“You still good?” he asks, voice raspy and deep.
I nod, unable to find words to how good I feel. I can’t even remember the last time a man made me feel seen like this, like I’m amazing despite the fat I can’t chase away anymore, despite the stretch marks in my thighs, the roundness in the places where I was firm before.
Not like Alastair has anything like it to worry about himself, his stomach as flat as an ironing board, muscles lining his every limb. Those powerful legs bring him over to me, and the strong arms guide me back until my legs hit the mattress and he lowers me down, both of us crawling back while our eyes don’t leave each other. When my head finally hits the pillows, his hands start traveling down my sides, my thigh, his mouth curved into a smile as his fingers finally brush my clit and I can’t hold in any longer—I let an undignified sound escape my lips.
Alastair smiles like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard, and then his fingers and tongue start doing things I can’t even understand, my legs opening up to let him in, my hand finding the back of his head and fisting around his hair. An upstroke of his tongue, then his thumb circles my clit before his whole mouth takes me in, tongue darting in and out, a single finger tasting the wetness I feel between my legs.
“Alastair,gods, that’s—” A moan cut’s the sentence short, words unable to form any longer as my back arches and pleasure takes over any logic remaining within. “I’m not far,” I finally manage to say.
He smiles wickedly while two fingers play inside of me, and his tongue slowly slides up, all the way to my belly button, as if chasing away whatever remained of the cobwebs.
“That’s perfect,” he says, “I want to hear you scream.”
Then his fingers move faster, expertly, while his mouth closes around my clit, his tongue finding the perfect spot and making me tip over the edge.
I think I scream. I think even the windows shake when my body twists and every muscle in it tenses. And then I feel boneless, weightless, and Alastair finds his way up to me, his arm under my head as he guides me to his chest and strokes my hair, my cheeks, my lips.
“You are gorgeous,” he whispers against my hair, a soft kiss following.
When I finally find my words, my breath, I look down at him, still hard, and my hand slowly goes down there.
“There’s no need,'' Alastair says, guiding my hand away and laying it over his chest. “Let's just stay like this for a while… We still have all night, unless you have somewhere else to be.”
He looks at me knowingly, and the sweetness and passion of it together almost brings tears to my eyes.
“There’s nowhere I'd rather be,” I reply, curling against his side as exhaustion takes over and I think about taking a short nap. After all, we still have all night and many more rooms in the house I haven’t seen.
When morning comes, I’m greeted by a tray of breakfast in bed, the sun peeking over the mountains and my body so sore all over after everything that happened last night. I don’t think we slept much, but then I look at the clock on the wall and see that it’s almost midday.
“Good morning, sleepy head. Or must I say good day,” Alastair chuckles.
“You should know, I never sleep in this late. It’s all your fault,” I reply teasingly.
“Excuse me, but you were the one that woke me up in the middle of the night asking if I wanted you to—”
A pillow hits him in the chest, and we both laugh.
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I cut him.
As we sit in bed, still naked, and eat eggs and toast with fresh orange juice, Alastair looks out the window to the beautiful landscape outside, and then back at me.
“Do you believe in magic?” he asks out of the blue.
And normally, I would have asked what he’s referring to, but I think I do. I really do.
“You know, I’m really starting to,” I reply, leaning over to plant a kiss on his cheek.
Epilogue
Sabrina
“Hi, darling! Where’s the birthday girl?” My sister-in-law Brittney asks as she finally joins us, a gift bag in one hand and a four-year-old girl in the other—their youngest, Jessie.
“Oh, I don’t even know anymore,” I say jokingly, “I think in the bouncy castle?”
The backyard of Alastair’s home—our home—is crowded with kids running all over the place, a huge number three pink balloon decorating the dessert table. The rest of Brittney’s kids have already joined in, Clara at the food table, Sean rushing towards the bouncy castle, and Paul joining a soccer match.
“I can’t believe how fast they grow,” I say, a hand to my belly as I look at Huxley, our birthday girl, as she steps out of the castle and runs towards the swing set with her friends following behind.