“Baby, wait. Let me,” I say, peeling his hands from my behind and unhooking the clasp at the small of my back.
“As much as I want you naked, I hate to take it off. You look fucking gorgeous, Mia.” The way he stares at me as he says it makes my panties damp.
I bite my bottom lip—I know it makes him crazy—and make a show of slowly sliding the dress down my shoulders and over my breasts. The low cut V in the back didn’t allow for a bra, so I’m naked underneath and I can tell that Declan likes what he sees.
“Still want me to leave it on?” I tease.
“Um, no,” he says pawing at the delicate material to get it all the way down my legs.
The heat and the urgency between us reminds me of when we were younger. Before we were married, every time together was exciting because it was new and we were still exploring, experimenting, and learning all the ways to make each other crazy. Now—now there’s no learning. I know him inside and out, and by the way he’s caressing my inner thigh and making his way up to the apex between my legs—this man knows how to make me come undone.
“Tell me what you want, Mia.” he says with a raspy whisper.
“I want you,” I admit without reservation.
His hand moves up to cup my sex, hooking one finger in the thin, wet lace of my panties and inching it over so his finger has access. “Like this,” he whispers, as he inserts one finger inside me.
Well, yes that feels divine, but I want more. “Uh uh,” I disagree with a soft moan.
He takes that as his cue to insert another finger, plunging deeper and eliciting another, more profound moan from me. “How about like this?”
Mmm, even better. But still not enough. “More,” I whimper against his neck as I lean into him and allow my body to turn to jelly underneath his expert touch.
With one sharp thrust and his thumb circling my most sensitive spot, he takes my earlobe between his teeth and growls, “What about this, baby?”
I grip his hand between my legs and urge his hand to move faster, as my legs start to weaken and my insides tighten. I feel my release building with each stroke against my center, letting the ecstasy spiral throughout my blood stream and force its way to my nerve endings. When my body can take no more and I’m about to explode, I wrap my arms around my husband’s body and ride the delicious wave of pleasure until it overflows completely.
“Oh, Declan,” I cry. “I love you so much.”
Panting and breathless, I can’t help thinking that I never imagined sparks would still fly or that our connection would be so intense after two kids and five years of marriage. And that was just a little taste—I’m suddenly hungry for so much more.
Pushing off Declan’s strong muscular chest, I collapse on the bed and curl my finger, motioning for my handsome husband to join me. I’m naked except for my lacey white panties, so I lift up on my elbows and arch forward, bending my legs to make my body form a seductive curve.
“Shit, you’re going to kill me tonight, aren’t you?” Declan asks, lunging at me.
“Don’t die on me now,” I laugh, as his tongue tickles the sensitive spot between my breasts. “I’m just getting started and we have two whole days left in this big lonely house—but I hope you like this room best because I don’t intend on leaving this bed.”
And we don’t.
We spend the rest of our time in Newport wrapped in each other’s arms and making love. We never redress or remove my wedding dress from its place on the floor until we pack up our belongings an hour before we leave for home.
Sometime right before it hits midnight on our wedding night, I walk over to the closet where I stashed Declan’s gifts from the antique shop.
When I give him the plaque his eyes go wide. “This is our song,” he says, fingering the words that some very wise person sewed onto a piece of art. In many ways it was our song. I intended on loving him way past the age of sixty-four—I’d need him (and feed him, according to the lyrics) no matter how old we got. But that was our new Beatles song. The original meant even more.
“No,” I say pulling the 45 from behind my back. “This is our song.”
He carefully takes the record from my hand, reading the titles of the songs out loud. “And I Love Her & If I Fell. Mia, where the hell did you find this?”
Declan was the one to pick our wedding song five years ago. I’d begged him to choose something more modern, more meaningful to our relationship at the time; Matchbox Twenty, Edwin McCain, Bon Jovi—nope! It had to be the Beatles. At first I wasn’t too happy about it, but when I’d heard Declan sing me his own version of If I Fell—I fell even harder in love than I ever could have imagined.