by Chloe Liese
“You’ll fall back asleep,” she whispered, leaning into my lips, kissing me.
I shook my head. “No, you will. You just think I fall back asleep because you sleep like the dead. Now stop that.” I pushed her hand off me. “Else I’m going to shoot my load and then where will we be?”
Elodie leaned over me and turned on the bedside lamp. She came into hazy focus, and the sight of her went a long way toward my affability for this early wake-up.
Her eyebrows rose. “Is that so? Well then.” She straddled me, and by Christ, she was a vision—soft light, wild curls, and full breasts, a glorious swell in her hips again, and the glow of tan skin. She sank down on me, and we both moaned as we met, reunited after weeks of coming up short. Jobbies, kisses and touches—nothing compared to this, her tight heat wrapped around me, my body deep in hers, sheathed to the hilt.
“God, Elodie,” I sighed, my hands setting on her waist, then drifting along her ribs, over her rosy nipples. My eyes slid shut in ecstasy as she rolled her hips, the familiar heat of desire humming through my body.
“Lucas, will you look at me?” she whispered, her hands sliding over my chest.
My hands continued their perusal, every swell and dip, smooth and pebbled, taut and full. “I am, dearest, remember? I’ll always see you.” Opening my eyes slowly, I found hers, those pools of sapphire like the evening sky, swimming with happy tears.
“Yes, Loulou, I remember.”
I thrust up into her, my need to fill her growing more urgent by the second. She gasped as I did, her hands steadying on my chest as I drove into her.
“Oh, Lucas, yes, yes, yes,” she sighed as my finger circled lightly over her glistening clit. Her rhythm over my hips stuttered as her pleasure started to take over, and in one quick movement I flipped us, our connection unbroken before I drew back and sank into her, knocking the air quietly from her lungs.
“Please, Loulou, harder. I need it,” she gasped, her eyes falling shut.
“I want your eyes, Elodie,” I grunted, driving into her again as my finger slid where we’d joined, teasing her hard bud as she gasped for air.
She nodded furiously, her eyes flying wide as she rode my hand, and I plunged into her, quick and deep. Her belly drew in, her nipples hard little cherries as her mouth fell open. “Oh, Lucas, oh God, please, please,” she cried, and I covered her mouth with mine, knowing this level of noise would wake the baby.
I grunted into her mouth, opening wildly to tangle our tongues while she came hard, spasming sharply around me as I thrust into her. She panted into my mouth, her hands gripping my shoulders fiercely as I poured myself into her, over and over, my breath suspended in my lungs until the immense relief finally washed over me.
I dropped onto her, my chest heaving with hers together. My hands threaded through her curls, my lips found hers. “God, I missed you,” I sighed.
She nodded, a satiated smile illuminating her beautiful face. “So much. That was horrible, waiting.”
I nuzzled her, tugging her close to me, our bodies slick with sweat and sticking as we embraced. My hand slipped over her arse, and I kissed that precious connection of her neck and shoulder, tender and sweet-smelling, salty to taste. “It was horrible, but worth it.” I pulled back, my hand gentling her cheek. “How do you feel? Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head quickly, smiling. “No, you didn’t hurt me. I feel…” She sighed, her eyes drifting closed. “Happy.” My head dropped down to the pillow next to her, roaming her face, which soon fell serene in sleep as she snored softly. I tried to shut my eyes, telling my exhausted body to go back to sleep, but it had always been this way for me—once I was up, I was up.
Birds chirped cheerily outside our window, while early autumn’s sunlight drifted through our open windows and made the curtains glow gold. Aided by the bedside lamp, I saw Elodie in a wash of warm metals—bronze and copper, gold and platinum—her skin luminous and her hair like a halo of sunbeams around her face. God, she was so beautiful it hurt.
I kissed her lips softly, and she smiled in her sleep. The vision was all too perfect, and I knew it was a moment I wanted to save, so I pushed up onto my elbow, cataloging every detail, sending it deep into memory and promising myself it was one I’d remember. How the light made every surface of her body look like liquid gold, how her rosy lips and nipples were an exact match like I’d wondered those many months ago, when she first stood sopping in her towel, asking for help starting her life over. Her body, long, full curves, little scars and marks showing her years as an athlete, a tough girl. Now an indomitable woman.
I never dreamed this could be it, that this is where my shadowy path could lead—a resplendent light of new possibilities, touch and comfort, ecstasy and laughter, hope and new life. I’d thought it had no place, that I had no right to want that, that I’d been condemned.
A soft wail came from the bassinet on the other side of the room, and I slipped out of bed, our new companion rising immediately and walking with me to retrieve our baby girl, tiny and perfect, from her cocoon. She cried that shaky young baby cry that tugs your heartstrings, as I laid her at the changing table, pulling open her nappy. A chocolate brown snout rested itself on the table’s edge, sniffing worriedly and whining.
“Shh, Sable,” I whispered, “Lyddie’s all right, aren’t you, sweetheart?” I crooned, lifting her tiny bum and placing a fresh cloth nappy round her. “Just pissed yourself and good and hungry for Mummy’s tits, if I had to guess.”
Sable snuffled, dropping her nose and standing next to me. “Good girl.” Who I was talking to, I wasn’t sure—it was a house full of perfect girls—but I meant it nonetheless as I lifted little Lydia into my arms, bouncing her quietly. I pressed my thigh against Sable, knowing she’d stop me if I was going to trip into something or bark my shins with a baby in arms, so I allowed myself a peek down to my gorgeous baby girl, tiny golden curls like her mother and those full pink lips that mirrored ones pursed in sleep a few footsteps away.
Setting Lydia softly onto the bed, I pulled back the sheet, rubbing Elodie’s arm. “Sweetheart, Lyddie’s up.”
Elodie grumbled in her sleep, turning sideways and feeling for Lydia with eyes shut. Effortlessly, she tugged our little one her way, and pressed a taut nipple straight into her mouth. Lyddie gulped quietly, the snick of her suction breaking periodically before she latched back on. It was the only noise punctuating the quiet of our room, and I could listen to that simple comforting sound of life and tenderness forever.
Sable dropped at the foot of the bed, huffing, and I glanced over my shoulder to her. “I know, you’re missing out, but you know the rules—we’re a team, where I’m utterly reliant on you, poor duck, and you can’t be getting ideas about lounging about the place when I need you.”
Her ears perked up, and those milk chocolate eyes seemed to say, yes, I know, no need to rub it in. I felt bad for the poor girl. I’d grown up with dogs, and they were like our siblings, going everywhere with us, sleeping on our beds, eating scraps under our table. Sable was a guide dog though—yes, I know it’s mad that we had a baby and got a guide dog all in the past few months—but, as the instructor impressed, Sable had to stay within the rules.
She’s an extension of you now, a necessary tool for your life, and she must know that.
I wondered if perhaps she could be both that and my friend, but I didn’t bother asking. I figured we’d work it out when we got home, and we had. Lyddie popped off, her face slack in the milk coma, and the tiniest peek of her eye was visible. My eyes, Mum’s eyes—gray and green like the sea I swam in on the day she was born. Elodie said our eyes made her heart skip a beat. I supposed I didn’t mind that, so long as that heart kept on beating forever, for me.
Lyddie squirmed, and I knew she needed a burping, so I lifted her up on my shoulder, patting her soundly while I swung out of bed again, strolling around in my birthday suit as she let a few out. Sable led us in a figure eight, those big eyes looking up at me before glanc
ing back down to make sure the path was clear.
I thought the old girl would love a morning stroll, and it seemed brilliant outside. We were all awake but for Elodie, who needed her rest, after all the times she nursed through the night. Quickly I yanked open my drawer, finding and then stepping into shorts all one-handed, before I set Lyddie down quickly in front of me and tugged on a shirt, socks, and trainers. She was wearing one of those zip-up sleepers and looked cozy enough, but I pulled a tiny soft cap for her head from her changing table’s drawer, tugging it down her tiny curls and smiling at how utterly precious she looked.
I remembered telling Elodie I was going to be rather cross with our baby when they arrived because of how sick the pregnancy had made her, that only heartrending cuteness could save them from Dad’s wrath. What a fool I was. The moment that tiny, pink baby fell onto Elodie’s chest, her wails piercing the air, my heart broke into a thousand shards, then fused back together, impossibly stronger in its depth of love, its power of resilience, its steadfast drive to be brave.
And so, with that very bravery in action, we stepped out the door, leaving Elodie to sleep. Lyddie in her pram, buckled in and facing my way as Sable guided us in her harness, a marked bounce in her step as her coffee-colored coat reflected the light with a healthy sheen. The sun danced off dew on lawns and small puddles. A cool breeze whispered through fiery leaves and lapped around us as I walked, pushing my daughter’s pram and watching my world bundled in a buttercup yellow blanket. Lyddie’s eyes drifted shut and she smiled, one of those quick incidental movements that meant everything to me.
In that moment, I knew that even when I couldn’t see her, when her face was frozen in my mind’s eye at the age in which I last knew her features with my failing eyes, she would be beautiful to me, though she would change—her voice, her features, her size. The energy with which she’d tumble through the house, perhaps make her first goal, receive her diploma. My wife, her beautiful mother, would share it all with me—her words painting Lydia’s story, filling in the gaps between touch and hearing and smell—perception born of intimate connection.
I would be sightless one day, but never would I fail to feel and know and love that which mattered to me most. I knew it in my heart right then. And I always would.
Epilogue
Elodie
Snowflakes danced outside the windows and Zed’s favorite Christmas album by Ella Fitzgerald filled the house. Nairne and Zed’s home smelled like oranges and spices and evergreen, not unlike our own place which brimmed with Christmas trimmings, bursting with festivity unlike its emptiness the previous year.
I breathed in deep, and sighed in contentment.
“Oh could she be any more precious?” Nairne crooned, swaying Lydia softly in her arms. I leaned into her, looking over Nairne’s shoulder.
“Of course not.” I smiled. Lydia was still a little small, since she was born early, but she was putting on weight, and a healthy color—pink and golden, perfect and hale.
Jamie ran in, his dark curls bouncing madly as he barreled toward Nairne. “Mine!” he yelled. Zed swooped in, scooping him up and giving him a loud raspberry in his tummy.
“Chill out, dude.” Zed laughed, pinning Jamie’s squirming form against him. “She’s just holding baby Lydia for a minute. She’s still yours.”
“Wonder where he gets the proprietary impulse?” Nairne muttered, shaking her head as she kissed Lydia softly on the forehead. “Oh, she smells incredible. Zed, you remember that newborn smell?”
“Newborn?” Lucas laughed from the kitchen. “She’s nearly six months!”
Nairne sighed. “Aye, but she’s so wee, still. You forget how wee they start out.”
Zed grinned, shaking his head. “I’ll concede the baby smell is addicting. Scary good, but not enough to tempt me. So, don’t even think about it.”
Nairne pouted. “I want another, and he’ll have none of it.”
I squeezed her shoulder, wrapping my arm around her. Nairne had experienced a postpartum complication that terrified everyone with its severity. Because of it, her doctor advised against further pregnancies since there was a threat of future risk. “Nairne,” I said sadly. There was nothing you could say to that.
“I know it’s sensible, but it’s hard to think about never having this again,” she whispered.
I squeezed her shoulder, leaning to run my finger along Lydia’s sleeping face. “I understand what you’re saying.”
Lucas walked in from the kitchen, a cup of tea in hand.
Jamie slipped off the sofa and ran toward Lucas. “Unca Wukas.” He barreled hard into Lucas’s shins, but like a tree rooted in the earth, Lucas remained solid, smiling down at him as he took a tentative sip of his tea.
“Hallo, Jamie boy.” Lucas crouched down, setting his tea on the side table and pulling Jamie into his arms. “I hear you’re a rather big lad now, aren’t you? You’ve had another birthday, isn’t that right? You’re how old now, twenty months?”
Jamie nodded, flexing his arm muscles. “Stwong.”
Lucas laughed, sitting all the way on the floor, and Sable lay down next to him. Jamie hurtled himself on her, hugging her tight.
“Thable doddy. Da buy doddy.”
Nairne’s eyebrows rose as she glanced over to a guilty Zed. He shrugged, smiling widely. “I mean, I told him we’d talk about it.”
“Sure, Zed,” Nairne said. “We’re talking about a dog as much as we’re talking about another baby.” She leaned toward Lydia and kissed her forehead again.
Lucas glanced over at me uneasily, and I shook my head. Jamie ran off, barreling toward Nairne and Lydia again, but I scooped him up into my arms this time, hugging him tight and planting a kiss on his cheek.
“Aunt Elowee, shtop,” he huffed, grabbing my face with both hands and looking down his nose at me.
“Oh my. Hello, mini-Zed!” I said.
Nairne laughed as Lydia’s tiny hand grasped her pinky. “Right?”
“Okay, Jamie, I apologize.” I smiled, turning to let him slide off my lap, but he reached, arms outstretched toward Nairne and Lydia.
“Mine mine mine mine!” he yelled.
“I know, Jamie,” I said. “It’s hard to see Mummy holding another baby, but she’s all yours, mon petit.”
“No!” He shook his head furiously, pulling Nairne’s arm.
“Jamie,” Zed chided, “knock it off. You get her to yourself all the time.” Zed stood and peeled him away, as Jamie started shrieking, kicking his legs and flailing. “Kids and sugar. Who gave this guy more snowman cookies?” he grumbled.
Lucas sat in a chair near their Christmas tree and the blazing fire that snapped and popped, sipping his tea, brow furrowed in thinking. A moment later he sat up and set down his cup. “Hang on, why don’t you let him loose, let him hold Lydia. See if that’ll settle him.”
“Yeah,” Zed grunted as Jamie came dangerously close to nailing him in the groin, “he’s in prime condition to hold a tiny baby.”
“She’s not that tiny, Zeddy, goodness’ sake. Jamie,” Luc called. “Do you want to hold Lydia?”
Jamie stilled, peering around Zed’s shoulder. “Yeth.”
Lucas stepped up, took him from Zed’s arms, Sable at his side ahead of him, and knelt between Nairne and me. “Scoot your bum between Mummy and Auntie, then.”
Jamie frowned in concentration, squirming onto the sofa and sitting with his hands nicely.
“There’s a good lad. Right then, hold your arms like this.” Lucas nodded, showing him, and Jamie mirrored his action, his face serious.
Lucas lifted Lydia from Nairne’s arms and set her gently inside Jamie’s, his large keeper’s hands nearby, ready to catch her. Like me, Lydia slept through everything. She rested, blissfully unaware of all the fuss about her.
Jamie’s face transformed from one of intense focus to rapture as he blinked down at her, leaning to kiss her forehead. “Mine,” he whispered, rubbing his nose against her hair.
We
all gasped as Nairne leaned toward him. “Jamie, you mean Mummy is yours? You were tugging on me, when I held her.”
Jamie shook his head seriously. “No, Mummy.” He stared at Lydia in his arms, kissing her forehead once again. “Mine.”
Zed fought a smile, covering it with his hand. “Well.” He cleared his throat. “Least he comes by it honestly.”
Lucas raised an eyebrow, glancing over his shoulder. “Yes, and she’s got a good thirty to thirty-five years before any of that nonsense is even going to be a conversation, so—”
“Lucas Edwards,” I said sternly, “you do recall you married a woman and made her the mother of your child before her thirtieth birthday, don’t you?” I patted Jamie’s back softly, amused by his affection for my little girl.
“Yes, well, do as I say, not as I do,” Lucas huffed, but his face, and all ours melted into adoration at the picture of our children nestled together.
Jamie sighed and smiled, reaching a hand up to softly touch one of Lydia’s tiny curls. “I wuv you,” he whispered to her, kissing her once more. “Lydia.”
He’d said her name perfectly.
The front door slammed, making even Lydia jump. Her eyes blinked open, sea glass and silver like Lucas’s, and locked on Jamie’s. Then she gave him her wide gummy smile and blew an almighty load into her nappy.
Lucas swept her up and took the bag to change her just as Teo and Brando came in. I already knew it was them because I recognized the zinging banter of Italian bickering.
“Buon Natale!” Brando called. He entered the sitting room first, looking dashing as ever—salt-and-pepper hair, glasses not unlike Lucas’s, and Teo’s hazel eyes. “Where is the latest addition to this family?”
“Having her foul nappy changed,” Lucas called from the changing table in the other room. “Hardly what I asked for from Father Christmas, but I’ll make do.”