead.

"Is something wrong?" He repeated, thumb stroking her cheekbone.

"It's just, something's been bothering me." Neva said, fingers fidgeting with the buttons in his shirt.

"I'm listening." He replied, grabbing her hands and laying on his side to face her.

Neva swallowed, contemplating, biting her lip, to which Ishmael drew away her bottom brim from the abuse of her sharp inscisors and kissed her.

She glanced at him. "The twins are old enough now. Can I—can I attend college?"

His brows scrunched at her, grim knotted gaze making her stomach drop.

"Why?" He rasped out, knuckles grazing her jaw.

"I just want to study." She replied witheringly.

"I'll prepare for you at home." He returned, leaving tiny kisses on her jaw, slowly streaming along the neck.

"You said it yourself, outside—it's safe for us now. And the children could even normally start pre–school."

"The world, for anyone will never be safe enough." Ishmael said, reading her faltering expression, tucking away strands of hair in her ear.

"You're twisting words." She reprimanded.

"What? Am I wrong? You can always take courses virtually from home. And I've still yet to decide if I want the children send to formal school." Ishmael shrugged, earning a glare from Neva.

She just sighed deeply, then inched closer to him, yielding her head on his chest, making him instantly wrap her up in his embrace.

"Sometimes your wariness suffocates us. Even if the outside is frightening, I want some part in it." She mumbled.

"You're saying; I keep you locked here?" He coldly asked, although his long fingers tenderly stroking her hair, betrayed him.

"No. I did not mean that."

She arched her head up to look at him. "I don't remember, and I'm clueless how the world out there is like. I envy those who get to make a choice."

"You have everything you'd ever need. Sick minded people are all around, I'll give you anything else. But I cannot let you be exposed to them." He strictly declared. He cannot give her way to them who he can't restraint. Who aren't under his control.

Neva frowned at his darkened gaze, her demeanor shrinking.

"Forget it." She said, turning her back on him.

"How can I make it up to you?" His mellowed tone asked, tightening his hold on her waist, inhaling the sugary floral scent of her shampooed hair.

"I don't really know myself Ishmael. I don't know who I am except from being your wife and a mother to the twins." She uttered, her voice shaking and faltering.

"I know nothing about me."

Ishmael stayed silent.

She had never admitted straightforwardly such intrusive thoughts eating her mind. But he's done it entirely for them, to keep them protected. It broke his heart that he couldn't ease her suffering in a way she would want.

"I've got ambitions Ishmael. I long to find a place for me. Can't you give me a chance?" She whispered, holding onto the shred of hope, a thread to her dreams.

"Care to reveal your kind of ambitions?" He asked, with a tone lacking amusement.

At that she turned to face him. She smiled. "I want to do so much. Study about nature, literature, astronomy, philosophy and more. Visit bakeries, coffeehouse, libraries, concerts, museums. I want to be something; someone of identity—beyond just marriage." Neva flowed it out, a comfort, a lightening in her chest.

Ishmael just stared at her, with not a flicker to parallel her ecstasy—the glow in her face at the allude to her visions.

A bitterness clawing in him; he couldn't give future to those musings, and he loathed she would be willing the world to gradually wound him off her.

Neva's smile shrivelled at his quiet and unresponsive self.

Had she voiced it wrong?

"You're right, Isaiah and Naya are old enough. Perhaps you're only listless. It's about time we try for another baby." He flatly said.

And she felt a gnawing pain in her chest. Disbelieving, he completely unconsidered her.

Her gaze dimmed as he kissed her, gently holding—laying her on her back, mouth still connected as he hovered above her and unbuttoned his shirt.

When this emptiness soared, an understanding loomed in; he's fixed in enclosing her, treating her like a glassed statue, this house—compelling in faster to smother, tattering her and the dreams that gives her life.