LYRA
09.05.15
It’s here again. Finally. I’ve been waiting a long three hundred and sixty-four days for it to arrive. And I plan to spend the entire day celebrating like the devoted fan I am. Yep, that’s right. It’s International Bacon Day, or as I like to call it, Baconpalooza.
This globally-recognized holiday should not be confused with National Bacon Day here in the US, which falls annually on December 30th, but rest assured, being the bacon connoisseur I am, I observe both holidays with day-long consumption of the best food group on the planet. Hell, I’ll even go as far as to say the best in the universe. If the extraterrestrials knew what they were missing out on, I have no doubt they’d all move here at the speed of light. That, or have a mass abduction of all our pigs to take back to their own planets.
“Good morning, sunshine! Time to get up and play,” I singsong while opening the blinds just enough to let the golden hues of the morning light filter into the room before climbing on the bed where Tavian is fast asleep, buried under the covers.
In the month I’ve lived here, half that time as his wife, I’ve discovered a lot about my husband I didn’t know prior, stuff I never thought about, since I’ve never lived with anyone else. Some things are surprisingly positive, like he always puts the seat down on the toilet, knows how to wash and put away his own laundry, loves to cook for me—which I kind of already knew—and gives the best foot massages in the entire world. Other behaviors I’m learning to adapt to, such as never putting the lid back on the toothpaste, the way he clicks his tongue loudly against his front teeth when he’s deep in thought, and his love for sleeping late—something he never did while on our trip.
“Come on, sleepyhead. It’s almost 9:30. We need to get this party started,” I urge again, gently nudging him.
I count to ten in my head, and when I still get no response, I decide to take action. With a devilish grin, I belly-flop on top of him, causing him to release a loud grunt from the unexpected weight landing square across his midsection. But before I can launch my tickle attack, I find myself flying in the air and then somehow landing on my back with a naked Tavian on top of me, pinning me to the mattress.
Somehow, this isn’t fair to the rest of womankind. Better hold on tight, Lyra.
“You really suck at this sleeping-in thing, you know that?” He grins and rubs the tip of his nose against mine. “I bet you woke up at the crack of dawn even when you were a teenager, didn’t you?”
I stick my tongue out and give him my best annoyed glare. “There’s nothing wrong with being an early riser. Before most people have finished their first cup of coffee, I’ve already gotten more accomplished than they’ll do the entire day.”
“Who’s the overachiever now, Buttercup?” he teases me with the same name I’d called him in Vegas on the day we said “I do” and got our matching tattoos.
“Still you,” I grumble, but my forced serious expression cracks and morphs into a silly smile when he mockingly mouths the words along with me.
Tavian swiftly grabs both my hands in one of his and restrains them above my head, something he likes to do in bed when he’s in a playful, teasing mood. As much as I wriggle and writhe in his grasp, trying to break free, I secretly crave the vulnerability and exhilaration he invokes when he takes complete control of my body. The only sensation I’ve experienced that has a similar freeing feeling is when I soared high above the Dolomites and northern Italian countryside.
“You better behave, or I’m going to boycott the holiday and only eat vegetables all day long,” he threatens as his morning erection nestles directly between my thighs.
I crinkle my nose and shake my head adamantly, doing my best to ignore the tingles vibrating deep inside. “Who are you, and what have you done with my husband? I demand you return him right now. He promised me a day of bacon-eating and movie-watching that I know he’s most definitely looking forward to.” Lifting my hips, I boldly grind against him and add, “Plus, he hates when I behave.”
His pupils dilate and his nostrils flare. Tavian’s already-stiff cock jerks and then grows even harder, poking me in a place where I just need to pull my panties to the side…
“No!” he shouts suddenly, scampering off me and the bed to snatch his boxers from the floor, where they were thrown at some point last night. “You’re such a devious little witch, always using your sorcery to trick me into doing things because you know I can’t say no when you do stuff like that.”
I can’t help but laugh as he loses his balance while trying to rush and cover himself up, and then again when his stiff cock pokes through the opening in the front, virtually eradicating the purpose of wearing underwear in the first place. Unable to battle the hilarity of the situation, Tavian drops his chin and shakes his head, his chest trembling with stifled laughter.
Pushing up to my knees, I crawl to the edge of the mattress closest to where he stands and reach out to help him with his predicament. “For the record, Mr. West,” my fingers circle around his base and he sucks in a jagged breath, “I would never have known about this sorcery you speak of,” my tongue flicks around the swollen tip, “if it wasn’t for you teaching me. So really, it’s all your fault.”
When I finally draw him in between my lips, he groans and grabs my head, burying his fingers in my long, bed-tangled tresses. “Yep, totally my fault. I take full responsibility. Now stop talking and let’s see just how big we can build up our appetite for this never-ending bacon you keep threatening me with.”
And then, like almost every other morning of our marriage, we start the day with a mind-blowing orgasm and a mouth-watering omelet, only this time he uses triple the normal amount of bacon. After all, it is Baconpalooza.
“I still don’t understand how a major motion picture made in 2009 can have special effects that atrociously bad,” Tavian says as we effortlessly move in sync with each other around the kitchen, restocking our drinks and snacks before we start Eclipse, the third installment in the Twilight Saga.
Shockingly, his only complaint about the first two movies has been the subpar cinematography and terrible computer graphics, especially when Jacob and his crew shift from humans into werewolves. I honestly expected him to bail after the original ended, and with the less-than-stellar acting and obvious low budget, I wouldn’t have blamed him much. But he seems committed to his promise to watch the entire series with me as long as I keep bacon treats and cold beer in front of him.
“I warned you.” I chuckle as I twist the top off his Ultra then pop the tab on my soda. “They’re my most favorite bad movies ever. It doesn’t matter how many times Bella looks constipated or how awkwardly terrible the dialogue is, I can watch them over and over and over again.”
He grins and hands me a bowl of bacon-wrapped tater tots with Ranch dipping sauce. “I won’t tell Scorsese you’re cheating on him with B-list movies, if you don’t tell anyone I kind of like them so far. But I’ve gotta admit, I’m leaning Team Jacob at this point.”
“What?” I gasp, pretending to stumble backward from the punch his words pack. “I can’t believe you just said that. I may need to rethink this entire marriage.”
Tavian’s booming laugh echoes off the walls of our apartment as he swats my ass and motions for me to follow him back into the living room. “C’mon, Buttercup, before I need to rethink letting you wear any clothes while we watch the rest.”
Pure, unparalleled happiness courses through me at a bone-deep level, embedded in the marrow of my soul. From the moment we met, he’s challenged me to step out of my comfort zone and embrace the life I’ve been given, and now that I’m doing that—with him—I can’t imagine going back to the life I had before. I truly owe him my life, because without his persistence and determination in Spain, I probably would’ve gotten on the next flight home and continued on with my miserable existence until I died next April.
At least now I’m going out with some excitement. And sex. Lots and lots of sex.
For the rest of the afternoon and most of the night, we veg out on the couch, watching the sparkly Cullens and the rugged Quileute first battle each other, and then band together to defeat the evil Volturi, stopping only for food and drink refills, bathroom breaks, and the occasional make-out session. Funny how Edward splintering the bed into a million pieces on his honeymoon suddenly seemed much more arousing than the first fifty times I watched it.
By the time the ending credits of the final movie scroll across the ridiculously gigantic TV mounted on the living room wall, I’m fully stretched out on the couch with my head in Tavian’s lap, suppressing yawn after yawn. The drawback to waking up early is never being able to stay up late. I guess it’s a good thing I was never one for the night owl social life.
“Now who’s the sleepyhead?” Tavian teases, somehow managing to stand and lift me into his arms at the same time.
I smile sleepily up at him and nuzzle against his muscular chest while he walks us to our bedroom. Yes, our bedroom. Not once since I’ve been here have I ever felt like I’m a guest staying in his space, and no matter how much I loved my trendy little loft in Brooklyn, this is now my home. Tavian is my home.
“Before you pass out on me, Buttercup, I want to talk to you about something real quick,” he says as he carefully deposits me onto my side of the bed and then climbs in next to me on his.
With our faces only inches away from each other, my drowsiness miraculously fades and is replaced with nerves building over whatever he’s about to say. I have no idea where he’s going with this, but innately, when someone says they need to talk to you about something, worry and anxiety sets in.
“What’s up?” I ask timidly, not sure if I really want to know the answer.
He reaches out and smooths his hand atop my hair, his eyes soft and calm. “The night we discussed our bucket lists, everything got a little crazy after I asked you to marry me, and we never got back to the final thing on your list.”
My breath hitches and my pulse stalls. We weren’t supposed to revisit this. I’m happy with only crossing off four.
“So I found your list crumpled up in the garbage,” he continues, “and I’m sure you’d rather not have this conversation, but you wrote what you did for a reason.”
I press my hand to his chest and shake my head. “Tavian, it’s not necess—”
“You’re wrong. It is fucking necessary.” He grabs my wrist, careful not to hurt me, but forceful enough to show me he means business, and locks his electric blue gaze on mine. “If April 23rd of next year is in fact our date, we go with no regrets. No guilt, no uncertainty, no reservations. And if you want to go home to Houston one more time, whatever the reason is, then we’re there.”
“Tavian—” I try to argue, but once again, I’m shut down. This time with a bruising kiss.
“Sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas, Buttercup,” he murmurs against my lips. “You pick the date, or I will.”