Autumn

I was full of him, so deliciously full of him, it was the best, the best it could be, I was close to him as I could be, and I needed him... I needed him so much...

"Come for me," I cried, heedless of anything else but my desire for him. I bit his neck, shuddering as he arched up against me. "Fill me, fill me sweetheart, you're so good in me, I love having you in me so much," I begged.

He was moaning, gasping now, slick gorgeous cock driving in and out of me, my lips stretched on him, slick on him, my nipples hard against him. I forced myself up on my elbows, found his lips, and began to kiss him in a frenzy of need. He began to slam himself into me, an almost-painful sensation of over-fullness of my belly... and then I felt him groan, shudder under me, arch up, lifting me almost clear of the bed as he locked his arms around me again and began to throb deep inside me.

"Oh... oh..." I moaned. The hard, quick pulses were almost enough... almost... and I forced my hand down to me to find me and tease me the hair's-breadth more that I needed.

It took the briefest of touches, the smallest of nudges... and then my own body locked hard against his, every muscle uniting as he broke me, as I surrendered to the pleasure he had given me.

My orgasm lasted an eternity.

And then I lay there, spent, splayed and stretched over him, unable to summon the energy to move or to even try to salvage my bedding as his slowly-softening penis eventually slipped out of me, followed by the sticky rush of his come.

He lay beneath me; I could hear the ragged edge of his breathing and feel the hammering of his heart against my chest.

I simply closed my eyes, and turned my face, and basked like a lizard who'd barely survived winter and had just found the first real sunbeam of the year.

"Rachel?" he asked me, eventually.

"Mm," I breathed, unwilling to disturb my torpor.

"Sweetheart... are you... OK? Did I... hurt you?"

"No. I mean, yes... I'm OK, and no, you didn't hurt me. You may have stretched me out a bit with that delicious thing of yours... but I'm sure I'll survive," I added, smiling. I shifted, found a slightly more comfortable spot on top of him. "Don't mind me," I whispered. "Just... I'm really enjoying the sensations."

"What... sensations..."

"Of... being full of you. Of being like this with you. Naked, spent, sated....with nowhere to be and nowhere I'd rather be than here."

He tightened his arms around me, and gently kissed my neck. I sighed, squirming from the overload of pleasure.

"You melt me when you do that," I whispered.

"You melt me when you smile," he rumbled.

"We're going to need another shower, I suppose."

"Maybe. But for now... just let me hold you like this. Just a little longer."

So I closed my eyes, and sighed happily, and let him.

.:.

Days became weeks, weeks full of golden honeymoon glow, when I'd wake up beside him in one of our beds, depending on where we'd ended up. I'd awaken with him hard against me, even in his sleep, and mornings became a game of who'd wake whom by initiating. Sex lost its visceral shadows and became something I loved, a way for me to demonstrate with my body how much I adored him. As the weeks went by my desire for him only grew, and soon I was comfortable enough in my skin to let him have me wherever and whenver he wanted - though we did mutually declare my kitchen counter off-limits after we cracked it during an extremely energetic but badly judged morning quickie...

But, even better than the sex, even better than the mind-bending orgasms he could give me, were the simple touches - the slow way he'd rub his hands adjacent to my spine, the way he'd ease against me from behind and gently kiss the curve of my shoulder, the way he'd pass me and never fail to touch my arm, or my hip, or my bum.

I felt like I was walking on air. I felt like nothing could hurt me any more. His gentle presence became my Aegis, my ward against the darkness that still hung around the edges of things.

He began dragging me to shows. I met his friends - a wonderfully diverse crowd of men and women who swung in and out of his orbit. He'd introduce me to them as "My partner, Rachel," and each time he did so a few more flakes of ice and shadow melted away.

But most marvellous for me was how I'd be talking to someone, and would catch his eye from across a crowded space, and he'd always have a smile for me. And soon afterwards he'd come to me - often for no reason other than "To recharge," as he'd glibly put it. And I would never fail to melt, and I would never fail to fuck him silly when we got home. I felt a breathlessness around him, a deep-seated need to never let him question how important he was to me.

Because no matter how much he told me, and no matter how intimate we were, and no matter the days that became weeks that became months together, I never truly lost the fear that I would lose him.

But, in the meantime, weekends became long, wonderful durations of pleasure in which I'd gamely follow him on whatever crackpot expeditions he'd planned. I went mud-larking on the banks of the Thames, I went boating (and, once, inadvertently, swimming) at Henley. We went on a Christmas break to Amsterdam, reluctantly fed the midges at Loch Lomond on a madcap week-long drive around Scotland, and held hands one warm August night as the lights on the Eiffel tower were turned on.

And wherever we were, I'd watch him, and hold his hand, and luxuriate in his proximity, in his strength, and in the rich warm sound of his voice. I couldn't get enough of him, of this angel who'd chosen plain, broken old me.

On the frequent occasions that James and Helen came to dine with us, I could always feel Helen watching me, and him, and us.

"You're in love, aren't you," she whispered to me one night as she was leaving.

"Yes," I simply answered.

And she held my hand and squeezed it tightly, then brushed the little teardrops away from her eyes.

"Good, I'm glad," was all she said before she kissed me goodbye.

Our one year "anniversary" came and went, and I thought my life was complete.

I was so wrong that, in hindsight, it was funny.

.:.

"Rachel?" I heard him calling.

"In the bedroom, just drying my hair!"

"Dinner will be ready in five minutes, move that shapely and delectable bum of yours!"

"OK, OK, on my way, keep your shirt on..." I answered, smiling. Caleb did so love "my" kitchen, it was honestly sometimes hard to get him out of it and I was still amazed that I hadn't picked up a dress size or two thanks to his tendency to feed me.

"Don't be late," he called and I laughed. I decide to forgo my hair-dryer and simply wrapped my towel around my damp mane. I sauntered through to my living room and leaned against the wall, watching as he poured two glasses of what looked like rather expensive Champagne.

"Are we celebrating?" I said, amused. "Some new project for you?"

"Potentially..."

"Or is it just that the meal was difficult enough to make that we need some sort of ceremony to mark it?"

"It's not for the meal," he answered, softly.

"What do you mean?"

"Rachel... would you please... come here?"

Curious, I closed the distance between us. He took my hand, pulled me to him, and kissed me soundly. Then he shifted half a pace backwards. I stared up at him, suddenly and strangely unsettled by his expression.

"Caleb?" I said. "What is it? What's happened?"

"You mean the world to me."

"Um..."

"I think I fell for you that very first evening, when I watched you at Helen's wedding and dreamed of a world where someone like you would be interested in someone like me."

"You were dashing and wonderfully kind. I liked you even then. But... Caleb, what's going on? Something's going on, I know it is, I can smell it..."

"I want to spend my life with you," he said, softly.

"But... you are... we are..." I flailed, not understanding him at all. "Isn't what we have... good?"

"Yes. It's nearly perfect. I just... I don't want to just be your plus one any more, Rachel. I want... I want to be yours. Officially. Forever."

He reached into a pocket, and I clutched the counter as I felt the world start to go vague around me.

"Are... is..."

He pulled out a small royal blue jewellery case, opened it and turned it towards me.

I stared down at the simple slender silver band that nestled within, safe on its velvet bed.

"It's beautiful," I somehow managed, after some time.

"I asked Helen what you would like. She said this would be perfect. That anything larger or vulgar or ostentatious would bug you, but that this..."

"Would be... perfect. I'm going to wring her neck," I completed his sentence, largely on autopilot.

Then I shuddered, looked up at him, and took a painful, stabbing breath as all the past insecurities and fears came rushing back.

"Rachel? Sweetheart, what is it?"

"Love... are... are you sure about this? You... you can do so very much better than me..."

"Rachel," he quietly interrupted me. "No. Please, don't. That is the last time I want to hear you say that about yourself. I don't want anyone else. I want you. You have my heart, and my soul. I want to spend what years I have left on this earth with you by my side. You and you alone. Just you."

I could feel his hand shaking.

"Will you marry me, Rachel Fielding?" he softly asked me. "Please, say yes."

I stared up at my lover, at my friend, at this perfect creature who loved broken little me so much more than I deserved.

There was no question in my heart what my answer would be.

I reached out, wrapped my arms around him, and pulled myself to him.

"Yes. A million times over," I managed. "And then a million times over again, and again, and again..."

And then there was nothing more to say.

Just kisses to kiss, and tears to set free, and, at the end, a simple glass of exquisite bubbles to share with the man I loved.

-:- Epilogue -:-

"We're nearly done," Helen murmured into my ear.

I glanced briefly at the mirror, then away again.

I didn't recognise the strange creature that the glass reflected; I felt a moment's fear that I was about to suffer from some sort of dissociative event...

My daughter put a hand on my shoulder, and I shivered as she pulled me back to the present.

"Mum? Don't. You'll be fine. Just remember to breathe," she said.

"God... I'm... why am I so terrified?"

"Because you love him so much. It's a phenomenally stressful thing, Mum. You saw how I was freaking out when it was James and me, and we'd been together for ages..."

"Thank... thank you for being here for me..."

"Where else on earth would I ever be right now than right here with you?"

She pressed her cheek to mine, and I squeezed my eyes closed for a breath, for two.

"Now hold still for the finishing touches," she whispered. She opened a small bag, and began easing vibrant purple blossoms out of it.

"Helen? Are those..."

"Bougainvillea. Yes. I got them especially for you."

"Oh, Helen... sweetheart, those won't... they won't suit me at all..."

"Of course they will. They'll be perfect for you. Just like they were for me. Now sit still and behave while I do this last small thing for you."

My daughter's fingers were gentle and cool against my scalp, and I breathed in and out slowly as she wove the blossoms into the silvering gold of my tresses.

"There," she said. She stepped back. "Now. Now you're ready. Now you're perfect."

I snuck what was only meant to be a glance, then paused, staring at myself in the mirror.

"Oh," I breathed, when I could. "Oh Helen. You've made me... beautiful."

"You always were, Mum," she said, voice strangely hoarse. "You just never ever got the chance to see it like I could. Now stop. Stop or I'm going to cry and I've got at least five minutes more to get through first before I'm allowed to do that..."

She leaned in, kissed my forehead, and sniffed hard. "Breathe, breathe," she whispered - whether to herself or to me, though, I couldn't tell.

A knock at the door; my daughter sniffed once more, then turned away from me and opened it.

"Hey love, it's... Helen, are you OK?" I heard James say.

"Holding on. Just about. Can't talk. Love you. She's ready," my daughter answered, voice thick and unnatural to my ears. I heard her take a breath. "Mummy?"

"Yes?" I breathed, finally looking up from my reflection.

"Come on, time to go. He's waiting for you."

"You look beautiful, Mum," James added.

I rose unsteadily, and my son and daughter carefully arranged the abbreviated train of my dress so that it lay clear of my feet. I took a deep breath, then another. Helen passed me my bouquet, and I clutched it before me like a crucifix; a ward against the shadows. I let my daughter take my arm and lead me like a sleepwalker through the portal and along the parquet-floored, walnut-walled corridor to the double doors where Grant was waiting for us with a Cheshire-cat grin threatening to split his face in two.

"Breathe, mum," my girl whispered to me. "Just breathe. One foot in front of the other. Don't be scared. It's your day now. It's your time at last. Are you ready?"

Slowly I straightened, pushed my shoulders back and down, found the bedrock within me.

"Yes," I breathed, at last. "I'm ready."

She nodded to James and Grant and took her place by my side. The boys eased the doors open, and the golden voice of Billy Joel began to pour forth from the sound system as the guests turned and got their first look at me.

But I didn't see them. Not really.

I didn't take any notice of anyone other than him.

He stood at the end of the aisle, immaculate from his silver-speckled hair to the perfect creases on his morning suit, separated from me only by one final tear-blurred sea of colour and light.

He smiled at me, eyes crinkling up in that way I'd come to love so much.

"Let's go," I whispered.

"Let's go," my daughter echoed me.

She walked the sea of colour by my side, placed my hand in his and then, with one final kiss for love and luck, set me free.