The Romance Revival(46)
Hoping for a glimpse into my marriage, I start with the ones spanning the last three years. Dinners out. Walks on the beach. Photos of us smiling and backlit by a sunset. Photos of us kissing in front of a cluster of pine trees. Photos of us on the beach, swimming, sunbathing, napping. Most of these dates, I realize after using my calendar app, took place on a Sunday, which tracks with what Emery said about our Sunny Sundays. I’ll tell you one thing; we look crazy about each other in all of them. There are only two folders that seem to include photos from a vacation. I don’t immediately recognize the locations, but a sign that reads SANTA BARBARA SHELLFISH COMPANY appears in one, and a menu with the name EMBERS RESTAURANT appears in another.
I scroll farther down in the list of albums and my breath locks on an exhale. This album is labeled only US, and when I open it, there are hundreds of naked pictures of Emery, of me, of Emery and me.
In some, it looks like the phone might be propped up against something. In others, it’s clear one of us is the photographer. In one, she’s looking up the length of my body at me, her hand wrapped around my dick, her mouth curved in a teasing smile. In another, my lips are pressed high up on her inner thigh, my eyes closed in an expression of absolute reverence.
There’s one with Emery on top of me, her head thrown back, a look of sheer ecstasy on her face. My arm is in frame, my hand palming one of her breasts. Her nipple is visible, and the sight of the tight, soft blush tip trapped between two of my fingers sends a blaze of heat straight to my groin.
I try to ignore it, knowing this is not the ideal time to test my cardiovascular system again. Besides, if Emery were to wake up, she’d probably want to document the discovery.
At the thought, I glance over at her. It feels a little wrong, somehow, to be looking at these while she’s asleep, but they are our photos, and she was clearly a very active participant when they were taken. As I scroll on, a cry of pleasure and murmured encouragements erupt from the phone’s speaker; on-screen, I am enthusiastically fucking her from behind, with her bent over the back of the very couch we’re currently sitting on.
Only then do I register in horror that there are videos in this folder and my volume is turned to max. If there was any doubt about my speaking Italian to her in bed, there isn’t anymore.
Emery jolts, startled, and I fumble to turn the volume down, initially just taking accidental screenshots until I finally manage to get the sound off. I swallow before daring to glance over, feeling the way my face has gone deep red.
She’s blinking awake, swiping a hand across her face. “Whatcha watching over there, Lukey?” The endearment feels familiar.
“Nothing. Just—you know. We finished Captain America.” I wave to the TV, which I realize only now has gone to sleep from being idle too long.
“That didn’t sound like Captain America,” she says, smiling, and her soft, sleepy eyes give a kick to some emotional nucleus in my gut. “It sounded like porn.”
Tenderness melts into mortification. “No, no. I’m not watching porn.” But as she continues to look at me in question, I relent, “Maybe sort of? I found an album on my phone of… us.”
Her eyes do that thing again, dipping from my gaze to my mouth and back again. She moves to sit up. “Ah.”
Clearing my throat, I tell her, “I didn’t realize there were videos. It just started to play.” I clear my throat. “Loudly.”
Emery fights a laugh. “That must’ve been a surprise.”
“Uh, yeah.”
“You know, I don’t mind if you want to look at any of it. We could even do it together, if you wanted.”
“Did we do that… before?”
“Mm-hmm,” she says, nodding as she runs her fingers through her long hair, sweeping it up and tucking the ends into her bun. “We didn’t like more standard porny stuff, so we made our own. Sort of served two purposes, you know?”
“I think so?” I swallow audibly and can’t stop my gaze from dropping down her neck, to her chest, and back up again.
“It got us in the mood,” she says quietly, “and it was also fun to perform for future us, knowing we’d watch it later.”
I have no idea how to respond to this and drop my phone in my lap, right on my semihard dick. I wince, fighting a groan. That’s certainly one way to help the current situation.
We fall into a beat of silence, and Emery seems to read the way my brain has locked up. She sits up, taking a deep breath. “I was doing some research on amnesia, its causes, and how to treat it.”
“Yeah?” I’m grateful for the track change, even if it’s a return to the subject that bothers me the most.
Keep one more story within reach.
You may find the next one at Lokepub.
“Unfortunately,” she says, “there aren’t any medications to help, and unless the memory loss is caused by a known trauma or injury, there isn’t any concrete treatment. Your scans didn’t show any physical damage, so that sort of rules any of that out. There’s always cognitive rehabilitation, but that’s more for short-term memory issues, and rebuilding skills, which wouldn’t apply to you, either.” She smiles at me, her dark eyes shining hopefully. “I know that might not sound very encouraging, but I do have an idea.”
“Yeah?”