Cassie lit the white candles in their honeymoon tent. The flames danced with her in the night breeze as she twirled to the music she was humming.

Soon she kneeled before the pile of gifts on the rock floor. Some were from their wedding guests, and the packages tied with pink ribbons were from Chris. Though she wanted to wait for him, Chris insisted that she open everything while he was seeing to the "farewell" details.

All her life she had been missing the childlike magic—someone loved her enough to surprise her with presents. There were sweets, hand-made necklaces, perfumes, pretty hairpins, new dresses, and a silky white nightgown that wouldn't leave much to the imagination.

Cassie looked over her shoulder as a burst of ocean breeze billowed into the tent. It lifted the free wisps of her hair and left goose bumps on her skin. Though cool and refreshing, it was not the presence she desired. But that meant she still had time to dress herself in something new, much more comfortable, and for her husband's eyes only.

After removing her wedding dress and undergarments, she let the nightgown slip over her naked body. After which, she picked up the handheld mirror.

Her shoulders were bare, the straps slipping down her arms when she relaxed them. Though the "V" covered her breasts, her nipples were more prominent than ever. Her legs were exposed to the upper thigh. The thin white silk just covered her bottom, and not very well. It seemed to overemphasize the mounds and cleft in a way that was somehow beyond "bare."

"Hey, sorry I took so long," Chris said upon his return. "Are you ready for that. . ."

Perhaps he was about to say story.

Cassie whirled around, the short nightgown skirt swirling with her, and she captured Chris's full attention. Whatever he was about to say, he could no longer find the words.

She turned back to her new treasures and resumed unpinning the last of her hair, knowing . . . feeling him come to her from behind.

His hands reached for her hips. They moved up her front—the smooth, barely-there layer of silk clinging to her breasts—and back down and around—to her upper thighs, her stomach, their unborn child. All the while, his mouth wandered over her shoulders, hairline, and the star on her neck.

He had his own fairy mark, and like hers, it was linked to such hatred and intolerance. In a dark and ill-fated way, they were made for each other. But though they came to be in such darkness, they refused to wallow in it. She had to believe their future together would be brighter, that evil lie dormant on the other side of the world, and that love would conquer all. Or she would lose the ability to function or live.

Her long hair fell free and covered her bare shoulders. Chris swept it aside and resumed his quest to enliven her . . . to arouse them both.

"You are the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes on," he whispered as his lips neared her ear.

He was a sight to behold, too, she mused, turning to him, receiving his eager kiss, the firm flesh of his back at her fingertips. The scars he bore might be unsightly to someone else, but to her, they stood for something. They meant even more. They provided a map of all the unfortunate places he'd been and the suffering he'd endured. But what she loved most about him was the depth within his eyes—the vulnerability, honesty, and integrity—and she knew from the very beginning that he was the only one she could ever entrust with her body, secrets, mind, and soul.

Their wedding-night lust for each other had limitless potential. There would be no interruptions, time constraints, or responsibilities looming.

And she thought no one was watching.

Chris swept her up beneath her legs and carried her to the feather mattress, draping her in the center of the white sheets. He undressed and joined her there without  delay.

His kiss set off an ache. Cold extremities. A hot center. A stab of need. The tip of his tongue launched a jolt and an uncontrollable moan.

She removed her nightgown. She was all his, every imperfect part of her, and he moved about like she was the best thing he ever saw, breathed, tasted, or did.

The tears that came to her eyes were from sublime happiness. Not grief or anguish. When he entered her, thoroughly but gently, her voice cried out, and it was to express pleasure. Not pain. And when she trembled and writhed in response to his body's touch, on her tingling skin and deep within, it was in response to the arousal surging through her whole body. Not from torture or cruelty.

The thrill, the complete surrender, the release that advanced leisurely, culminated triumphantly, and lingered considerably. . .

As they came down, slowly back to Earth, breathless but calm and deeply, divinely satisfied, Cassie reclined to her back and stared at the bright dots peeking through the translucent white canopy overhead. She saw the stars. And Chris was on his side, leaning on his elbow, staring at her, his free hand stroking her stomach and the life within.

You are my star, my light, the reason I get up every morning. . .

They were both lost in the heavens, in each other's glow, and in wedded bliss. And were too blinded by it all to suspect how doomed they were.

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Regina Spektor. Samson. 

~

"You are my sweetest downfall

I loved you first, I loved you first

Beneath the stars came fallin' on our heads

But they're just old light, they're just old light

Your hair was long when we first met. . ."

https://youtu.be/p62rfWxs6a8

To be concluded. . .