Cigarettes After Sex
Natalie
At the peak of some of the mountainous terrain we just traveled through, we park and stretch our legs before taking a short walk to the overlook that sits past a waist-high brick partition.
“Oh, wow, Easton. Wow,” I say, glancing around. “Sucks we don’t have a camera.”
“I have my phone,” he offers, pulling it out of his pocket.
“No phones,” I say.
We stare at the other in trepidation briefly before he whispers, “Fuck it,” and powers it on. Not long after, a grin lights up his face as he turns it to me. “No service.”
“Thank God,” I exhale a breath of relief we were spared the roulette bullet as he keeps it powered up long enough to take a selfie of us. Twin smiles the main focus, he also manages to capture the blanket of tree tops in the valley below along with a little of the surrounding cliffs. He takes a few more shots of the panoramic view before powering his phone back off and taking my hand. On our way back to the car, I stop at the group of clustered craft tables that we bypassed on our walk and cautiously pause at the first, eyeing the woman sitting behind it for any hint of recognition for the rock star lingering close by. She greets me warmly, nothing telling in her answering expression as I lift a solid white dream catcher from where it hangs on the side of her table.
“This is beautiful,” I tell her before holding it up to Easton, who’s shopping a table over. “Babe, mine?”
Easton instantly nods in reply as he lifts a plate-sized, hand-crafted drum, dark wooden sticks dangling atop it. “Also yours, for your next lesson.”
“Yes, please.”
Seeming pleased, he pulls out his wallet, doling out the cash for each vendor, both older women of Native American descent.
I walk over to where he stands and snake my arms around his waist, pressing a kiss onto the soft cotton of his T-shirt-covered shoulder, inhaling his scent. “I’ll pay you back. I thought we were just going for a drive, so I left my purse at the villa,” I whisper as the vendor speaks up.
“Are you two on your honeymoon?”
“Yes,” we say in unison, our proud need to share that information with anyone obvious with our enthusiastic reply. Once our purchases are bagged, we browse along the other tables picking out new treasures, each of us procuring silver spoon rings with turquoise stones. The next table over, I find a hand-carved wooden Christmas ornament with a tiny dream catcher hanging inside of it and decide I have to have it. By the time we make our exit, Easton’s hands are full of bags of locally crafted, one-of-a-kind gems, each bought from a different table. As we retreat back to the parking lot, we’re waved away with warm goodbyes and congratulations. The feeling continues as we reach the convertible. I breathe in the day, and Easton secures our haul into the trunk. Smiling, I glance over at him, and it’s not reciprocated.
“What?”
“You’ll pay me back?” Easton stares over at me across the convertible. I’m thankful his Ray-Bans are on, so I’m unable to see his complete mean mug.
“I don’t know how we’re going to do money yet, and I can buy my own shit.” I shrug as his jaw ticks. “Fine, I’ll consider it my wedding present,” I concede, getting into the passenger seat and buckling in before he orders me to. “Now we have to figure out your wedding present, and it has to be good. Something special and one of a kind,” I demand as he takes the driver’s seat.
Famous last words.
Easton’s wedding present turned out to be a gift a little harder for me to bear, literally. “Easy, baby,” Easton grits out, the strain in his voice evident as he tries to ease into me, and I whimper at the discomfort. In the last few hours, we’ve gone from emotion-filled love-making to downright filthy and experimental fucking. I’ve given my body over to him as I have my trust, my heart, and my future, which is why I’m on all fours now on a plush towel he laid out on a large ottoman in our heavily mirrored bathroom. Easton towers behind me, gloriously naked, our eyes connected in our reflection, his mouthwatering cock in view as he pushes another inch inside me. Seeing me wince, he eases back out.
“Don’t stop,” I protest.
“I don’t think I could if I wanted to,” he murmurs as he massages my backside. With that, he grips my hips pulling me toward him before dipping to ready my exposed flesh with an explorative tongue. My last orgasm still dripping between my thighs, Easton laps at me from behind, gathering my wetness onto his fingers before pushing one of them back inside a formerly untouched place. The second I admitted I hadn’t explored that particular sexual boundary, I could see the fireworks go off in his eyes and knew exactly what my wedding gift would include. Before he could voice it, I fled his arms, running around our villa, and he gave chase while I screamed like a banshee.