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She comes with a strangled squeak.
Thank god.
I follow a minute later, bellowing like a wounded animal, and she’ll definitely tease me for that later but I don’t care. Can’t think about anything except her slick body gripping me,milkingme, and the primal satisfaction of filling her with long, desperate spurts.
Mine.
I grab a pillow and squeeze it until my knuckles creak. I’m still coming. This can’t be natural. She’s sucking out my goddamn soul.
And when I collapse on my assistant, her fingertips stroking through my hair, I’m abashed. Breathing hard. “Sorry. That was… a lot.”
Fliss hums and wriggles her hips. It’s a mess down there, sloshing shamelessly, but when I lift my head, she gives me a sinful smile.
“You’ll need to rehydrate, boss. I’m definitely gonna want that again tonight.”
Okay, I’m doomed. I’ll never make it to morning.
But what a way to go.
* * *
Three years later
Guests mill across the lawn, the scent of roses carried on the breeze. Everyone is dressed to impress, sipping from champagne flutes and making polite conversation. String music drifts through the evening.
My wife pauses next to a statue of a Greek hero. The stone man is trussed up with string lights, and ivy grows over his plinth.
“You know what?” Fliss says. “Screw this. I should’ve worn the sandals.” She kicks off her heels, bare toes scrunching against the grass.
I pick them up without comment. Every year, it’s the same—but I don’t mind. We’re all creatures of habit in our own way, and I wouldn’t change a thing about this woman. Not even if it means carrying her heels around the Bamfords’ garden parties every year.
“Oh look, there’s your mom and Maude.” Fliss sets off and I stroll after her, sipping champagne. It’s tart and sweet and bubbly, just like the woman of my dreams.
The breeze tugs at her hair as she strides across the grass. The raspberry streaks are long gone, replaced for the time being by teal-dipped ends. My mother’s smile is warm when she sees us, and she fusses over the new hair, arranging the locks over my wife’s shoulders.
She loves us both really. Especially Fliss.
It helps that I told her in no uncertain terms three years ago that Fliss and I are a package deal. She could have both of us around, or neither. And once she got to know my girl… well, who could resist Felicity? My mother didn’t stand a chance. None of us did.
“Orange juice?” she asks now as I reach them. My mother raises an eyebrow at my wife’s glass, hope sparking in her eyes.
“Keep it to yourselves,” I say. Fliss leans into my side and I kiss her head. “For now, anyway.” Her bump will be obvious soon enough.
My grandmother beams at me, wrinkles shifting around her round face. My mother raises her glass in a toast. “To family. And to your good health, Felicity.”
Glasses clink, and I blink up at the sky, eyes prickling. Who ever thought I’d get so lucky?
Fliss is mine, and for the rest of our lives, I get to make her happy. When my relatives turn away, chatting together, I lean down to my wife.
“Screw the small talk. Meet me in the hedge maze in ten minutes.”
* * *
