Chapter 18 – The Memory Of Touch
She picked up the powder blue shirt; her stomach doing flip-flops as she deeply inhaled the manly scent of his cologne that lingered everywhere.
She closed her eyes as she clutched the shirt more tightly, pulling it to her chest. She inhaled his strong scent once more, sighing at the memories and feelings that his mere scent invoked in her.
She sat on the bed, shirt still clutched tightly to her chest. She closed her eyes and her head swarmed with memories of their first time…the memory of the simplest touches that escalated into so much more.
The doorknob clicked open with a sigh on John Cena's part.
John Cena walked through the door, peeling his emerald green jersey off his body and throwing it on the floor. He unbuckled his black leather belt – which only served the purpose of looking good, and had naught to do with actually keeping his pants up. He pulled it out of his denim belt loops, dropping it on the floor, and kicking his jeans away once they reached his ankles.
He lay on the bed with nothing but red silk boxers.
One of his arms slipped around and snaked around his wife's waist. She snuggled up closer to him and he buried his face deep into the crook of his neck, rubbing her bare tummy under her gray tank top.
He licked her neck, turning them both so that they could lie on their sides.
He murmured a whispered apology against her collarbone and pulled her pale blue sweatpants away from her body as she worked her tank top over her head.
His head moved in towards hers and their lips locked passionately.
He removed her black underwear with a measly flick of the wrist, the small piece of silk falling away fluidly.
He pulled his own boxers away, to which the redhead responded by flipping them over once more so that this time she was on her back and he was on top of her, his entire weight resting on his elbows.
He plunged deep into her, the both of them almost exploding right then.
This was what they had waited for their whole lives, this was new and old mixed together…this...this was the memory of touch…
She stepped into the porcelain bathtub, sighing contently when John pulled her bare back to his bare chest.
His hands massaged her back, lightly scattering kisses over the bare flesh of her neck, as she moaned, turning around and melting in his more than capable arms.
She awoke from her nap 2 short hours later as the most uncomfortable feeling she could ever think of overcame her and she emitted an unusually high-pitched shriek immediately at her horrid discomfort and her husband awoke with only one question for her: "Where's the fire?" he asked groggily, still not fully aware of his current surroundings and his state of undress. "The babies…there's something wrong with the babies…my water just broke…" she said, clutching herself in pain.
"Nuh-uh Red." He said, his brow furrowed. "It's too early for the babies…an' I'm talkin' three weeks early here Amy. This can't be good…" He said, scratching his chin.
Something was terribly wrong and they both had a strong feeling that they would find out very soon…very soon indeed…