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Chapter Text

As I slowly woke up, I could smell the sweet smell of buttery chocolate chip cookies escaping the kitchen. My stomach growling, I made my way out of the warmth of my bed and headed towards the inviting scent. I always loved food. Hell, I enjoyed and passionately ate it as if it were an Olympic sport. “Good morning darling.” A soothing voice told me as I could feel his soft touch caressing my shoulder. He landed a kiss on my forehead and handed me a plate filled with delicacies fit for the queen herself. As I took a look at my plate, my mouth watered as I smelled the sweet smell of a sweet potato gratin, topped with eggs benedict swimming in hollandaise sauce. “Oh Jesus.” I let out as my fork cut through the meal. “Do you like it love?” He asked me, his eyes smiling as he saw me stuffing my face. “I can’t even. Wait a minute, is this Gordon’s recipe?” I asked him, memories flowing back as I remembered what today was. His emerald eyes glistened as he held my hand and told me: “I thought cooking this dish would be a good way to celebrate today, the day we met.”

1 year beforehand,

My hands were shaking, my heart was pounding, and my head was throbbing. I had no idea what I was doing. I untied and tied my hair in a neat high ponytail, fixed my mascara and checked my highlight one last time. Come on girl, you can do this. I told myself. It was hard to imagine, or even to think that I had actually signed up for this. What a dumbass. I told myself. Here I was, waiting for the judges of this god-forsaken show to open the door and let me show them what exactly I was capable of. As I finally heard my name, the metal doors flung open and I started making my way towards my cooking station.

“So young lady,” that familiar voice called out. Shit, I’ll be cooking for him? Yes. There, in all of his glory, was the chef Gordon Ramsey. Controversially known around the world for his temper and impeccable palette, I could feel my legs giving out from underneath me. “You okay love?” A soft, but thick Cheshire accent said. I looked around me and almost couldn’t contain myself. Fuck. He was gorgeous. I was guessing that he was one of the judges this season, and I didn’t know how in the hell I would be able to cook a decent dish with his emerald green eyes piercing through my skin. Lorddddd. I sighed. I nodded to the British chefs and tried to regain some composure. It wasn’t my fault that Chef Ramsey had found a challenge that was, in my opinion, harder to overcome then the previous ones that were seen on TV. I had practised numerous times and could successfully complete my recipe in less than forty-five minutes, which was the time that they gave me to actually cook my way through the audition. I briefly introduced myself, trying my hardest not to stare at the tall and svelte brunette that had caught my eye. Harold. I thought to myself. Or at least, it was what Chef had called him. I would have to do some digging later. I tried to shake him out of my head and started cooking, actually, baking. “This is shocking.” I could hear Chef Ramsey say. “No respectable pastry chef would even dare to bake in less than forty-five minutes.” He continued, forcing me to focus even more on what had to be done. I knew that serving the chefs something that was considered “un mets patissier” as my signature dish was going to be risky, but I wanted to prove that I was willing to take a risk. As the bell finally rang, my dessert was complete and looked rather delicious. I brought it to the chefs and waited for their verdict as I could see from the corner of my eye, Chef Harold eyeing me in a studious way. “This is delicious.” Chef Ramsey said. “The filling is creamy and tasty, and the presentation is just lovely.” He cried, making me almost shed a few tears. As it was Harold’s turn to taste my dish, he took a bite out of it and smiled. “I am looking forward to see you cook once again.” He said, putting his hand on my shoulder. I could feel my cheeks flush. SHIT. That’s not professional. I cursed at myself. I simply smiled and thanked him as I waited for the third judge to tell me what he thought. Now with all three judges loving my dish and handing me aprons, I was a sure fit for the competition. Now all I had to do, was move into a room that the show had provided me and prepare for the actual trials that were ahead of me.

After a good night’s sleep and a few hours uncovering all the internet had to offer, I had learned so much on Harold, his restaurants, and his past. A charming man, now in his mid-twenties, is an accomplished chef that’s known all over the world. He is tall and slender, and his soft brown locks always brushed softly against the breeze. Anyway, that’s all I could gather from Pinterest. He had a soft side, spending a lot of time with his family and kitten, Tom. I melted at the sight of his soft gaze, or the focused and almost dangerous look he had whenever he was in the kitchen. Now I know what I would want to eat if he were in my kitchen. I told myself, laughing. I reminded myself of my friend who had married an accomplished history professor, some large dork called Chris Evans. I texted her to tell her the good news, to all which she wished me good luck and hoped that I would get some action. Honestly, it had been awhile since I was with a man. Ever since my breakup, the whole dating scene kind of stopped being what I was looking for, which inspired me to perfect my cooking and to actually sign up for this damn show.

“A little higher, you want to whisk the egg to perfection.” Harold’s soft voice told me, taking my arm and lifting just a bit higher. He placed his hand on my shoulder and lowered it to a more comfortable angle. “You want to be comfortable, you’re too tense.” He pointed out, slightly laughing at me. “I’m sorry…” I murmured, my eyes looking down, not daring to disrespect him in any way. I needed to prove to him that I was worthy to be a part of his team. “I’ll try harder next time. I promise, chef.” I told him proudly as I waited for my main course as it roasted in the oven. “Harry.” He said. I looked at him confused. “My real name is Harry. There is no need for you to call me Chef.” He said, smiling. He patted me on the back and rested the palm of his hand on the small of my back just a bit longer, as if he wanted me to crave his lingering touch. I sighed as he walked away, dreamily smiling at his pearl-white smile, and adorable dimples. What wouldn’t do with that man. As I cooked my way to the top, mastering recipe after recipe, I finally managed to gain Harry’s respect. However, Chef Ramsey wasn’t so impressed with my talents as he barked and humiliated me in front of the whole country. Disappointed in my efforts as I tried to introduce a vegetarian dish to compete with the rest of the contestants, he laughed at me. I tried to show a cool face as he insulted me, but a small, yet disobedient tear escaped my eye. I looked down immediately and wiped it away. As the day came to its end, and I found my way back to my room, Harry was there waiting for me. “I thought you hadn’t noticed.” I whispered, closing the door. “How did you get in anyway?” I asked him, worried. He took out a pair of keys hanging from his keychain. “We have the keys to all of your rooms, in case of an emergency.” He pointed out. Oh, so he probably visits the other contestants as well. I thought to myself, feeling kind of sorry for myself. “I don’t usually go parading into the contestant’s rooms, don’t you worry about that.” He told me, as if he was reading my mind. “I had warned myself about this, but I can’t contain myself.” He whispered, his mouth mere inches away from mine. I could feel his breath as his hand intertwined with mine. “Harry…” I let out, worried that what we would do, which seemed so right, would get us into terrible trouble. “I can’t.” He started, “I can’t bear to see you sad.” His voice cracked as he looked at me with those big, worried eyes. I smiled as I let him go.
After weeks of filming, cooking and crying, the show finally came to its end. I had met many people throughout this experience, both good and bad. One of the great parts of this was how close Harold and I had become. Since he was a judge, it was hard to actually get to know him without sparking some rumours about a possible case of favoritism. Sadly, we couldn’t deny our chemistry and shared that we were an official couple right after the show had ended.

My phone buzzed. I smiled like a child when I saw who it was from.

Harry: Hello love, are you doing something tonight?
Me: Not necessarily. Why?
Harry: I was thinking I could cook for you.
Harry: And maybe show you some of my other talents?
Me: I’m curious. What on earth do you have in mind?
Harry: Well, since we can finally be alone in one room…
Me: Yes?
Harry: And well we are both fabulous cooks…
Me: Uh huh?
Harry: I was wondering if you wanted to bring dessert.
Me: Why dessert?
Harry: Because no matter what you make, you will be absolutely delicious.
Me: Me?
Harry: I meant the dish, but yes, that too.

I laughed at his friendly flirt. Great, now I have to dress to impress. I opted for a cute pair of brown high-waited pants, that were also flared at the bottom. I cleverly decided to wear a mere bralette and panties underneath my outfit and topped it with a flowery blouse. As I walked over to his place, he had already seen me and opened the door, inviting me in. “Welcome home.” He said, smiling, taking my hand. He owned a fine condo in the heart of New York City, my town. I knew I would feel right at home as I loved its crowded streets, its bubbly lifestyle and loud atmosphere. We sat down at the table as I saw that dinner had been served. We talked about our day, about the musical we had seen on Broadway just the other day, and our shared passion for music. As we washed the dishes, he started humming a tune, to which I joined him in harmony. “You have a beautiful voice.” He told me, stunned. “Stop it, you’re practically a professional.” I told him, pointing at the studio ad multiple instruments he kept in that precious room. “I swear, you have a gift.” He dragged me across the room and propped a pair of headphones over my ears. He then closed the door and sat on the chair behind the glass door. “Here, I’ll give you a melody and you try to find a harmony to it. Okay?” He asked me, showing me a thumbs-up. I could hear a piano play in the distance as an almost raspy voice hit a few notes. I shyly “ooed” a few notes and gradually built up the confidence to add a whole new sound to the already amazing track. When I was done singing, my cheeks were red, but my smile widened, especially when Harry planted a long, loving kiss on my lips. “You’re bloody amazing woman.” He said, wrapping me in his arms. “I never want to let you go.” He said, ever so softly, as if it were but a whisper. A secret between him and the heavens.

I smiled at him as my mouth searched his, as they crashed together as if they were one. Our bodies intertwined, our bodies craving each other’s touch, our hands rapidly undressing the other, so we could feel each other’s skin. I could feel my skin burn with his touch, as he traced a line down my spine with his fingers, gently undoing my bra and throwing it on the floor. He massaged my shoulders and kissed my cheeks, slowly, then made his way to my shoulder and neck. I could feel my breath quicken as he slid his hand down and underneath my pants, slowly rubbing my core, teasing me. “Harry…” I moaned, my hand clutching his hair, pulling it harder as he slipped a finger into me. “F-fuck.” I let out, I could feel him smile as I writhed under his touch. He pinned me against the wall and lifted my hands above my head as he kissed my neck, my breasts, my stomach. My legs gave out as I could feel him rub against me, hardening as I touched him, stroked him, faster and faster until he cried out my name. “Oh fuck off!” He let out as he fumbled with my belt, to which I quickly responded in detaching it was quick as I could and letting it land on the floor. He also threw his pants away as I pushed him onto the couch, my hair falling onto his face, as I grinned widely. “You’re fucking beautiful.” He said, as he brushed my hair away from my face. He stroked my cheek and pulled my face closer to his, to lock his lips with mine in a passionate kiss, our lips moving slowly, but surely as I rocked my hips against him, my fingers tracing its way down his lean abs. He twirled his fingers to grab a lock of my hair and gently pulled it as he deepened the kiss, as he turned me around and was now on top of me. He smirked as he made his way down, as he slowly started to flick his tongue against me, as my stomach started to coil. I couldn’t help myself from moaning even louder this time as he slid his tongue inside of me and went faster and faster, making me reach my climax. He then positioned himself and slid his length inside of me, as he groaned when he slowly entered me. He picked up the pace, grabbing my firmly hips with his hands as he positioned himself in a way that he would hit just the right spot. My moans turned into cries as he pounded his way into me, my mind finding a way to single out this amazing sensation that Harry was giving me. I dug my nails into his back as he thrusted harder and deeper, getting every urge, every itch that my body demanded from him. I could feel my legs give out as with one final thrust, he let himself inside of me, as we both finished simultaneously. We stayed like that for a minute, our bodies unified as one, our hands still intertwined. He gently pulled out of me and rolled over to lie next to me, as he looked at me and smiled. “Well,” He started, “That was delicious.” He said, kissing me on the forehead. “Would you like to do this more often?” He asked me. “What? Have a lot of dessert?” I asked, coyly. “No. This. You and me. Being together.” He continued, as he gazed into the ceiling. “You want me to move in?” I asked him, confused. I didn’t want to impose, but I really didn’t see what else he had meant by that comment. “Yes, I would. Then we could eat breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert over and over again.” He pointed out, as he laughed, tickling me until I couldn’t handle it any longer. “I’d love to eat and cook with you.” I told him, as his eyes lit up and he wrapped me in his arms once again, a place that I now know to call home.

Chapter Text

June 5th, 1943

The sky turned red today. Just like the blood that was shed on the battlefield. I looked down at yet another poor soul who gladly put his life on the line. What a pity. You would’ve been proud of me, tell me that I’m doing a favor to my country, that I’m a good citizen. You patriot. But to be honest, I don’t get it. I don’t get war. I don’t get fights over stolen land. I don’t get thousands of men dying uselessly. Since when are human beings expendable? I miss you brother. I hope that you are safe over there with the French. I hope that you will come back home unharmed to your wife and son. I hope you will come back strong for me, because I’m losing faith in humanity. Every day is the same. Cries. Pleas. Screams. Death. The bunker is full of wounded soldiers, begging me to let them be, to let them go. But I can’t do such a thing. I can’t help but think about their families, their friends, their lives back home. I try to lull them to sleep, to sing them a song, those songs that mum used to sing to us when we were ill. I want them to get better, for in every bloodshot look they give me, I see you. Your deep blue eyes and that stupid grin you always have. You dumbass. You dork. I’ve got to say that I miss you big brother. I miss your strength. I miss your courage. I’m strong but war has tired me, and I don’t know how much longer I’ll last on this British soil.
Hoping for the best.
Emma

July 1st, 1943

I met someone today. You must be cursing once you read this, but don’t worry, he’s only a patient. He’s a British soldier, and I’m pretty sure that he is either a sergeant or a corporal. Why do I think that you’d ask? Probably because he was rushed to my tent at lightning speed. Probably because his crippled state horrified his soldiers. Probably because he is somewhat important and valuable to someone higher up. I don’t know. All I care about is cleaning his wounds and making sure he is as comfortable as possible. I pride myself in taking care of my patients, brother. I might not be a fighter like you, but I will fight for my people behind the scenes. In any case, if he wakes up, I might get to know him a little more. Who knows, maybe he’s a friend of yours.
All the love,
Emma

August 17th, 1943

Maggie, my dear sister-in-law, you won’t believe what happened these past few weeks. First and foremost, I’ve written to Chris, and have forwarded you the letters as well so that you can hear from him. I know that it’s hard for him to send telegrams and letters to everybody since he’s in France, and it’s already under siege. Yes, I know, Britain isn’t doing so well either, but I have contacts, so don’t you fret. Furthermore, I have met someone that had charm that I have yet to see in an American man. His name is Harold Edward Styles, and he is a British Colonel. He has recently been sent into my care, and Maggie, he is something else. I know you prefer a type like my brother, tall, big and strong, but this man is mysterious and sophisticated in ways that I have yet to discover. He has a wide knowledge of philosophy and the arts and attended the most prestigious schools of England. Surprisingly, he speaks with an eloquence that shocked me at first. Since I am constantly surrounded by overgrown children who yell mindless profanities, having a heartfelt conversation with an educated man is truly, a breath of fresh air. Furthermore, he has a kind heart and gladly sacrificed himself for his troops for he gave up rations to feed a sick soldier. However, he’s wounded badly Maggie. To be frank, I fear for his life, for his survival. We exchange a few words when he is awake, and I daresay that he seeks my touch, seeks my care. His eyes glisten every time I sing to him, and when he falls into a deep slumber, I sometimes hear him call out my name. A mere whisper. In another letter, I will try to send you a journal of my days with him. There I will write our verbal exchanges and hopefully, our more intimate conversations.
Send love to my nephew,
Emma

December 23rd, 1943

My dearest Maggie, happy Christmas to you and my dear nephew. At the back of this letter, I have put a few pages of my journal that describe in detail my relationship with Colonel Styles. Beforehand, I have mentioned that his name was Harold, when in reality, it is Harry. I ignore the reason behind this, but many of his close friends thought it more appropriate to give him the nickname “Harold”, and so, the name stuck. It has been a few months now, and Harold is almost ready to go back to battle. I don’t want him to go, but he must. He has planned a little Christmas celebration for me this coming weekend, and I cannot wait to spend these last few days at his side before he resumes his duties.

Journal entry 1

I made my way through the coughs, the blood and the horror. As a nurse, I needed strength and compassion, so I could nurse these men to health all while soothing their emotional pain. Many men suffered great loss. From either losing a limb, or even, a friend. My superior motioned me to come closer and showed me a section of the room that was isolated with dirty tarps and curtains. “There is an important personage in that part of the room.” He explained to me, handing me some clean towels and medicine. “Do what you can, but I doubt he will survive the night.” He finished, turning his back to me. I swallowed my fear and brushed aside the curtain. Lying there was a man, no older than in his mid-twenties I’d say, practically unrecognizable. His pockets had been emptied previously, and I could see a picture of what he was supposed to look like before the incident. Dear lord. I thought to myself. This man was a gift from god himself. In his picture, he was in uniform, and from the picture I could see that he was highly decorated in medals or honor. His hair seemed dark, but his eyes seemed paler, with a dangerous stare. His face was well sculpted, with a strong jaw and even stronger features. His lips were smooth and thicker than the average British man, a feature that I found irresistible. However, even if his facial features seemed to look neutral, his mouth seemed to turn into a small, but noticeable grin, which complimented the twinkle in his eyes. I jumped in fear as I heard him groan behind me. Silly me. I forgot that he was in pain. I hurried to his side and slowly undressed him. I stood there once again in awe to his small, but sculpted torso. He seemed fairly slim from afar, and despite his small arms, they were strong and built from long years of hard combat. I washed away the blood from his stomach and saw the deep cut from his left side. After cleaning it carefully, I wrapped his body with clean cloths and herbal essences that would help soothe his pain. I continued to do so for the rest of his cuts and bruises, making sure to tend to the more urgent ones at first. After I had found and taken care of most of the harms that were done to his body, I sat down on the bed and dipped my towel in some warm water and started wiping the dirt from his face. I started to recognize the Colonel from his picture and stopped my motion as I saw his pink lips. Damn woman. Control yourself. I shook away my thoughts and continued caring for the man.

Once I was finished, I started grabbing my things to proceed to another patient, when I felt someone grabbing my arm. “Miss?” A weak voice called out. I turned around and saw the young man looking up at me, with a weak smile on his face. “May I have a glass of water?” He asked me politely, not letting me go. “Of course, I’ll be back right away.” I answered, making my way out of the small, yet poorly isolated room. I grabbed a metal cup and filled it with water. Yuck. The water was dirty, but it was the only thing we had. I hurried back embarrassed, but he only smiled. “I drank a lot worse down in the trenches, trust me.” He explained. I was about to make my way to tend to another patient when he held me back once more. “Wait, can’t you stay a while longer?” He asked me, as his eyes, emerald green, begged me to stay. I nodded and stood there, facing him. He laughed. “You know you can sit on the bed. I won’t bite.” He told me, his sweet British accent completely melting me. He didn’t have the typical London, posh accent. It was slightly different, which may seem less desirable, but made me want him even more. I sat down and handed him a plate of food that I had grabbed on the way. He thanked me and handed me a piece of bread, which I happily accepted. Food was rare during these days, but since he was a man of higher prestige and importance, he was allowed better rations that he gladly shared with me. “So, tell me a bit about yourself.” He asked me, as he vigorously tore through his loaf bread. I couldn’t help but stare at his jaw as it devoured the food. Is it weird to say that it is the manliest and most seductive thing that I have ever seen? I asked myself. I introduced myself, telling him my name, talking about my brother, Chris and the reason as to why I chose to serve as a nurse instead of staying home. “I can’t even think of simply staying home while people die over here.” I started, “I don’t know, I feel like since I can, and I have a brother that’s giving his life for me, I should do the same for him.” I continued. Harry looked at me quietly, contemplating my face. “You are a strong woman.” He told me, holding my hand. “What was that you were singing earlier?” He asked. “Oh, that? It’s just a lullaby my mother used to sing to me when I was a little girl.” I started, “I usually hum or sing it to my patients as I tend to their wounds.” I told him, shyly. I didn’t like talking about music much, mostly because I knew that it was my greatest passion but would never be able to pursue it.

Journal entry 2

Harry and I sat there for a long time, just talking about ourselves. Our likes and our dislikes. Sparks flew. My heart softened. I was always sceptical when it came to men. Maybe it was because my mother had died when I was young, and my father had brought me up to be as strong as my brother, but I didn’t trust men. I could see what they wanted and what they did to get it. Pigs. I thought to myself. But during the war, I pitied them. I saw a vulnerable side to them that I hadn’t seen before. They were sad, they cried, they were hurt, they loved, and they longed for a family. Most men that I cared for either had a wife or was engaged. Of course, I thought it was reckless to either get married before the man had to leave, or even worse, get engaged before the man steps on the train, but I digress. These men had women back home, and like my brother, Chris, these men fought to protect their home. Harry however, had no home. His father left him a vast fortune, but left him nonetheless. He was an orphan, with no interest in courting the many rich young ladies that his uncle had introduced him to. No. He was in love with his art. With his books. With knowledge. Yes, Harry was the perfect bachelor without a doubtful past. He was the dreamy knight in shining armour. He was the kind and benevolent man who would pierce through a hardened heart. And I gave him everything. Every night when I had finished my rounds, I went to join him in his ward. I knew that the Generals had moved him in another room, one that only certain soldiers and nurses had access to. Harry was frightfully ill if I might add, and his condition worsened with the sharp, cold autumn winds.

One day, the General asked me to tend to Harry and to take him indefinitely under my care until he had fully healed. Since I was to do so, the rest of my patients were given to other nurses, and I was sent to do research and to find herbs that would help soothe Harry’s wounds. I visited him one night, and as I applied an herbal balm on his cut, he stopped me by laying his hand on the inside of my thigh. “Am I hurting you?” I asked him, his touch not alarming me, for I was used to his touch, even if we hadn’t lain with each other. “You? Never.” He started, “Your touch could never hurt me. On the contrary, it sooths every ounce of pain I could have once possessed.” He continued, “However, it is a shame that you are only here to baby me.” He said, jokingly. “You’re not well Harry.” I scolded him, laying his head back so that he could swallow some soup for sustenance. “I swear, one day, when we will wed, and you will be mine, it will finally be my turn to nurse you.” He said quietly. “Wed?” I asked him, startled. “I love you, Emma. When this bloody war is over, I wish to make you mine forever.” He started. I was speechless. Never in my life I had even thought of marriage. Sure, it was every girl’s dream, but I hadn’t imaged myself locked in the chains of matrimony. Since that event, and due to my silence on the subject, we barely spoke. I finished my rounds and exchanged places with another nurse, and she nursed him back to health. Harry went back and was stationed in France, where he would probably meet my brother. I cursed myself for being so cold with him but was still so afraid by what the future had in store. The war wasn’t over yet, and I had seen what the Germans could do to an honest soldier on the battlefield. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but accept the fact that I did love Harry and felt respected and valued at his side. He listened and glorified my opinion, a virtue that is so rare among men. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how proud I would be to be his wife and to bear his children. I would be honoured to lay in his bed and to grow old with him.

Upon that realization, I ran over to his room, only to see many different men in uniform. “What are you doing here woman?” The General asked me. “I’m so sorry, I was looking for-” “Women aren’t allowed in here.” Another man said, interrupting me. I apologized and was about to leave when I saw a recognizable head of brown locks in the back of the room. I slid behind a curtain and saw him shaking hands, laughing loud, drinking a beer. I was just about to leave when his emerald green eyes laid sight on me, and he pushed his comrades to come to my side. “Emma…” He started, almost sad to see me. “What are you doing here?” He asked me. “I came here to apologize,” I started, as I held his hand, “I also wanted to tell you that yes. If you’ll have me, I’d be honoured to be your wife. I love and respect you. You’re an honorable man that I can’t imagine my life without.” I told him, my eyes watering. Time froze as I waited for his answer, he simply smiled and held me in his arms. “Oh, my darling, how I longed to hear your voice.” He started, “You finally gave me something to fight for, and I owe my life to you.” He finished, giving me a warm kiss on the forehead as he cupped my cheeks in the palm on his hands. “You will owe me a first dance my love, once this bloody war is over.” He said, bringing me closer to him as he rested his hand on my waist. He slid what seemed to be a round piece of copper on my ring finger and kissed it. “You will have diamonds once we’re home to civilisation. But for now, will you accept this worthless ring that my hands have made?” He asked me, to which I happily nodded.

September 24th, 1945

The war is officially over my brother, I will see you soon. I am happy to announce that I am engaged to Colonel Harry Styles, and that we will wed as soon as we can. I will be spending a few months in England to meet his friends and family, to which we will come back home to Boston to you, Maggie, and Romeo.
Kiss my nephew for me.
Emma

January 14th, 1946

Dearest Maggie, I am now officially Emma Faith Evans Styles. I mustn’t describe you the details of our wedding night but forgive me if I dream about it a little. It was magical my dear friend, simply wonderful and I would be shunned if Chris ever learned about this, but I enjoy it rather a lot and want it as much as he does. The way he kisses my lips, the way the swirls his tongue in my mouth as he claims it for him. The way he put his hands on my skin, softly, but roughly all while sucking my neck and my breasts. The way he tugs on my hair as he whispers my name that gives me chills down my spine. And Maggie, I don’t know if this is common, but I have gone down on him as well. Down on my knees, as if I were praying to the Lord, I took his length in my hands and stroked it slowly. Then, I would lick its tip and slowly take it in deeper in my mouth, until he was completely inside of me. I would use my hands and massaged it as well and would go faster and faster as he groaned and moaned my name out over and over again. Once It was over, he would lie me down flat on my back, and begin to touch me from my neck to my inner thighs. He’d part me legs and lick my core, sliding it inside and out, faster and faster until my legs gave out form underneath. My stomach would coil, and my breath faltered as he would slip a finger or two inside of me and push them deeper inside. He took me by surprise when he turned me around, telling me to put my hands on the bed and lay my ace down as he’d take me from behind. I’d scream, I’d cry out his name as he pounded me time and time again, pulling my hair and going deeper inside of me until I couldn’t handle it any longer. My hands grasped for anything to hold onto. My breath trembled beneath his touch. My mind went blank as everything I could think of was the overflowing pleasure, he was giving me, as he grabbed my hips and thrusted faster and harder in me until we both finished, tired and satisfied. In summary, I have been doing it numerous times and it won’t be long before Romeo has a little cousin. Every day is an adventure with this man and I long to see what the future has in store for us. If we were able to survive a war, I am certain that we can survive civilization. Hopefully, I will be able to visit you and Chris in Boston soon, I heard Quebec is especially beautiful this time of the year, we should go and visit.
All the love,
Emma.