For @gabbymcgabbs, @ssaarah, @takeriskwithopenhearts , and @saltey
Because I was inspired and Amelia always solves my writer's block
Light filtered through the gossamer curtains that covered the ceiling-to-floor windows. Tropic birds sang outside, announcing the morning. It was a new day. This was the first of many days as a married woman.
Amelia Stark, the wife.
It seemed like a dream. I didn't want to keep my eyes open. I wasn't afraid or excited; a satisfying calm was probably the best way to describe how I was feeling. Of course, it would be a lie to deny that that calmness was also decorated with brilliant points of happiness that threatened to turn me into a smiling fool for the rest of my days.
Hart's even breaths against my neck, his arm lazily draped over my waist, his warmth pressed against my back...it all tipped me over the edge. How I loved this man. How I loved my husband. That had to be the most beautiful word in the English language: husband. It was incredible how such a simple word could fill me with such overwhelming happiness.
I opened my eyes again, squinting against the brilliant Hawaiian sun shining into the large bedroom. The waves of the serene ocean that made up the scenic view beat against the shore invitingly. I turned my back to the breathtaking view and faced Hart. He looked so peaceful. I ran my fingers over his face and traced his lips. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled my favorite smile.
"Good morning, Mrs. Hillard," he said, his voice a little hoarse.
I smiled. "Good morning, Dr. Hillard. How'd you sleep?"
He pressed me closer to him and kissed my forehead. "Best sleep I've ever had," he said. "I slept next to an angel."
I giggled at the cheesy line even though it sent a wave of warmth through me. There was so much love and sincerity in his eyes when he said that my heart swelled.
Hart was a constant ray of sunshine in my life. He'd been there to cheer me up when it became clear that Victoria and I would never be friends again. He made me smile when was at my lowest and held me close when my mother passed away. He filled me with warmth on that chilly November morning that my father and I buried the woman who had been the world to us. He forgave me when I finally confessed the truth about James Niles.
"Breakfast on the beach?" he asked simply.
"How about breakfast in bed?" I said, propping myself up and straddling him. "Dessert first."
The green in his eyes darkened, the tell-tale sign of his arousal. I knew him front to back and head to toe. His body was a map I had long since explored and conquered.
"That sounds perfect," he said, his voice hoarse for reasons other than the grogginess he'd forgotten about.
He flipped me so that he hovered between my legs. There was so little between us that the action made me gasp softly, something he loved to hear. He kissed me, slowly, and I felt his hand start to undo what little sleepwear I had on. It was an easy task. I'd have to thank Summer yet again for designing everything so perfectly.
After six years together, Hart still knew how to surprise me, how to give me pleasure I have never before experienced. It was a newlywed morning, but only the first of the rest of our lives...because I planned to be Mrs. Hart Hillard forever and no one would stand in the way of that.