In Your Atmosphere (Paul McCartney/Beatles Fanfiction)

Chapter 23 - Getting Better All the Time

A shaft of sunlight filtered through a crack in the heavy gold drapes and beach sounds invaded Marisol's sleep haze. Waves hitting the shore, sea birds cawing, distant laughter, and somewhere, someone was rapping on a door. She turned her head away from the glare, adrift in a sea of blankets and warm arms and legs, with no inclination to move, because this was heaven.

Except for the relentless knocking. 

"The hell?" Paul's voice was husky next to her ear. He shifted and raised his head. "Sod off!" Then he angled his body around her, aroused and pressing against her bottom. He held her hair to one side and trailed warm kisses along her neck and shoulders, humming against her skin. She sighed happily. Definitely heaven. With any luck, they could spend the entire day in this sweet warm bed paradise.

The knocking grew louder. "Macca! Open up, mate!"

Paul slung off the covers with a sigh and sat on the edge of the bed, scratching the back of his neck. "Bloody 'ell, is it morning?"

"Not at all. Come back to bed." Marisol reached for him. "Ignore that Scouse voice. He's not the boss of you."

"Hang on love, I'll ditch 'im."

The Scouser turned out to be George. "Girls everywhere in bikinis, mate, you have to see this. All of 'em with long tan legs, and tits like you've never imagined--"

"Oh god," Marisol groaned, dragging a pillow over her head.

She heard the door close and a rustling sound. The bed dipped with Paul's weight and he pulled the pillow off her head. "'Ello, sleepyhead. Fancy coming to the beach?"

"Oh, may I? I haven't seen tanned legs and tits since I left California. Yesterday."

"Yours are the only tits I want to see." He handed her a white box with a red ribbon. "Happy Valentine's Day, love."

Marisol sat up. She'd watched the Beatles opening gifts since she'd arrived yesterday. Every day was like Christmas morning for them. She tore off the ribbon with delight and opened the box. "You got me a present, Sunshine?"

"One for today, and one for later tonight."

Inside the box was a bright yellow and orange swimsuit, a flattering high cut that she knew would make her legs look long. The front of the suit was low enough to show cleavage without being revealing. She checked the tag. It was her size, and ridiculously expensive. "It's beautiful," she murmured.

"Ritchie and I met a girl wearing a suit like this on the beach yesterday. Turned out she got it at the hotel boutique. Ritch got one for Mo too."

Her lips quirked up at the thought of two Beatles encountering a beautiful girl on the beach and wanting to see their girls wearing the same thing. "I love it."

Underneath the swimsuit was a slinky white slip of a negligee. "Wow." Marisol lifted it out of the box and held it up. "Gorgeous."

"From Paris," Paul said.

"Ooh la la, Monsieur. Did you and Ritchie see a girl in Paris modeling this?"

He chuckled. "You will be the first girl I've seen wearing this. I've been imagining it for weeks."

"Merci, Monsieur." Marisol let the box slide off her lap onto the bed while she ran her hands up Paul's bare chest and tilted her head to kiss his neck, his jaw, behind his ear. He made a humming noise and ran his hands up her sides to her breasts.

"There's something about Miami," he said. "So warm and soft and lovely." He sucked on her ear lobe and she groaned. She wrapped her arms around his warm neck and pulled him down onto the bed with her. Paul was the best Valentine's Day gift.