sign {h.s.}

επίλογος : τέταρτο των πέντε*

T H R E E D A Y S L A T E R

Harry had wanted to surprise me for our honeymoon. He picked Cabo San Lucas. Surprisingly, it was a place neither of us had been. That was important for us. In all of the places that he's been that I haven't—and the few limited places that I've been that he hasn't—we thought it would be best to start off our marriage by going to a place that we hadn't been, at all. 

The first day was something of a fever dream.

Sex, sex everywhere. We consummated our marriage nearly immediately. I was shocked we didn't do it on the plane. Every surface of our suite has been christened by our inability to keep away from each other. His lips were feverish against mine, my hands burning affection on his skin, our bodies so tightly intertwined it became impossible to distinguish between our limbs. 

Day two was tamer, I suppose. We ventured to the beach before having sex as the sun was setting. Sex on the beach is no where near as romantic as we are lead to believe, but it was impossible to keep my hands off of him. In all the time that I've known him—and his body—he has never once grown dull to me. There has never been a time in which I've grown tired of sharing a bed with him.

Today is day three.

I am awake before Harry which is a shock. That sort of thing almost never happens. Naturally, Harry is an early riser. The more time I spend with him, the more I, too, become something of a morning person. Of course, there is still a difference. He rises at about six every morning, laying in bed with me until I wake up at about eight. Usually, he takes this time to respond to emails on his phone. Once, I asked him why he waits in bed with me for two hours. He responded—while blushing—that he didn't want me to ever wake up alone and fear that he'd left me. I told him the thought would have never dawned on me. It was then that he got this smug sort of smirk and he shrugged me off, saying that now I would think that way and there was no chance he could ever leave me to wake up alone, now. Besides, he added cheekily, he likes the way that I hold on to him while asleep. 

Given the state of present affairs, I finally see what he means. Though my situation is reversed--Harry is holding me, not the other way around—I know what he means by saying that it is one of the best feelings in the world to wake up wrapped around someone so intimately. There is a security in his hold, even as he is sleeping. If ever I had reason to doubt his love, the way he is holding me now paints quite the picture.

Gently, I turn over in his arms. Last night we'd fallen asleep naked, exhausted from fucking. The thought of getting out of bed once more only to get dressed felt arbitrary and unnecessary. His chest is warm from the proximity of our bodies, though, he always feels this warm to me. My lips pucker and I press soft kisses against the skin there, attempting to wake him softly, not wanting to be too intrusive.

The view from our hotel room is beautiful. Currently, the sun is rising over the ocean and the sky is enveloped in colors of pinks and oranges and yellows. Clouds are littered around the sky, but I can tell it is going to be a beautiful day. "Baby, wake up," I mumble, continuing to pepper kisses across his chest. Given the early hour, my voice is still hoarse and unused.

Not entirely awake yet, Harry's arms tighten around me, hugging me in closer to his body. The subconscious gesture causes me to giggle, and I drum my fingers against his chest, begging for him to soften his grasp only slightly. His head nestles into the top of mine, his lips pressing against my hair and he greatly inhales, finally seeming to wake up. "Mmmpfh," he attempts to speak, though the sound is muffled by the language barrier—likely, for he hardly ever speaks English upon immediately waking—and my hair getting in the way of his producing sound. "¿Estás bien?" He repeats, backing out of my embrace only after pressing a gentle kiss against the top of my head.