Mrs. Cerulli

Part 2

"Christopher, we're going to be late." you hesitate, feeling his lips press warmly against your throat. He's standing behind you, his hands casually slipping across your stomach as he pulls you back against him. You inhale sharply as you feel the nip of his teeth against your skin, your face flushing.

You were trying to finish getting ready to meet his friend at a bar downtown, and you're running a little behind as is. You'd gotten off work late of course, you feel like that damned job is always trying to ruin your night --- and now this!

You just finished your hair, you just need to put some earrings in, and you'll be good to go --- why is he trying to distract you right now? He knows you're weak to him, is he not wanting to go tonight? 

"We won't be late," Cerulli mumbles against your throat, his black hair brushing against your cheek as he raises his head slightly, gazing at your reflections in the mirror. He likes how the two of you look together, and he can admit when two people suit each other --- it took him years to finally concede to a relationship with you, an official one.

He was just... stuck in the past, it's hard to let go of.

You were always forbidden to him, always his student, it's what made your initial relationships so thrilling. The possibility of being caught, especially in public with you, has always made his heart race --- and soon just seeing you made it do the same. 

Cerulli hadn't realized how set he was in his ways, how stuck in a rut he was, until you. You may be twelve years younger than him, and looking back, he'd been a fool to waste so many years in his own indecision. But there again --- you were twelve years younger than him; you had a lot of life to live, an entire world to see, how could he expect you to settle for someone like him?

But here you are.

You've been together for three years now, living together, out to the world. At first, it had caused him anxiety, made him tense when you introduced him as your boyfriend; you'd always beamed when you'd called him that, you were proud of him, and wanted to show him off. He found it both endearing and uncomfortable at the same time.

He doesn't have anything to offer you --- he may be a college professor, his pay isn't anything to be disappointed in, and sure he does have a rather nice apartment and likes expensive things. He has taken you on a vacation every year since you've been together, and now that he thinks about it...

Well, he supposes he does have money to offer you. 

He can't give you family, or the promise that you won't be alone in another forty years when he kicks the bucket before you do, but ---.

"What are you thinking about so hard?" You ask, interrupting his reverie. His chin rests on your shoulder as you slip your earrings in, your eyes trained on his in the floor-length mirror in front of you. You found it at an online yard sale, made him drive fifty miles out of the city with you to pick it up; he never imagined a mirror would be so heavy to carry through an apartment building.

It's nearly ceiling height, with a black frame that reaches a point at the top, and intricate swirls are etched into the wood. The glass is spotless, you're meticulous about it, so there's not a speck of dust or fingerprints marring your image. 

"Nothing in particular," Cerulli says, tightening his grip around your waist. You fit so well against him, every curve of you is snug against his body, he feels like it's a shame to let you go. 

"Are you nervous about seeing your friend tonight?" You ask after a moment, your fingers hovering at your ears. You chew your lip, wondering if he doesn't want you to go. You finally got him over the stage where all he wanted to argue over was how he couldn't give you children, but now he seems to fixate on the fact he's a decade older than you; really, it's like the man is trying to sabotage himself from happiness.