Love is Never Forgotten

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The day started anew eight hours ago. One hour ago, I had lain beside a heavily muscled man, our faces toward each other, and his eyelids still sealed. Confusion and daze spiraled around me, engulfed me, and consumed me. The world around me, though I had no recollection of it, was so familiar. Instinctually, from apparent years of habit, I reached over to the mahogany nightstand and brought to my lap a leather-bound journal.

The contents of this journal, the details of my life and this odd memory loss, are why I now understand myself so clearly.

I'm a freelance editor for a local newspaper, and my husband and I are trying for a child. This blond man who was beside me on the bed is my husband, a wealthy doctor who took after his father.

Daily on this world, everyone loses their memories. Each day, we must remember through notes and the habits that have become mechanical to our bones. Strangely, we never lose the abilities we've taught ourselves, like the ability to read or my husband's to perform miracles at work. Similarly, our core traits remain the same. Every time we awaken, we experience a fresher life, one that never dulls.

Currently, I remain on my bed, relaxing in the presence of Erik, my husband, who gently snores and occasionally tugs the blanket closer to himself. He's three years older than me, a tall, lean, twenty-five-year-old man with untamable hair and a well-groomed beard. As I place the journal back onto the nightstand, Erik groans, a sign he's waking up, and his crystal-blue eyes blink a couple times. Excited to meet my husband, I sit up on the bed. My heart flutters.

Erik appears puzzled for a few moments, but he soon relaxes and grins in my direction. He hasn't read his journal, yet he smiles warmly at me, someone he doesn't know. His studious stare scrutinizes me. A light pink brightens his cheeks, and he scoots over to me, splaying his thick arms. His firm hands grip onto my back as he traps me by his naked body. I'm pressed against his wide chest, where I listen to his rapid pulse. The sheets and his adrenaline make his skin glisten. I embrace my husband back, finding familiar comfort next to him, though he doesn't know who I am, and though I hardly know him myself.

Erik softly gropes me. His squeezes trail down my sides, and I melt into the mattress. My head and stomach burn with passionate flames. His chest heaves over me. I massage his broad, freckled shoulders.

His fingers tiptoe closer to my ass. Before these fingers reach anxious flesh, Erik flips me belly-side down and crawls above me, kissing my shoulder. His firm hands grip onto my sides and squeeze. Then he smooches my neck, his chest on me, pushing my breasts into the mattress. His warmth surrounds me, and I breathe it in, exhaling steam, it feels. He then spanks me once, twice—a total of three times. Uncontrollably, I moan, blushing in shame. His smirk expands; I love his smirk.

On the back of my thighs, I feel his riled penis swell. Air chills the moisture between my hips. His lips find their way back to my neck to suckle. I moan again—a low, barely audible moan. After Erik's satisfied, he flips me back over and ogles my breasts. He gulps.

Erik dips his head down to my bosom, cupping his tongue around my perked nipple. He sucks it like a milk-deprived infant. My moans echo off the walls. Saliva coats both of my breasts, from messy kisses, licking, and sucking, when his head rises. His intelligent eyes glare in my direction as a beast's toward prey. He licks his lips.

As if waiting, Erik stares into my eyes, his body swaying with each breath he takes, his arms shaking, and his chest hairs glistening with sweat. Almost as a taunt, he brings his pelvis a hair from mine. I can sense it so clearly though it doesn't touch me.

Desperate, I purr, "Go on, Babe."

Erik smiles a wicked smile. He teases, "Use your manners." Quickly, he pecks my rosy cheek.

"Please, Babe," I beg.

Erik takes his time stretching my legs to the sides of his wide body. Then he thrusts into me slowly so I feel all seven inches enter and leave me. He does it once more, harder and faster than the last. Again and again, his fat cock thrusts into me with the skillful touch of an artisan. Waves of heat and pleasure roll up my body, and my brain is numb. My thighs shake. Softly, he grunts. My moans are much louder than his sound.

My back curves as sensitivity sweeps over me. My nails dig into Erik's sides. He takes little notice, thrusting deeper. The muscles in his neck tense up, and his teeth clench. He thrusts for a final time, releasing a masculine moan. Panting, he flops over beside me and smiles. He wipes the sweat from his brow.

Though I didn't climax, I still breath heavily and gaze at my husband lovingly. He appears childish with the wonder across his face. I love to see him so cheerful.

"Who are you, stranger?" Erik asks, his pupils shifting to me, though his head never tilts.

"Your wife, Lucy," I reply. I don't feel any offense, as he hasn't read his journal yet. It would be unfair. He has no memories of me.

He smiles and faces me. "My wife! I am so happy I have a wife," he says.

"You should read your journal now, handsome," I say, pointing to the journal lying on the nightstand beside him.

Curiously, Erik picks it up and begins to read. He grins brightly as he flips through the pages.

As I wait, I rub my stomach. I wonder if we'll get our baby this time. I'm patient, but I hope we'll have a child together soon.

Erik finishes reading, then places the journal beside him, his eyes brimming with understanding. He pecks my forehead, and his sharp gaze is directly toward my eyes.

"Do you think we'll have our baby this time?" he asks.

I grin. "I can only pray."

Erik laughs faintly. "I can't believe I had sex so early in the morning, and when I couldn't even remember you, beautiful."

"Well, love has urges, and love is never forgotten," I say.

He laughs again and nods.

"I suppose you're right, Lucy."

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