Chapter Thirty-Five Callum
Chapter Thirty-Five
Callum
Joy looks good on her.
It looks right on her, like that emotion is just meant to exist on her sweet face.
Even in her sleep, there's a slight smile curving her perfect lips, like she's dreaming of something gentle.
It's as if her body is telling her that even in sleep, she's safe.
Just seeing it makes me feel ten feet tall. I could bend steel if she asked me to.
Sophie is soft and warm, cuddled up against me. Her little puffs of breath tickle the hair on my chest, and sometimes she makes these little noises—squeaks, murmurs, intelligible words.
I close my eyes, and I breathe, and I feel. I let myself feel it all. The emotions running through me. Her scent. Her warmth. Her soft, sleepy noises.
This is a sense of peace I didn't think even existed.
And yet, here it is, in my arms.
A raw, physical yearning spreads through me—not for sex... though that too—my Sophie is lovely and sexy—but more for permanence. A need for Sophie's face to be the first thing I see when I open my eyes and the last thing I see before falling asleep.
After our bath last night, I had bundled my sleepy girl in the plush hotel towels and carried her back to bed.
Sophie was completely pliant as I helped dress her in pajamas while she wrapped her scarf around her head.
We didn't speak; there was no need. The stillness between us felt unnecessary to disturb as we got ready for bed.
Walking around the room, I turned off each of the LED candles, shooting a look at Sophie when she tried to get up to help. She smiled, chagrinned, and cuddled under the covers, lifting them for me when I crawled into bed.
Sleep came in no time at all, the day catching up with us quickly.
Apparently, we must not have moved much in the night because we're in the same position we fell asleep in—Sophie's head on my chest, our hands locked together, her little cold feet being warmed against my legs.
I tilt my head to see her face better and suppress a laugh when I see her face still half-smushed into my chest, mouth slightly open, and. .. yep, she's drooling on me.
I can't help but think back to when she first fell asleep on me. Was that really only weeks ago? It feels as though Sophie has always been a part of my life. I can't really remember much before her. Well, I can, but it just feels muted without her presence.
With Sophie, life is full of color, joy, excitement, and passion.
Last night's memories play in my mind like a movie, over and over again.
She loves me. Sophie loves me.
Those words were spoken like they were merely a fact and fell so easily from her lips. I've known I've loved her for weeks, but I think it started ever since I first laid eyes on her. A small seed that was cared for and encouraged to grow. It was so easy to tell her that I loved her back.
Because I do, more than anything.
Sophie is it for me—the love of my life, the one I've been waiting for.
I lean down and place a kiss on her scarf-covered head, gently squeezing her and just... remembering.
The way that she looked last night.
When she stepped out of the bathroom in her pink dress, all I could do was stare at her. She always looks beautiful, but last night was different. There was a radiance about her, a lightness from letting go of all worries to just be happy in the moment.
She laughed loudly and unapologetically. She danced with me, her face lit up with the brightest smile. She spoke to survivors and those currently battling with such compassion and empathy. She ate all of her food without having to stop because the nausea became too much.
It was like last night, the cancer, the sickness, the fear didn't exist.
It was just my girl and me at an event with our friends.
Then the after...
My half-hard dick twitches in my boxers, and I close my eyes, leaning down to take in her warm vanilla scent—which doesn't help my situation, but I don't really care.
My Sophie, my minx. When she takes control with that quiet confidence, telling me what she wants and what she needs me to do to make her feel good, it makes me lose my fucking mind.
I think about the words that I said last night, slurred and half-crazed-sounding, I bet.
"That's it, that's good, baby... keep rubbing your pretty little clit."
"Show me how pretty you come."
I've never spoken words like that while in bed, probably because the times I had sex before weren't anything like what I've experienced with Sophie.
With Sophie, it's passion, fire, energy, and a complete lack of self-consciousness. I wasn't worried about anything but giving her pleasure. I could turn my brain off and feel. And from there, my confidence grew. It felt as natural as breathing or walking to make love to Sophie.
And I knew of the great privilege it was to be able to touch this extraordinary woman—this woman who loves me.
When I first slid inside of her, it was like nothing I had felt before. Warm and wet and tight, and when she had come, her perfect face twisted in pleasure that I had given her, it had sent me completely over the edge.
I was right when I had said that my wildest dreams couldn't have anticipated Sophie.
She's... mine. My one. The love of my life, the one I want to spend my life with.
A life full of love and laughter and family... maybe even kids.
Children will only be if her body allows it. I don't want to even bring it up because Sophie needs to focus on healing, not worrying about her future potential to give us a child.
One step at a time, but... it is nice to dream.
And the vision that shoves its way into my mind is beautiful... and dangerous.
I had always assumed I would get married and have kids, but now I can picture it all clearly.
Sophie, healthy and glowing in a white dress with a ring on her finger. Sophie in the kitchen, cradling her pregnant belly and softly smiling at me. Sophie holding a little girl, a mini version of herself with dark hair, her button nose, and her sweet smile.
I close my eyes and force down the sting behind my eyes, the tears threatening to spill over. Like my mom always cautions—patience.
I'll hope and dream quietly. I'll walk every step beside her, wherever the road takes us, and if it ends up just being the two of us—just me and my otter—well, that's not only enough, it's everything.
I can feel her starting to stir, slowly resurfacing from her deep slumber. She hums, the sleepy sound hitting me right in my chest as she buries her nose in my chest, like a little creature burrowing for warmth. Adorable.
I whisper, "Good morning, my otter."
She smiles, but doesn't respond or open her eyes.
Leaning down, I cup her cheek and tilt it so that I can kiss her eyes, her forehead, her temple, smiling wider when I hear her giggling, no doubt from my beard tickling her.
"Come on, sweet girl," I coax, running my hand down her back. "I've got a whole day planned for us."
Those beautiful eyes finally crack open, and when she sees me, she grins so wide.
"Good morning, otter," she yawns, her voice gravelly with sleep. She looks at my chest, and her smile drops, "Oh no..."
I'm shaking with laughter at this point, "Yeah, it's weird, I noticed my chest was a little wet..."
Huffing, she sits up, and her sleepy, grouchy face only makes me laugh more. "Making fun of me," she grumbles, trying to wipe away the wet spot. I catch her hand and kiss the back of it, which makes her face melt into a grin.
"Never," I swear, kissing her hand once more, before cupping her cheek. "Are you hungry?"
She thinks for a moment before she nods. That's a good sign, and it makes me happy to hear.
Some mornings, even the smell of food can turn her stomach. On those days, I usually can coax her into eating something bland, like dry toast, oatmeal, or fruit. I have a couple of options for places to eat today, and some backup plans in case she's not feeling well or not hungry.
I may not be savvy with spreadsheets, but I am good at keeping organized and planning.
I gently pull her out of bed, laughing at her dramatic protests. I end up scooping her up and carrying her to the bathroom, where her protests—and all of her words—go quiet when we end up in the shower together.
To conserve water, of course.
◆◆◆
Two hours later, we're pulling up in the rideshare to our first stop of the day.
Her hand is curled around mine, and she's been looking at me suspiciously, trying to figure out where we're going.
Whenever she tried to look up at the driver's GPS or glance at any signs, I would distract her—by kissing her lips that still tasted like cinnamon and sugar.
We had a filling breakfast at a local diner that I found online. It was one of those retro, mom-and-pop, 'if you know, you know' kind of places buried beneath hundreds of touristy recommendations.
When we walked in, we were immediately hit with the scent of coffee and syrup, and a gruff waitress told us to sit anywhere we wanted.
Sophie and I ordered and talked, laughing at our silly pictures from the night before.
I felt pleased with how much Sophie ate—a cinnamon roll and even a few pieces of my turkey bacon.
Now, I can barely contain my own excitement, especially when she looks out the window—
She gasps and turns to me with wide eyes.
"The zoo?!" Sophie squeals, sounding a lot like Bailey. Those two have been spending too much time together.
Smiling—and feeling very satisfied—I slide out of the car and help her out after me, both of us thanking our amused driver for the ride.
She's practically bouncing as we walk up to the front, and I look at her for a long moment.
She looks so happy, and so damn adorable, especially bundled up like I told her to—cream sweater, fleece-lined black jacket, jeans tucked into her comfy boots.
Her red knitted hat has been pulled over her wig; it's a little askew, so I reach out and fix it for her.