She cries out with exertion as she reaches another climax, the sheer carnality of her scream a fucking pleasure to watch. The way her head falls back under the weight of physical pleasure and mental emotion, rewards me for my efforts. I release one hand from her hip and clasp the back of her head, bringing it back to mine. Then, delving my tongue deep into her mouth, I expel my own orgasm.
We both collapse on the bed, thoroughly sated and fucked, and that wonderful feeling of attainment gratifyingly washes through me. After seconds of catching our breath, I tug her to my side, and she comfortably rests her head on my chest.
Gently, I kiss her on the head. “So, how does it feel to be Mrs. Clark?”
“Perfect,” she replies then hugs me tight.
Hours later, we are departing the plane and stepping onto the tarmac at Charles de Gaulle Airport. It’s fucking freezing, the icy chill in the air piercing my skin like a thousand tiny needles.
“Paris?” she asks, spinning to face me and seemingly not fazed by the near zero degree temperature.
The look of sheer excitement that is radiating from her pores fills me with so much joy. “The one and only,” I reply intertwining my fingers with hers, wanting to keep us both warm.
“Oh my God! Can we go see the Eiffel Tower, now?”
Personally, I want nothing more than to cuddle up to her naked body, the flames of an open fire dancing before our eyes. Except, seeing her exhilaration—one that resembles a kid at Disneyland—I’m now more inclined to freeze my arse off just to continue witnessing her expression.
“If you want, but it’s bloody cold,” I shiver, cursing myself for not having our coats accessible.
“Screw the cold. Paris blanketed in snow is so romantic. It is the only place in the world I would be happy to freeze to death.”
Shaking my head, I lead her toward the waiting Limousine, hell bent on not allowing any freezing of her body to occur. “We can go, see, and do whatever you want. Our honeymoon is your oyster.”
She stops once again and I all but refrain from rolling my eyes, changing my mind when I see her smile widen beyond normal proportions.
“Anywhere?”
“Yes, Hunny, anywhere but here. Come on, let’s go see the La Tour Eiffel,” I entice, my French rolling from my tongue.
“Oui s’il vous plaît, Monsieur Clark,” she responds, her French spoken just as perfectly.
I groan at the sound of her words which are like verbal sex to my ears. “Limousine. Now!”
Reaching Champ de Mars without burying myself inside Alexis was an impossibility. Her French spoken words as I bucked my hips while she rode me were fucking sensational. ‘Oh Dieu, oh Dieu,’ she’d chanted at my request. Followed by ‘Oui, oui’, and finishing off with ‘Baiser’. Needless to say, it was the best 45 minute drive I have ever experienced.
Standing at the base of the monumental structure that is the Eiffel Tower, I watch with joy as Alexis arches her head back to get maximum perspective. Her obvious excitement feels me delight, and I can’t help but take a moment to absorb what my life now encompasses. The exquisite creature before me; my wife, is the woman who breathed life back in to me, giving me purpose for wanting to not only exist but to enjoy the life I have. She tempts me, satisfies me, fulfills me in every possible way. She is my greatest achievement.
Reaching into my coat pocket, I pull out a rose I had our chauffeur obtain for me, then take a hold of Alexis’ hand, tugging her to my chest. Her eyes spark when I place the flower on her forehead and drag it down the bridge of her nose, her sight never leaving mine, not even for a second. Once I have trailed the rose across her lips, I lean forward and replace it with my mouth, sealing us with a passionate kiss. She is mine, and she always will be.
I have attained my ultimate perfection.
EPILOGUE
“Mum! Dad! Come on,” Brayden calls from the lounge room. “Whatever it is you are both doing up there, stop. We’re waiting for you.”
Nate, Charlotte, and Brayden all roll their eyes with a knowing smile, their mother and father’s frequent disappearance a common occurrence in their household.
“Listen to this riff I’ve been practising,” Brayden says to his nineteen-year-old brother before diving right in to some guitar chords.
Nate looks up from tuning his base, impressed with Brayden’s ability to compose so simply, this natural talent obviously passed down from his father. “Not bad, little bro.”
“I like it, Bray. Are you gonna show Mum and Dad?” Charlotte asks before returning to warm up her vocal chords by humming her scales.
“Not yet, it’s not finished.”
All three of them continue to prepare their instruments as Bryce and Alexis watch adoringly from the upper level. Bryce, having just listened to Brayden’s roughly composed riff, couldn’t be more proud of his eight year-old son. In fact, he couldn’t be more proud of all his kids. He never saw Nate and Charlotte as his stepchildren, having always loved them as a father should.
“He’s so much like you,” Alexis says to her husband of seven years while dropping her head to his shoulder. Every time she is faced with her youngest child she is reminded that he is the epitome of his Dad, this is both a good and bad thing where she is concerned.
“Yeah...well...he has to get his talent from someone,” Bryce playfully boasts, knowing Alexis will fight him back. He adores when his wife puts up a fight, he always has and he always will. Baiting her is one trick he has perfected over the years when wanting to be buried inside her, his taunts always resulting with them both passionately making love.
“Oh, so I am talentless, am I?” she says as she turns to face him. “What I just did to your cock was something taught in everyday school?”
“Fuck! I should hope not,” Bryce laughs.
“I can guarantee, Mr. Clark, that what my mouth is capable of is more than just a talent.”
Bryce pulls his wife to his chest and nudges her nose with his own. “I know, my love. It’s a gift.”
“Mum! Dad! Hurry Up!” Brayden bellows.
“We’re coming,” Bryce retorts.
Laughing, Alexis pulls away to join her children downstairs.
“Where are you going?” Bryce asks, securing his wife’s back to his chest. “I said we’re coming and I didn’t mean in an adjective sense.”
Alexis’ body ignites, a natural reaction to her husband’s dirty and promising words. “We’ve come twice already. A third time is a bit greedy, don’t you think?”
“I’m a voracious man.”
“I know, but your voracity will have to wait. We have three eager youngsters down there who want to jam with their parents.”
A battle of choice begins to forge a dilemma within Bryce’s mind, having to choose between his two favourite pass times; making love to his wife, and jamming with his family. Knowing deep down that his sense will prevail over his lasciviousness, he lightly nibbles Alexis’s ear and then let’s her go. “I know. Come on then.”
Bryce seats himself at the piano, now comfortable to play after so long. He had refused to touch the keys following his mother’s death, feeling the attempt to be too painful. But when he’d asked Alexis what she wanted for their one year wedding anniversary, she had said just one thing. ‘Play the piano for me. It’s time, my love.’ Ever since that night, he has found a renewed love for the instrument and no longer feels the heart wrenching pain he once did.
Pressing the keys to start the song, he looks to Charlotte who is sitting beside him. On perfect cue, she begins to sing the lyrics to “Fix You” by Coldplay.