Gratitude

Emily lies asleep on me now, her head nestled firmly against my heart, one leg draped possessively over my waist. Her breathing is slow and even, the soft little snore I’ve secretly claimed as mine filling the quiet hotel room like a private lullaby. I’m too wired to sleep; still buzzing from the Voyeurs’ gift of endless stamina, the kind that lets me fuck for hours without fatigue or mercy. I put her through the wringer tonight, and she took it all, every thrust, every drop, until her body trembled and surrendered completely.

Her naked breast presses against my ribcage, warm and soft, her heartbeat syncing with mine in the afterglow. I lift her right hand gently, marveling at the diamond that now sparkles on her finger; the one I slid on in front of a room full of witnesses, my pulse hammering not because I doubted her answer, but because I’d obsessed over every detail: the fit, the weight, the possibility it might slip off that stage and roll away like some cosmic joke. It didn’t. It belonged there, just like she belongs here, curled against me.

I glance at the bedside clock; late, but not impossibly so. My mind drifts to Iris. Out in the crowd tonight, her smile had been blinding, eyes shining with tears as Emily said yes. She was the one who carried the ring, who clung to hope when Emily’s schedule looked impossible. She moved mountains; literally rearranged flights, cleared schedules, got Emily here in time to step into my arms and let me claim her forever. Iris handled the Impala (“Baby”), the contracts, the endless logistics of my life, never once asking for credit or complaining. She’s my other rock, the only woman who’s ever come close to the way I feel about Emily. Not the same; no one could be; but vital, steady, irreplaceable.

Carefully, I ease Emily off me, sliding her onto the cool sheets. She murmurs something about “chocolate goldfish” (she always says the sweetest, weirdest shit in her sleep) before burrowing deeper into the pillow with a contented sigh. I pull the blanket up over her bare shoulders, brush a strand of hair from her face, and press a soft kiss to her temple. Someday I’ll record that snore, play it back just to watch her deny it with that adorable scowl. But not tonight. Tonight I love her too much to tease, even in secret.

I slip into pajama pants and a fitted ribbed tank, the fabric cool against my still-heated skin. The hallway is silent as I step out, the door clicking softly behind me. The elevator ride down to Iris’s floor feels longer than it should, my thoughts churning.

When the doors open, I hesitate for half a second before knocking; light, but firm.