“Always,” I agree, but not sure I believe it. “I’m always yours. Make love to me.” There are so many words going unsaid between us. So many important conversations need to be had, but we’re both ignoring the elephant in the room. “Make love to me,” I repeat. For a few minutes, I want to lose myself, fall into the abyss I’ve called home for years. The grief that threatens to raise its head, I squash like squeezing air from a balloon. For a moment, it will be gone and I can enjoy my husband.
He flips me onto my back, then uses his knee to spread my legs and slides between them. His mouth starts at my neck, trailing kisses down my body, finishing at the lace edge of my panties. Strong fingers hook the soft material, and it gives way with a soft rip.
“I liked those panties,” I murmur, feigning disgust.
“I’ll buy you new ones. Now, lie there and let me fuck you.” I chuckle under my breath, and he gives me a pointed look. “No giggling. You’ll put me off my stride.” I roll my eyes at him, and he nips the flesh on my thigh with his teeth.
“First,” he says, “I’m going to tease this naughty pussy of yours.” His face disappears between my legs, and his nose nuzzles my vagina. With his eager tongue lapping my entrance, my arousal heightens.
This man is a fucking oral sex god. He always has been. His gaze returns to mine. “Then, I’m going to bring you to the edge with these.” He lifts a hand and wiggles his fingers. My nipplesharden from knowing what’s to come. “Then I’ll finish what I started; you’ll feel me in every part of you. All of you.”
“Hurry up,” I whisper. “Can’t we skip the first two stages and get straight to the cock part? Preferably me, bouncing up and down. Or you bend me over. I’m easy. Trust me, you’ll slip right in.” He chuckles. I raise my hips toward his face, and he slides his hands under my backside, pressing his nose into my flesh.
“You smell incredible and taste even better,” he mumbles into my clit. “And you’re mine. Forever.” Forever. It scrapes along my spine, both a claim and a release. Part of me doesn’t believe him.
After bringing in Christmas with multiple almighty orgasms, we sit cross-legged beside our puny plastic tree decorated with cheap baubles and thinning tinsel. It’s so small that we set it on the coffee table to give it some height. Our few presents are gathered underneath.
Nothing big this year as we’ve had so much additional expense with the gym. We agreed on a limit of twenty pounds each to spend; it’s hard to buy anything meaningful for that measly amount, but I had fun buying him cheap crap that he’ll never use. It feels good, splurging on something silly, a much needed light in the dark we navigate.
The huge Santa Claus on Terry’s jumper flashes every time he presses its nose, which is all the fucking time. Last week, when I brought it home for him, he closed all the blinds and switched off the lights in the living room to see how bright they flashed. I smile at the memory. My lost boy who never grew up.My Terry. My heart doesn’t warm the way it once did with the thought.
I’m wearing my reindeer onesie. It only gets an outing from the wardrobe on Christmas Day each year. Yesterday, Ben stopped by with our gifts before they left for sunnier climates. He handed me a huge bag with a Grinch on it, the words bah-humbug written across the top.
“I didn’t choose it,” he said. “These are from Bex. She told me she would sort one more year. Everything has been stored in the loft since January. My credit card took a hell of a hit, if I remember. Who knows what she bought. I suppose we’ll all find out tomorrow.” He smiled then. It was sad and forlorn, but it was a smile. “Merry Christmas, Amz.” Then he pecked my cheek and walked back to his car. He never came further into the apartment than the doorstep.
My present was a book, no bigger than the size of a passport.One hundred things to do before you die. Inside was a checklist of all the obscure activities and goals that should be on my bucket list. Dance naked in the rain. Read a book in the middle of the ocean. Visit a hero of yours. But the most heart-wrenching thing she gave me was the note. It was short and sweet but filled with love.
Amz,
By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. Most likely, months will have passed. I hope you didn’t use me as an excuse to not get your ass in gear. That gym better bloody be open. If it’s not, I’ll haunt you down.
Know that I love you and I’m so proud of being your sister. Know that life is to be lived. Create your own list and live it because in the end, no one is promised tomorrow.
Love always Bex xoxo
I’d cried long, hard sobs, and my husband held me. My pain flowed freely, my loss glaring. His sweater was soaked with my tears when I finally looked up. Terry tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear and smiled. I let myself breathe. My sister visited me on Christmas Day from beyond the grave. It was cathartic, cleansing, and horrifying.
Terry pulls a small pink box from the table, bringing my attention back to him.
“Did you stick to our agreed budget?” I ask.
He shrugs noncommittally.
“If you’ve gone and spent a fortune. I’ll feel fucking terrible.”
“Don’t swear. It’s Christmas,” he chides. “I stuck to my own budget.”
That’s code for: no, I never kept to our agreed budget. He passes me the box. “This is your main present. Actually. It’s your only one,” he says. He glances at the parcel in his hands, then back to me, and he passes it over.
“What is it?” I ask, nervous. He’s normally jovial with gifts, excited to give you what he’s spent ten minutes looking for. Today, he’s serious. The way you are when you hold something that truly matters.
“Open it,” he prompts. He must have used a full roll of tape on a gift the size of a matchbox. Tentatively, I pick at the bindings, eventually finding an end. I unwrap the never-ending tape, and the paper rips as it comes away. Inside is a black ring box. My eyes flick to him. He smiles softly. It pops open, and nestled in the red velvet is a sparkling eternity ring.
“Terry,” I wail. “How on earth did you afford this? How did we afford this?” The gold band is surrounded by individual diamonds. Each glint in the twinkling lights. I can’t bear to think of what it cost.
“I didn’t,” he says, and my eyes widen in horror. Don’t tell me he’s borrowed money for this. As beautiful as it is, we can’t afford any more debt.
“It was my grandmother’s,” he explains. “My mother stored it in a jewelry box for years. I always wanted it to be yours, and now felt like the right time.”
