Hi guys! I'm really excited to start "The Girls Only" multi-chapter fic! If you don't know the background of this, read "The Bellie Stories" first. There's also a Tenley story on my tumblr (16confessions), that will give you even more background for where this is going. I don't want to put it up here, yet, because that might end up as part of this fic. This is just a short prologue, for now. I know where this is going, but I don't quite know Chapter 1, yet. Hold on tight, this is going to be a tough one.
Do you remember Paris, mon amour? You had to talk me into it, because Tenley was only 10 months old.
We never had a honeymoon. We just made a baby on our wedding night and went back to work after three days of sex.
Romantic. You wanted to do something romantic with me, you said. We had two baby girls, and hardly had time for romance, anymore. Did we ever?
We entrusted the girls to our parents for a week each, and went to Paris. The first week, we did a lot of sightseeing. The Eiffel Tower, the Notre-Dame de Paris Cathedral, L'arc de Triomphe, Champs-Élysées, we saw it all. And you let me call them every night. But the second week, oh, that second week.
We spent three whole days in bed in the penthouse suite at Le Hôtel Fouquet. You spoke French to me as we made love. We ordered room service if we were hungry, and if I wanted an éclair from the little café across the street you'd walk there.
It was right outside our bedroom window. One day I watched you walk back. I was sitting on the windowsill wearing a sheet and you blew kisses up at me from the street. I caught them and laughed, and laughed and laughed; it was so unlike you. So gloriously unlike you.
When you returned, you threw the bag on the table and unwrapped me slowly, leading me to bed. I escaped the sheet and danced away from you with a twirl. But you caught me and whispered that you were the boss, as you carried back, and threw me on the mattress.
You devoured me completely. I never thought I'd feel more pleasure than my wedding night, but in bed in Paris, I realized that even after three years of marriage, you still had things to teach me.
And we still had dreams to share. Between orgasms, we whispered them to each other; places we wanted to go, people we wanted to see, surgeries we wanted to watch.
For hours, I forget about them, my beautiful girls. Their spit up. And temper tantrums. And picky eating habits. And screaming, And dirty diapers. And the crayon on the walls.
For hours, I was just April. Just your wife. Nothing else to anyone. I forgot I wanted to call, forgot there was anyone to call.
Get me out of here, Jackson. Take me back to Paris.