I am in love with her.
I am hers.
EPILOGUE
MAX
The light at the bedroom curtain in April is grey at five-fifteen and white at five-forty-five and gold at six, and at six the line of light comes in at the gap at the rod and crosses the quilt at her hip and goes up the wall to the corner where it stops. I have watched the line cross the quilt at her hip on every clear morning since the snow broke in March, and I have watched it on the mornings the snow has not broken too, and the morning is clear today, and the line is at her hip, and her hip is at my hand under the quilt, and her hand is at the back of my neck, and her face is at my throat, and she is asleep.
She is so beautiful as she sleeps.
She makes the sound at the back of her throat and I move down her naked body moving the quilt until I am between her legs and I let my mouth move to her pussy, running my tongue through it in long slow strokes enjoying the taste of her.
“Max,” she murmurs as she wakes and her voice is thick with sleep. Her eyes are still closed. But she is soaking wet and her hips are moving in response to my tongue.
It isn’t long before she is moaning and grinding into my mouth. I love the grinding, the way she rolls her hips to take her own pleasure.
She comes, gushing in my mouth and it is so exquisite, the taste of her. She smiles as she pulls me up to her face, kissing me, licking her own come from my mouth and chin.
She rolls me onto my back. She puts her hair at my throat. She kisses down my body in a way that I never used to let anyone before her. Her mouth reaches the surgical scar low-right, and the surgical scar low-right is a scar I told her the story of in February at our kitchen table over a tin cup of coffee, and the story of the scar is a story of an ovarian thing in 2014 and Val drove me to the hospital at four in the morning and sat in the waiting room until eight, and the surgical scar low-right is Evangeline’s now, and she licks across it before moving down between my legs.
She dips her head between my legs pushing them apart as her mouth finds my pussy, soaking wet. Again this is something I never would have done before her. But after all this time, I am so comfortable with her and she wants to do it so badly. Her tongue feels incredible as it runs up my slit in long slow strokes, each one taking me closer to the inevitable.
I close my eyes and lean back, relaxing into it. It turns out I like long slow oral that builds slowly. And that is what she gives me, licking me with hunger and care until I come apart and shatter in her mouth, crying out.
She keeps her mouth on me as I ride out my orgasm, then she puts butterfly kisses all across my pussy, my groin, my pelvis, my hips, my scar.
She laughs and kisses all the way up to my mouth where I taste myself on her tongue.
She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
I tell her so.
She puts her lips to my collarbone as though worshiping me.
She does not answer.
She does not have to.
---
I make the coffee at the percolator on the stove in the tin cup with the chip on the rim and the tin cup with no chip on the rim, and I set the cups on the table by the window. The bread is from the loaf she made last night. The butter is in the small brown crock.
She comes out at six-twenty-five in my flannel and her own jeans and the wool socks and her hair down at her shoulders.
She sits at the table.
She drinks the coffee black.
"Max."
"Evangeline.”
"The plumber is at the new house at eight."
"Yes."
"He is rough-ing in the master."
