First Love...Only Love:

Epilogue

Darling, why don't you stay home another week?' Twain suggested, as he slipped on his shirt.

Macy and Parker had partly moved into Twain's luxurious home ... their home now. Macy had packed sufficiently for the week. They would complete their move by the next weekend. She was in no hurry. There was nothing that she had in her home that Twain did not have a bigger, or fancier version of.

Macy clutched the towel around her body. Though Twain intimately knew every inch of her body, she was not comfortable prancing about their bedroom in the nude, like her husband was freely wont to do. She looked over her shoulder at him.

'What should I do at home?' She smiled. If he stayed with her, she would agree, but alone... that held no appeal.

'You can sleep longer, ' Twain walked to where she stood at her wardrobe, the buttons of his shirt still undone. 'You can go shopping, it's an absolutely natural tendency amongst the rest of your species,' he laughed, as if it was a foreign concept to his wife.

'I don't need anything,' she wrinkled her nose, clutching her towel more tightly. Already his proximity was testing her self-control.

'Or you can stay home and just rest,' he flicked her towel off with one swift movement.

'Twain!' 'What are you doing?' she reached for her towel, but he held it out of reach.

'I have to ___ we have to get to work,' she looked at the bedside clock. Okay, they still had about thirty minutes, before they needed to leave.

'Twain ___ please, give me back my towel,' her face scarlet, she grabbed a dress still on a hangar and held it in front of her to protect her modesty.

Twain lifted his head and laughed. 'Darling, we're husband and wife, you're still shy!'

She looked away, refusing to meet his eyes. They needed to get to work. What was his problem?

'You're beautiful ... gorgeous,' he murmured draping one arm around her. He used the other hand to jerk away the hangar hindering his view of her luscious body. 'Don't hide your body from me,' he whispered with a soft groan, pressing a kiss to her throat.

Involuntarily, her head angled, her eyes closed, 'I still need to dry my hair,' her voice dropped to a whisper. His caress so enthralling, she really did not want him to stop. Her eyelids flew open at his soft laughter.

'What's funny?' She questioned, her betraying eyes fell to the wall of rippling muscles filling over his chest.

'I believe the more recycled version is, "I have to wash my hair."'

Macy's eyes lifted to Twain's. 'I can't imagine any female fed you that line,' she hated that her tone could not hide her jealousy of his past lovers.

He smiled lazily. His fingers gently brushed through her damp curls, smoothing them out. Greedily her eyes lowered to his lips, then to the broad chest visible through his still unbuttoned shirt, as if she had not had a feast of him last night. Twain pulled her naked body roughly against his hardened torso. Her palms framed his chest. Her lips parted before his mouth devoured hers. Macy ripped off his shirt. A whimper escaped her throat as his lips left hers, and traced a part down to her aroused nipple.

'Twain ... ,' she clung to him, lifting his head back to her mouth.

He lifted her into his arms, carried her to their bed, without his mouth breaking contact with hers. He lowered her gently onto the bed, his mouth worshipping every inch of her body with his lips and fingers before immersing himself deep inside her. Their sweat glistened bodies embraced, damp wisps of her hair clung on her skin. Macy pressed her lips to his. Her eyes meshed with his before her lips indulged in another slow, satiating kiss again.