FicWad

Alejandro woke up at dawn, as usual. What was unusual, though, was that he still felt a little bit tired, and didn't feel up to getting out of bed just yet. Yes he felt tired, but in a good way. Not in a weary, burden-of-his-years and aching-of-his-joints way, but rather in a blissful and beatific way. And when he turned his head to the side and finally managed to open his eyes, he knew why.

At the sight of another form lying in bed beside him he remembered the previous night. And smiled. And frowned. And smiled again. And frowned again. They shouldn't have done this, deep down something in him knew that. But it had also been pleasant to... revisit... their former liaison, to re-enact their past. A rather stupid smile remained plastered on his face. Right now he felt content. And not just a little proud of his nightly achievements.

He turned on his side – ouch! so much for joints not aching! – to take a better look at her. It had been a long time since he last woke up to that face. She was still sleeping – on her back, as always – and her very long mane of wild black hair was haphazardly spread around her and over the pillows, flooding his bed with dark strands and colonising it unbeknownst to her. He remembered having untied her ribbon and freed them from the braid in the heat of the moment at some point during their... activities: he so much liked running his fingers through their cascading length, particularly when she had her head arched back! And when, falling from her head down her spine to the small of her back, her hair followed her undulating moves like an extension of herself, it was the most erotic sight he had ever watched. Muy caliente. Especially when at the end of each of her wavy movements, the tip of it gently caressed and tickled the smooth skin of her hips, or his own hands on these...

Ow, he chastised himself, he really shouldn't think about this right now. It was finally a good thing that his age was now making him totally unable to repeat last night's performance right then, or he wouldn't be able to get out of bed without embarrassing himself before some time!

He resumed watching her. She was still asleep, her features relaxed and her body totally limp. A soft smile was floating on her lips. He remembered how deliciously sweet and burning these lips had felt against his own, or against his skin. And how they looked when they were swollen with lust or when she half-opened them, with her eyes closed and her head thrown back.

He made his eyes wander lower. Her neck, which he liked so much to kiss – which she liked so much to feel kissed! Her shoulders, slightly too square for a woman, but such a solid anchor to grasp and cling to! He remembered he particularly liked to take her by her shoulders in any occasion: to look at her in the eyes, to talk to her seriously, to drop a kiss in the crook of her neck or on her lips, or just to stroke them caressingly...

And further down, below them began the abundance of curves that was her voluptuous body, a succession of mounds and valleys. A body he had learned to know well all these years ago. A body he had gotten reacquainted with last night. It suddenly had been as though these past six or seven years hadn't happened, and they both naturally found again the gestures that the other liked so much, in the right places.

The linen bedsheet draped slantwise across her chest like a Greek toga left one of her breasts uncovered, as well as half her upper body. A round, ample, plenteous breast which didn't totally fit in one hand. He had to use both of his to cup one of her breasts, and he had always loved this sensation of fullness.

Lower, his gaze plunged on her ribcage and – oh, yes! How could he have forgotten the beauty spot she had on the underline of her breast? It matched the one she had above, near her cleavage, and on which he had feasted again last night...

Further, her belly now had a slight swell that wasn't there seven years earlier: was it Leonor's mark on her mother? Or simply the passing of time on her body? He decided he loved that newfound curve: he had bestowed many caresses on it a few hours earlier, as well as he had revered with kisses the belly which had carried his daughter. Their daughter.

In the middle of this very slight mound, the hollow depression of her navel captivated his attention, but the white fabric of the bedsheet unfortunately hid almost half of it.

He sighed regretfully. Further down, the only thing the linen sheet left for the eye to feast on was a round hip, which protruding bone never ceased to attract him, his gaze, his hands, his mouth... and right beside it, he could see the beginning of the hollow dip of her hip, where the skin was so soft that it had probably been designed to be caressed and kissed, which he had always reverently and keenly done like she loved so much; and for a man's thumb to nestle in it, while he was otherwise occupied with her, and she with him...

Beyond that, the white fabric didn't leave any patch of skin to be seen, but he knew what was under it: two round and firm sweet thighs – rounder and fleshier than before, if he saw it right the night before – which skin he had always absolutely loved to caress, to stroke, to run the tip of his fingers or his knuckles along their length or in their inner side... and even to fondle.

Then, her knees, which pit was so sensitive to tickling, but also to her lovers' teasing or loving ministrations. Further were two very elegant and incredibly fascinating calves that could make him crazy with want, ending with thin delicate ankles before her feet.

Her whole body was a symphony of curves and smoothness, as shapely and soft as in his memories.

No, not exactly as much as, he thought: in fact she seemed to have gained a few more curves over the past seven years, and it was only for the best in Alejandro's opinion. She still was the most desirable woman in California. Even more than before, he thought. And she had come to him, to his bedroom the night before. Had sought him. And had even more or less begged him to take her to his bed. How came that he, Alejandro de la Vega, had become the luckiest man in the world?

Oh, well, what was the use of wondering and questioning oneself on such a bright day and when life was beautiful? Instead, he resumed watching her face and gazing at her.

Her breathing was deep and even, lifting her chest with each intake and then making it go down when she exhaled. It was like a dance, and she was unknowingly setting her own pace to it and to the bedsheet she was currently sharing with him. And to him, even that simple thing had something beguiling in it. Even unintentionally, this woman was a fountain of sensuality in Alejandro's eyes. Of voluptuousness.

And of youth too, he reflected after some time. He remembered he had felt almost like a young man again in the first weeks or months of their affair. 'Almost' being the important word here, though.

The good thing with heavy sleepers was that you could move in the bed without fearing to rouse them. He settled himself more comfortably to better watch her. He revelled in this sight and in the bliss he was feeling as the previous night's side effect, but also at waking up beside Araceli. It was just like before...

But the sun apparently had other plans: a ray of the early morning light, still low on the horizon, had entered the room through the broken window which curtains hadn't been closed – they hadn't taken the time to do so, not even thought about it the night before, in the heat of the moment – and the shaft of sunlight was now crawling and creeping up her delightful body to reach her face. When it touched her closed eyelids, she crinkled her nose, frowned a bit and screwed up her eyes.

She moaned and groaned lightly, turned her head to his side and frowned again; then she opened her eyes and saw Alejandro watching her with a smile on his face.

"Good morning," he told her gently.

She blinked.

"Oh," she said, a bit confused, "it's morning already?"

Alejandro smiled wider, amused.

"I'm sorry," she went on, "I think I fell asleep. I didn't mean to bother you."

She then stretched contentedly.

He started to lean in with the intent of dropping a kiss on her forehead or her cheek but she didn't see it and turned to her side to sit on the edge of the mattress.

He hadn't the time to tell her he was not bothered at all by her presence before she jumped out of bed and took the two or three steps to her discarded nightshirt. Still stark naked she picked it up from the floor, then she went almost to the door and picked up the shawl she had dropped there the night before.

She came back to the side of the bed and put her night attire on the mattress, after what she slipped her arms inside her nightshirt's long sleeves and then pulled it on. Tying the satin ribbon of its high neck she turned her face to him and told him with a nice and genuine smile:

"Thank you for last night."

Then she grabbed her shawl, reached the door, opened it and got out of his bedroom.

He laid his head back on the pillow, confused. And then he sighed; apparently, she hadn't intended to spend the night in his bed, she had just fallen asleep in it in the afterglow, out of exhaustion at the events of the day and at the physical fatigue.

This 'thank you for last night' meant that she hadn't meant what just happened between them as a rekindling of their former burning physical and emotional passion, even though the embers of it were clearly still there deep down in both of them and last night had just fanned these.

Alejandro sighed, wonderingly, because this 'thank you for last night' meant 'I needed this'.

Because it meant 'I don't love you'.

Well, he swept this thought away: of course she didn't! It had never been about that between them. She had never loved him and he had never loved her, of course! Not the way he had loved his dear wife. No. Preposterous.

But then why did her 'thank you for last night' bother him so much? he wondered.

He didn't like the answer slowly forming in his mind: pride. His male pride felt a bit hurt at thinking that she had used him for her need, that she had come to him to get something and had obtained exactly what she wanted from him. But again, it shouldn't bother him: after all, she had been crystal clear about it when she told him – twice! – that she needed him, needed it! When she practically begged him!

Objectively, any man would feel flattered by that, so his male pride should rather feel boosted and content! And truth be told, he admitted that despite his efforts which he thought absolutely heroic on the moment, he didn't really resist too much to her when she knocked at his door. And he didn't remember complaining in the course of what followed. Quite the contrary, even!

No, he decided, he didn't have anything to complain about, but just a prowess to be proud of and one more good memory to cherish.

He pushed the sheet to the bottom of the bed to get up. When he was still sitting on the edge of the mattress and about to stand up, he spotted something blue in the bed. Her ribbon! The one he had untied to free her wild mane of hair. He reached to it with his right hand and took it between his fingers. He'd give it back to her at breakfast or later during the day.

Or on second thought, perhaps he'd keep it as a trophy, he considered with a slightly smug smirk on his lips.

As a keepsake, he thought, his smirk turning into a fond little smile.