Waiting For Sunday

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{forty-one}

Standing outside the now-familiar condo complex, Oliver takes my hand. Amalia had been amazing and Oliver’s boss had been more than understanding and had agreed to grant two weeks leave so that we could try and get back to somewhat of a normal life for us both.

No one ever says there’s a time limit on how long getting over something like this should take, but at least being in a different city and with nothing to worry about other than eating and sleeping, we’d both hoped as we stepped off the plane that we’d be able to move on.

Neither of us had discussed trying again, it just wasn’t something I think either of us was thinking about. For now, we just wanted and needed each other.

As we climbed the concrete steps, Cynthia opened the door and as soon as she saw the look on our faces, she pulled us into her embrace, asking no questions for which we were both grateful.

“Tea? Coffee? Something stronger maybe?” She asks as she walks to the kitchen.

“Just coffee,” Oliver replied.

“Of course,” she called out, as classical music played softly in the background. As we gathered on the couch, the familiar view of the Golden Gate Bridge in the background, Cynthia sat, waiting patiently, pushing her hair away and sipping on her coffee as we both just gazed out the window.

“Can I ask what this is about? Why the sudden visit? I assume you want to tell me that you’re getting married from the sparkling gem on Sunday’s finger,”

My eyes fall to my hand and with the smallest of smiles, I push at it with my thumb.

“Well—, yes, but we just—,” his voice cracked as his eyes fell to the cup in his hand, cradling his coffee as he let out a staggered breath.

“The thing is—,” I began, trying to find my own voice.

“Mom, we uh— well we were having a baby,” he begins, his voice breaking, “But uh—, we lost it,” he whimpers before slamming his cup down on the coffee table and breaking down, his hands covering his face.

Cynthia looks between us as Oliver turns and buries his face into my shoulder. I’ve never seen him this broken, or what I thought was his ‘broken’ at home but it was nothing like this. Wrapping my arms around him, I rest my cheek against his head as Cynthia looks on and immediately slides beside us and embraces us both.

“I’m so sorry,” she begins to cry, “I’m so so sorry,”

Collectively we cry. The three of us inside this vast apartment, bereft as we try to explain just what happened.

I think the fact that he’d been as brave as he could, it all fell apart that day in his parents home. But as the days began to pass, we both began to heal. After a week, Oliver had woken me with soft peppering kisses and I smiled for the first time. Really smiled.

“Good morning,” he whispered as his lips met mine.

“Hey,” I smiled softly back as he kissed me again. Arms wrap around me, pulling me flush against his body. I’d missed him and the closeness we’d once had. Climbing between my legs, his length hardening slowly, his lips gently peppered my skin, his teeth nibbling at the sensitive skin of my neck.

“You sure?” He asked as if he knew what I’d been thinking. Pushing his head up, his hands cupping my cheeks, my eyes flickered between his and with a soft smile he kissed me again, gently sliding himself against my folds.

“Oliver,” I moaned softly, relishing in the feeling of skin against skin.

“Just tell me to stop if you don’t want too,” he whispered against my lips, but I knew I wouldn’t ask him to stop. I needed this—, needed him.

With a slow sway of his hips, he gently guides the tip of himself to my entrance and with a slow push, slides inside me, the feeling almost foreign but most definitely welcome. With peppered kisses, I moan, my heart feeling like it’s mending itself slowly back together as I drown in the love he has for me.

“I’ve missed you,” he groans softly.

“I’ve missed you,” I tell him as my lips find his neck. As soft moans vibrate against my skin, I relish in the feel of his hands greedily grabbing my thigh, lifting it and wrapping my leg around his hips. his pace quicken just a little, and I feel the pleasurable burn I’ve not felt in a long time and bite into his shoulder as I try to muffle the sound trying to escape me.

“Are you ok?”

I nod, as my muscles tighten around him, “Sunday,” he whimpers in pleasure.

“Fuck I’m—,” he groans against me, soft grunts echoing from his throat.

“I—, I’m goi—," he bursts as I begin to pulse around him, and with the feeling of my own orgasm washing over him, he releases his own orgasm inside me, his hips staggered as he thrusts against me. With heavy breathes against my ear, I smile. The dampened skin on my neck is kissed away as Oliver peppers my skin with his lips, his breath hot against me.

"You ok?" He asks again and I nod, "I'm ok," I whisper, a smile curling on my lips. As I brush my hair from my face, I feel his hand rest against my stomach.

"Can we try again?" he asks, his voice quiet, almost afraid.

"Yes,"

With a kiss to my lips, he reaches for me, pulling me onto his chest.

"We'll have a family Sunday, I'll give you the family you deserve,"

"We deserve," I smile back as my chin rests against my hands, my fingers splayed against his chest.

After breakfast, we change and head out. The fresh air feels good against us, walking along as we enjoy the calmness of the day, in our own little world, nothing but each other to love.

"When we get back, I think we should get married,"

"I think so too," I smile as he stands from the balustrade he leans against, the air from the water blowing against his hair. With creased green eyes, he stands in front of me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and kisses me.

"I meant what I said, I promise I'll give you the family you deserve,"

"But what if we're not meant to have children?"

"We will Sun, we just need some time,"

"And is that what you want? A family?"

"Sunday, wild horses couldn't keep me away, you're the only woman I've loved and will ever love and the only woman who I want to be the mother of my children,"

I smile against his chest as his chin rests against my head, breathing in deep the scent of the man who is my world.

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