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Lilith
“Is this for me?” I heard him ask the moment he entered the library. This was probably the last place where he expected to see food.
But there it was. Our dinner, which I decided on and helped the cook make, was served on a small mahogany table, which was brought here just for the occasion. The room was softly lit by the warm, flickering glow of candles, casting a romantic ambiance that perfectly matched the occasion.
“All for you,” I smiled, leading him to the table, deciding to make this evening as playful as possible.
“Aren’t I supposed to do all this?” he wondered, but I could see he was amused.
“No, no, no,” I shook my head. “You are the guest of honor. This is my way of showing you how special you are and how much you mean to me. And if I’ve ever done anything to make you believe otherwise, I apologize and vow to do better.”
I waited for him to say something to that, because all those words came from the heart, but he said nothing. He was merely smiling, looking at me, then at the food. I decided not to let this sadden me and continued with the introductions as planned.
“As appetizers, I have selected a platter of bruschetta,” I told him, explaining everything that he would see on the table.
The toasted baguette slices were crispy and golden, adorned with a vibrant mixture of diced ripe tomatoes, fragrant basil leaves, and minced garlic. I had to try one while making them, and each bite exploded with a burst of flavors, blending the sweetness of the tomatoes with the slight kick of garlic. It was the perfect introduction to what was to follow.
“Then,” I continued, as he settled into his chair, “we’re moving on to the main course. This is chicken marsala, served alongside a bed of creamy mashed potatoes and sauteed asparagus spears.”
“Mmm,” he murmured appetizingly. “It all looks delicious.”
“I’m glad you think so,” I gushed. “But that is not all. For dessert, something classic. Tiramisu.” I smiled, waiting for his reaction. This was what his mother used to make him, and I hoped that it would provoke a special reaction in him.
Much to my disappointment, he didn’t show anything. He kept smiling at the food, obviously content with what he was seeing, but I couldn’t notice anything special awakening in him upon hearing the word tiramisu or seeing it made especially for him.
Once again, I swallowed my pride. I didn’t want anything to ruin our special evening, as this was yet another chance for us to find our way back to each other. I continued with the line I learned by heart from a cookbook.
“As you will have a chance to see, the delicate layers of coffee-soaked ladyfingers are alternated with a velvety mascarpone cheese mixture, then dusted with a generous sprinkle of cocoa powder. With each spoonful, the dessert offers a harmonious blend of coffee’s bitterness and the sweet creaminess of mascarpone, a symphony of flavors that dances on the taste buds.”
I waited for him to chuckle at this, because overly fancy statements such as this one were usually his pet peeve. Once again, there wasn’t much of a reaction. Instead, he was adjusting himself on his chair, eager to start eating.
“For drinks?” he wondered.
I smiled. “Something special. A bottle of red wine, with rich, fruity notes, which will not only perfectly complement the savory dishes we have in front of us but will also add a touch of elegance to this evening.”
“I’m all about elegance,” he chuckled, and I couldn’t help but join in.
Here, I saw a flicker of the man I fell in love with, the man I loved. Well, the vampire I loved. Although I never saw him as different from me. No one in the castle did. In my eyes, he was a man like my father was. A good man, which was what mattered the most.
I sat opposite him and gazed at him lovingly. His presence alone filled the room with warmth, and his eyes sparkled with a quiet charm that had captured my heart long ago. I was filled with hope that after tonight, everything would go back to the way it was before, and I couldn’t wait for that to happen.
I watched as he took a bite of the bruschetta, his lips curving into a satisfied smile as he savored the burst of flavors. The candlelight danced in his eyes, casting shadows that played across his face, highlighting his strong features and the gentle lines that time had etched there.
As he cut into the chicken Marsala, I admired the graceful way his hands moved, a testament to the years we had spent together, learning each other’s every gesture and preference. His laughter filled the room as we shared stories and reminisced about our journey together, and I couldn’t help but think how lucky I was to have him by my side. The thought of him having an affair had completely vanished from my mind. I had no idea how I could even conceive of such a thing. I was being so silly.
As the evening wore on, our conversation flowed effortlessly, and our love seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment. I couldn't imagine a more perfect dinner, in the cozy library we both cherished, with the man who held the key to my heart. I continued to gaze at him lovingly, silently thanking the universe for bringing us together and cherishing every precious second we shared.
When we were done, I played some music from the old gramophone that used to belong to his mother. I walked over to him and asked him to dance. To my surprise, he hesitated before accepting my hand. Once again, that awakened doubt in me, but I silenced it. I didn’t want to ruin this blissful moment. Our fingers interlocked, but there was little of that familiar and comforting intimacy we used to share. The soft carpet under our feet was like a cushioned dance floor, absorbing our steps as our bodies started to sway to the music.
Usually, he would look only at me while we were dancing, but this time, other things occupied his attention as well. He would look around, as if he were searching for something.
I wanted to grab him by the face and force him to look at me. I wanted him to kiss me wildly, like he used to do. I wanted to feel his body against mine. I was thrilled and eager to taste him. So, I did exactly that, refusing to wait a single moment longer for my husband to read my mind, something he was always able to do before.
I pressed my lips against his softly at first, then sliding my tongue into his wet heat. He kissed me back with much less passion than usual. My fire did not match his tonight. But I refused to give up. Not yet. I wanted to light him up any way I knew how.
My hand slid down his stomach and I grazed my hand against his manhood. I caressed it gently. I yearned for him, but I wanted to start slowly. He took me by surprise when he lifted me into his arms and took me to the sofa, where he lowered me onto my back.
I didn’t mind it a bit rough, and he knew that. I could tell that now he was as excited as I was. I smiled against his lips. I unbuttoned his pants and slid my handinside, wrapping it around his cock. It felt thick and hard to the touch. Just the way I liked it.
