45
REINER
Life has never been this good, I thought as I watched my beautiful wife getting me hard and ready with that amazing mouth of hers.
We’d been at the cabin for two days, and we’d done almost nothing except make love like
when we were newly married.
Well, in a sense we were newly married again – and very, very busy enjoying our second
honeymoon.
It wasn’t, in fact, much different from the first one: even then we’d spent our three–week vacation locked in the bedroom – now, though, we were both much better at that art, which
meant we were having way more fun.
With a dangerous gleam in her eyes, Becky released my c**k and climbed, slowly and sensually, up my body – settling herself astride my pelvis and slowly impaling herself on me.
Holy s**t – I could have come on the spot.
I’d never seen anything more beautiful: that gorgeous, strong, confident woman using my body
to take her pleasure.
I usually didn’t let her take so much command in the bedroom – it was my Alpha nature, and I
loved to see her come when I owned her: but if that was the result of letting her take the upper
hand…
I tightened my hands around her hips, helping her get into a rhythm: but it was too hard for me
to stay away from those lips, barely ajar as my mate moaned and gasped. They were
mesmerizing, like a siren’s song.
I sat up, still letting her dictate the rhythm and depth of the thrusts, and took care of those poor lips left to their own devices.
It still felt absurd, a dream, to actually have her in my arms again – to be making love to her
again. To be connected to her again, finally, in every aspect of our lives.
It felt crazy to be back to feeling complete again.
When we came, I let myself fall onto the soft turf of the clearing, dragging her with me; Becks
rolled off my chest and snuggled into my side, and I lost no time in bringing her into a hug.
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Almost without realizing it, I began running my fingers along the sinuous line of her side – as if to discover every curve, every rise and hollow. We might have been ditching the clothes for the
last two days, but I still marveled at her body: she hadn’t changed much, it was still her, and yet her figure wasn’t the same she had been four years ago. The lean, strong muscles of the pack’s most feared warrior and huntress had given way to more motherly curves, and the war scars had been joined by silvery stretch marks on her breasts and hips that, as I’d noticed the
night before, gave off a vague glow in the moonlight.
I loved every detail about her. I loved every change. I hated what had happened to us, I hated
everything she had faced, the challenges and pains she’d mentioned to me in those days
when we’d been alone, but I loved and admired the strength and grace with which she had
faced them: and her body bore witness to her strength – a strength not only of a warrior, but of
a mother.
“What is it?” Becks asked, looking up at me.
“What?”
She raised a brow. “You looked lost in thought.”
I lowered my face to hers and captured her lips in a kiss, smiling back when I felt her mouth
curve up. “I was thinking that I love you,” I said, honestly.
I’d never get used to seeing pure happiness blossom on her face at those simple words – or
the way her eyes sparkled.
Becky returned the kiss – softly, without any haste.
I love you too, she murmured.
We stayed in the clearing behind the house a while longer: then, when storm–laden clouds
began to get a little too close and covered the dying sun, we went back inside.
Becks went to shower first, so I took the opportunity to start putting some dinner together: or
at least, I tried. Unable to choose what to make – a warm soup for the humid weather or something more elaborate and romantic – I stood dumbfounded in front of the refrigerator, waking up from the trance I’d fallen into only when I felt familiar arms wrap around my waist.
“Who pays the bills, honey?” Becky giggled, brushing my upper arm with her lips.
You naughty little…
“Both of us,” I reminded her, booping her nose. “Now that we have a wonderfully full joint
account.”
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She replied with a roll of her eyes. “Have you decided what we’re eating tonight or …?”
+B Points
“I’m a gentleman, so I’ll let the lady decide,” I chuckled, wriggling out of the trap she had set for me. “So, what does the lady wish?”
Becky stood beside me analyzing the refrigerator, undecided, and I sighed in pure pleasure when she leaned against me. It was a gesture so simple and yet so intimate – one that meant. that she completely trusted me. That, with me, she felt safe.
“We could grill the trouts you caught yesterday,” she observed, pointing to the three carefully eviscerated and filleted fish in the Tupperware.
“I don’t have all the ingredients.”
“We don’t need them,” she smiled. “They’re good just as they are, love.”
Well, if she put it that way.
…
I cast one more glance at the fridge, and a simple but not bad little recipe began to compose
itself in my mind.
“If that’s what the lady wants, I’ll do my best to satisfy her,” I pledged, feigning a deep bow and
making her laugh. “Now go relax, baby. You need it – you’ve … tired yourself today.”
Becky blushed at the clear s****I hint, and with a chuckle, she headed toward the living room.
I, for my part, made my way toward the bathroom: after all, I still had to shower, and the idea
of cooking while unclean disgusted me. Once I’d showered and further perfected the recipe
under the jet of water (somehow, my best ideas were always born in the bathroom), I went back downstairs and started playing.
“And dinner is served,” I proudly announced half an hour later, placing our plates on the coffee
table in the living room and enjoying Becks‘ amazed look. “Grilled trout with lime and pink pepper, with leek puree and confit cherry tomatoes.”
Becky stared shocked at the perfectly set up plate in front of her, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes – then raised her hands, shaking her head.
“I give up,” she quipped. “All right. You win.”
“I bet!” I exclaimed. It took a lot to make my wife admit defeat – and that dish was, modestly, to
die for.
Intrigued, Becky reached for her fork and took a bite: I felt quite jealous when I saw the
expression of pure pleasure on her face – I mean, only I could make her feel that good.
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Well, I thought. I made that trout, so…
“Wonderful,” she moaned, savoring the bite. I sat down next to her and tasted my creation as well: indeed, it was just perfect.
“There’s just a little thing…” she then trailed off: I looked at her, shocked.
“You just declared defeat, woman!” I exclaimed, offended. “You can’t do this!”
Becky giggled. “Come on, honey, I’ve conceded victory to you for tonight. It’s all there – the
sweet, the salty, the freshness, and the softness of the fish. It just lacks… something crispy“.
I tightened my lips, caught off guard.
I hated to admit it, but she was right.
“It’s not necessary,” Becky pointed out. “But it would make the whole thing truly perfect.”
And so, we ditched the TV to try to figure out the perfect crunchy element to add to the dish.
By the time we got to dessert and champagne, we still hadn’t figured out what to add.
“Well, I guess we’ll figure it out,” I said to end the discussion.
“I
guess so,” Becky agreed.
Something moved in me as I saw the light in her eyes change – from relaxed and playful to more… serious. Solemn. And excited. A change I sensed, through our connection, in her
emotions as well.
“I’ve got something for you,” she said, leaning toward the basket of blankets and fumbling with it. When she turned back to me, she was holding a package wrapped in dark green wrapping
paper.
I felt my heart leap, and a big smile plastered on my face: a gift was the last thing I expected
that day.
“Really?”
She nodded. “I should warn you… well, it’s, let’s say, recycled. Sort of,” she said. “But I think
you’ll like it anyway.”
Her cryptic wording only made me more curious and thrilled, so I rushed to open the gift.
My voice died when I realized what was inside.
Two photo albums – one of which was the one Violet had tried to show me two weeks earlier,
and which had caused Becky’s panic attack.
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+8 Points
The album of her pregnancy, followed by the one chronicling the first year of our kids.
“Don’t… baby, you don’t have to do this,” I said, taking her hand. “I know it’s not easy for you, I
mean…”
“1
“But I want to,” she replied, returning the squeeze. “I don’t … I don’t want the memories of what
may have been our only pregnancy to be just mine solely because it wasn’t a good time. You
weren’t there because they separated us – and it wasn’t fair. You should have been there – both
while we were expecting them and in their early months,” her voice cracked, and I couldn’t stop
a few tears from sliding down my cheeks. “This is the only way I can… give you back, at least
in part, what they took from you.”
–
I felt a knot in my throat – and unable to bear the few inches of distance between us, I brought
her onto my lap. Becky wasted no time in snuggling against me – and for a few moments, we
remained silent, letting the physical contact and closeness to each other soothe us.
When I felt able to, I picked up the first album and, with trembling hands, opened it.
The first two pages were occupied by dedications, which I hadn’t noticed when Vi had shown
me the album because she’d run straight to the pictures: the first was for Becky, from Wayne
and Ravi, but the second was for me, and from Becky.
I cannot bring back time, my love, but I can give you these memories.
In the first photographs, it was impossible to tell she was pregnant: it was mainly photos of
her, together with Wayne and Ravi, doing tourist things around the city. They were all stolen
shots, and I was relieved to see that, in many of them, she was smiling: sure, it wasn’t her
typical happy smile, but… it was something. She had shown me her memories of the first
days after our separation – and the fact that she was smiling in those photos was worth the
world to me.
I sent a thought of thanks to the Goddess, for putting Ravi and Wayne on Becks‘ suddenly dark and lonely path that day four years ago. I knew it was only because of them that I could hold
her now.
The only photo that proved her early pregnancy was her third–month ultrasound, in which she
had discovered the babies‘ genders.
Violet, James, this is your first photo!, Wayne had written. Here Mom and Dad found out that
you were going to be a boy and a girl. They were super happy!
My heart clenched as I realized that in those little dedications Wayne had made for the kids, he had always included me. Perhaps he had done so because he knew Becky was holding out
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+8 Points
hope that everything would work out, that one day I would meet the pups, but considering how strained our relationship had been in the first few weeks after my arrival, I was quite surprised. He really did have a heart of gold.
As I progressed through the album, Becky’s pregnancy became more apparent: in so many photos I saw her snuggled up on the couch, stroking her beautiful bump or talking to the pups, and sometimes holding some baby from her new circle of friends. Under those photos, there was often a little comment from Wayne (Look how good your Mommy is already! She’s
training for you guys! ).
And as the pregnancy progressed, the smile on her face also became a little more open, less sad, and her eyes became brighter.
The album ended with the most beautiful photo of all: my Becky, in a hospital bed, smiling, tired but overjoyed and proud, with our two puppies in her arms. Her eyes were bright and brimming with tears of emotion – she was absolutely radiant.
It was also the only photo in which she smiled directly at the camera – thus the only photo she let herself take in that whole album.
This picture was taken by your daddy!, the dedication said. An easy way to justify my absence in the portrait, but one that nonetheless had me wiping tears.
I stood on that picture for a while, admiring and imprinting the image of my newborn children in my mind, quiet and safe in the arms of their beautiful mother: the image I’d longed to see for years, and had resigned to never seeing.
And instead, there it was.
I closed the album and turned to my wife: just like me, her face was wet with tears, but her smile was real. And she was happy.
“This is… the most beautiful gift you could ever give me,” I managed to say, fighting against my throat tight with emotion.
Becky giggled, “More than the Harley?”
Typical of her to joke in emotion–filled moments. For our first Christmas as Alpha and Luna, as
well as a married couple, Becky had bought me a beautiful Harley Davidson, my dream since I
was a boy.
Now, however, that gift paled in comparison.
She had given me not just her memories of her pregnancy, but also her soul, her vulnerability,
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her heart.
Those were worth more to me than anything else.
I took her face in my hands and kissed her.
“Thank you, my love. Thank you so much for this.”
Her smile could have brightened the darkest night.
North Wave
Hi guys! How did you like the chapter? I’m also here today to make a big little announcement (or a little big one? Dunno!): I’ve … been offered a contract for this story! I’m overjoyed and super happy this book is going well <3 and it’s all thanks to you!
