Epilogue
She's never had the time to feel his lips on hers but in her dreams no taste was so divine. Their kisses were passionate, gentle, wild, sweet, equally forceful and tender as if the dream-Emma and Wade knew that they should take it all for the chance would be taken out of their hands.
His touch would burn her skin and sometimes when it also sent shivers the part of her flawless skin would cover itself in thousands of sparkling diamonds, making him chuckle and her blush because of the affect he obviously had on her.
He would caress her neck all the while leaving butterfly kisses along her collarbone. Then one of his large trained hands would move to cup her face and next moment she'd hear his whispers in her ear. Those barely audible words making the corners of her mouth turn slightly. She would brush her lips to the burning sweating skin of his cheek near the place where it met his ear and answer that she felt the same.
In his arms she would feel herself flying to the moon and back in a matter of seconds and at the same time the most down-to-earth alive she'd ever felt.
He would look at her with the same eyes, the same expression in them like he knew so much more but would guard her sweet ignorance, like he wished to tell her a million other things but preferred to jusr watch her and whisper calming nothings. He would shadow the weight of the world in his gaze so she would be left with illusion of safety.
And when her unconseous form would start feeling the morning breeze and the rizing sun caressing her ceramic-colored skin (although it would be shamed if compared to his touch), she'd beg him not to go, not to leave her. And he would smile, kiss her temple ever so lightly and wrap his arms around her slender waist, holding her closer to his chest, a single teal sliding down her cheek, wetting the pillow underneath.
In a matter of moments her eyes would snap open, breathing a bit havier then normal,
Emma would force herself to stand up and slide from the bed, making her way to the lighted kitchen. She'd sigh and would look as the rays of light brighted the streets below her, a few people at such hour, making their way somewhere.
All the while she'd be reaching into the fridge for juice, taking the eggs out, slicing bred for French toasts.
"You up early again." It's more a comment then a question.
She'd smile but not answer, handing him a glass of squeezed oranges.
"Thanks." He'd say one hand accepting the drink, the other reaching out for her and pressing to himself, his arms encircling her. She would squirm and wrap her her arms around his naked torso, or scratch his back with her nails just for the fun of an early morning, making the muscles on his back tense, or play with the bottom of his pajama pants. He'd tower over her delicate frame and kiss the top of her hair.
"Did you sleep well?"
She'd smile, snuggling closer to him, images of the dream flash in her mind:
"Never better, Remy, never better."
THE END