Moving Forward

It was a quiet morning when Layla woke up to the sound of the love of her life cooking in the kitchen. She had an exam next week that she needed to study for, and he had gotten into the habit of cooking her a delicious breakfast whenever she was nervous for her exams.

She had applied to art school a while ago after he encouraged her to do so. It was something she always dreamed of doing, but she never actually thought her life would turn out the way it did. On most days she thought she would never do anything memorable in her life even if she tried. Art school had always been too out of reach for her when she was a teenager, and attempting to sell her art and work at the same time to save enough money to move out of her parents' house became too much.

Now that she was out, and she was okay, and she could afford to go to school without worrying about anything else—she could be a normal girl having a normal college experience.

It was exactly a year ago when she got accepted, and this was her second year. Jess had asked her if they could move in together, then he moved in with her the next day since she wasn't willing to move out of her place.

On a random Monday, she had woken up and found him already staring at her.

Her hair was a mess, she had morning breath, and she was still so sleepy when he signed the words, "I want you to be my wife so bad."

She stared back at him. It wasn't the first time he brought up the topic of marriage, he let it slip casually on many occasions. He'd say things like, "On our wedding day, I think I wouldn't want any kids there." Or, "How many groomsmen do I get? Is there a limit?"

Truthfully, she wasn't into weddings the way Jess was, but it made him strangely happy to plan things about their wedding, and she liked seeing him so excited. Her only request was for it to be an intimate ceremony.

The thought of weddings only started occurring to her because of him, he made her so happy that it felt okay to want things for herself. Her thoughts about them now were that she might like a small gathering with no more than thirty people in the middle of August with a dress-to-impress theme.

"You are very impatient." She laughed.

"I am," he signed with a proud expression on his face. "Of course I can't wait to call you my wife."

"You already do that, but now is not the right time." Jess gave a very exaggerated before pinching her nose. "Will you massage my feet? They're particularly sore because someone made me go jogging yesterday."

"I'll do whatever you ask," he signed as he wiggled closer to her feet. "How is therapy? How are you feeling during your sessions? I know it's not easy for you to talk in detail about a lot of things."

He was right. If she was being quite honest, she had never liked the idea of therapy and she always thought it was useless, but seeing the difference it made on Jess's mental health was incredibly encouraging for her.

"You know what's something that I found incredibly hard for me to talk about?" she signed.

"What?" he paused the massage to sign back.

"My homeland. It was so easy for me to tell you stories about it, so I thought it would be easy to open up. I thought my childhood was a tragedy, but my tragedy has always been my homeland. My tragedy is also the unbearable longing I feel in my bones for it. It's why I walk around with a hole in my chest because my homeland is everywhere—in the oranges, in the olives. In the sunbirds and in watermelon. It's everywhere and yet, it's never close enough."

Jess pulled her into his chest, and he kissed her shoulder then her cheeks. It was truly a wonderful thing, what therapy and a hug from a man with huge biceps could do to a girl.

Layla was surprisingly happy, especially during the most mundane moments between them. Moments like when he gets out of the shower and she watches him do his skincare routine, moments when he watches her paint, or moments when they just did laundry together. She never thought she would love doing laundry with anyone.

"What can we do to make you feel better? Should we go to your grandparents' house?" he asked her, and she rolled her eyes.

She adored him, but every time she complained about anything, he would go into problem-solving mode, like her small complaint could end the world.

"You don't have to solve everything, you know that, right?" she signed.

"Shut up," he signed back, then he bit her nose with a little force, enough to make her push him away. He really liked biting her for some reason, and she found it both strange and endearing.

"I don't like you," she replied, rubbing her nose.

"I'm going to take a shower, feel free to join me."

Jess and Layla were becoming an obnoxious couple. That's what he thought about as he stomped over to the shower feeling annoyed that she already took a shower, which meant she wasn't going to be glued to him while he showered.

Jess thought they'd probably develop separation anxiety at some point, even though they tried really hard not to.

She had her art, her schoolwork, and her family and friends; he had his team, his writing, and his friends. They did their own separate things, but it did not stop them from trying to sync their schedules as much as they could. It didn't stop his horrible mood if he didn't get five more minutes with her, one more kiss from her lips, or one more orgasm out of her.

He loved how obvious and intentional she was with the way she loved him. He could see it in her eyes all the time. Sometimes when they went shopping and lost each other, he would go looking for her and find her already searching for him. She'd start blushing like she got caught doing something bad before giving a small smile.

"You love me," he'd sign as soon as he got closer to her.

"I was just looking for you because you're paying," she would say, her cheeks still a little red as her hand reached for his bicep.

He finished his shower very quickly and texted his team that he was going to be a little late so they'd cover for him.

Come to my office , he texted his lovely future wife before running to said office.

Why? her reply came.

Don't you get horny around this time? He already knew the answer. Hurry, I can't be too late.

Are you calling me predictable?

He rolled his eyes as he read her text. She was not predictable at all when it came to sex—she loved trying new things all the time, but he knew she loved his office more than any other spot. She also loved messing it up, throwing around whatever was on his desk, and then later putting everything back in place. She loved the couch, and she loved the view behind it, but mainly she liked being bossed around in this room.

Layla, just come to my fucking office. I'll eat you out, and then I'll head out.

"Don't order me around. I don't work for you, and let's not forget that I'm your muse! You spend so much time writing your book in that office because I'm your muse," she said loudly, he could hear her as she was running up the stairs.

A pause, then, "I'm here, though. You better make it worth my time."

As soon as his lips touched hers, it was bliss. He was going to be on cloud nine the whole day, and he knew it.

Layla was pulling at her shirt, tugging it over her head, flinging it down onto the floor. Then she was touching him, touching his chest, his shoulders, his abs, and his neck with her soft hands. Next he was thrusting into her center, between her thighs, but he was still wearing too much damn clothing.

She pulled him back for another quick kiss, and he sucked her lower lip into his mouth. He pulled her hair back to have more room to devour her neck.

Her head fell back, and a moan was ripped from her throat. Layla's body helplessly jerked and twitched against him as he kissed and teased her like he was starving for her. He touched her like he was unable to keep his hands away from her for too long.

He did not have the time to take his clothes off and then wear them again, so this would have to do.

And Jess did as he was asked; he made it worth her time.