The day started with perfect weather. A bright sun was beginning to rise in the cornflower blue, cloudless sky. A light, cooling breeze rustled in the trees through the open window, making music on the deep green sycamore leaves.
She felt the heavy weight of Mark’s bare leg against her own. His arm was around her, anchoring her in the afterglow. Even following their lovemaking, his fingers brushed possessively against her soft skin.
“Oh, my God!” Bridget said at last, finally moving, flopping back on the pillows. “I can’t remember the last time I got lucky in the morning.” She pushed her hair away from her eyes. “You must really love me if you’ll kiss me before I brush my teeth. Dragon breath is a real thing, Mark.”
He rolled over onto his side, his handsome face crisscrossed with thin pink sleep lines. “You still wonder, don’t you?” he asked as he pushed himself up to lean his back against the pillows.
She didn’t answer, instead moving up and back so that she was touching him.
“I love you, Bridget. And I’ll never stop,” he whispered against her hair. The sheets slid down his exposed chest and pooled across his lap. She looked up at his face in time to see him give her a slow-growing smile, creases forming on the sides of his mouth that still made her weak in the knees.
Just then, they were interrupted by a loud and rapid pounding on their bedroom door. Then giggling.
“Crap!” muttered Bridget, pulling the sheet up to her chin to cover herself.
“Who is it?” called Mark, laughing loudly.
“How can you be so nonchalant? They’ll be in here any moment,” she hissed at her husband.
Before he could answer, two tiny voices cried out simultaneously, “Guess!” The handle then jiggled loudly, but the door remained closed.
“When did you lock it?” Bridget asked in evident admiration.
“When I used the loo, just before you woke, darling.” He said this with a devilish smirk.
Bridget kept her lips sealed and smile in place at his forethought. He then stood and threw on a tee shirt and pajama bottoms. “You stay in bed. I’ll take them down for toast and orange juice.”
Their twins, William and Mabel, were three years old today and unable to sleep due to the excitement over their upcoming birthday celebration in only a few hours. Mark turned the lock and squeezed through the crack, herding them both away from the door after they tried to slip past him. He knew by history they would run as fast as their small legs could carry them and jump on the bed with their mum.
“But we wanna see mummy!” William objected loudly. Mark bent down and gathered the toddler up, holding him securely in one arm before doing the same to his daughter. They both threw their tiny arms around his neck, shrieking loudly while he kissed their faces.
“Shh! You know she needs her sleep now,” he said quietly, allowing them to think their mum was not yet awake. “Remember, you’ll both have a new brother soon.” Bridget was expecting their third child in a little over two months, and the twins couldn’t seem to wait to meet him.
“Are Granny and Grampa coming to our party?” asked Mabel animatedly as Mark carried them towards the kitchen.
“Which ones?” Mark replied, knowing full well that both her parents and his would be there shortly to help with the setup.
“Bofh,” she replied. She was still having trouble with her ‘th’s, although her twin brother had no such difficulty.
“Both,” Mark pronounced slowly, then kissed her nose as she said it correctly the second time.
“Granny and Grampa Darcy and Jones are all coming,” Mark heard from behind. Bridget came up beside him and took Mabel from his hands as she leant towards her mother, arms outstretched. “And so are Uncle Tom and Uncle Eduardo with Samuel, and Aunt Sharon, Aunt Magda, and Aunt Jude with their little ones.” She had barely gotten the names out of her mouth before the two began gleefully shouting in unison at the thought of all the visitors that would be helping celebrate their birthday.
At Nine PM that evening, after all the guests had left, Bridget and Mark sat back and sighed.
“I’m absolutely knackered,” she groaned loudly.
“Professor Jones-Darcy, we’re all alone for the first time in months, and you’re exhausted?” His parents had taken the children for a few days, and Bridget’s mum and dad would return with them. He moved over to sit directly beside her and started softly kissing the back of her neck, pushing her hair aside with his hand.
“Hmm, when you put it like that...” she trailed off as his hands began to roam over her shoulders and then move down, exploring her softness, which was only enhanced by the late stage of her pregnancy. After several minutes, she stood and took her husband’s hand, leading him upstairs to their bedroom. They had been married just over a year when they sold Mark’s home and found a larger place, one that could accommodate at least two children in separate bedrooms, upon discovering they were having twins and one of each sex.
When they entered the room, her silence was his undoing. She had moved ahead, then turned back and walked towards him, hips swaying slightly as she unzipped her dress, leaving it to fall at her feet, revealing a lacy black bra and creamy cleavage.
He loved when she was carrying their child. To him, there was nothing sexier. He often told her he could spend all day long complimenting her, write sonnets, leave poetry for her to find, whisper sweet nothings, or just desperately try to explain how much he loved looking at every square inch of her. She would usually laugh at his confessions, but he sometimes caught her shedding a tear at his heartfelt words.
He had watched her go through their first pregnancy carrying twins and thought it the most sensual thing he had ever experienced. Her body changed in the most miraculous ways and knowing she was carrying his children brought an extra level of intimacy that they hadn’t experienced before. And to know she was willing to sacrifice her body for him once more felt as if it were the most beautiful act in the entire world.
All these thoughts ran through his head, and his climax was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
“Whew,” she exhaled, pushing the damp hair away from her face as they lay side by side after, her whole body feeling weak, trembling. She rested her head on his chest, gently caressing his stomach with her fingers.
“What?” he asked after her one-word exclamation, barely able to contain his laughter.
“Right, Mark Darcy. And as mum would advise, “Don’t say ‘what,’ say ‘pardon,’ darling.”