➳ Don't grow up too fast

And don't embrace the past ➳

--- *** ---

--- The Next Morning ---

--- 25th of December, 1964 ---

Once the very wee hours of the morning after bled in the relentlessly deft daylight episode's dawn, looming on the wintery grizzly horizon and accompanying the magnificently bountiful torrent of tiny alabaster snowflakes' sweetly lenient dance in the thin air. The unforgettably unspeakable, vastly ferocious frigid gale starkly blew a kiss to the galore of surroundings, reckoning the rich diversity of torrent of ominously nude trees towering the countryside's panorama like flock of preternaturally monumental titans formidably enclosing the former aspiring Monsignor's two-story house. The daylight grizzly light pierced the windows' amenable panes, altruistically kind stroking the naturally illuminated space in the rooms and banishing the sinisterly unwelcoming ebony darkness that has saturated the corners of the rooms, whilst despodentnly studious witnessing the dwellers' daily life and absorbing their utterly utmost attention in the raw panorama.

The night before was remarked as one of the most siginificant days ever in your lives as two of kinds with their own outstandingly mystic purposes, dreams and hopes. Not only you celebrated the Christmas Eve's day all alone behind the very walls of the two-story house in the promisingly inviting, doting snuggles on the couch in the living room, but also the pearly precious proposal that accompanied agitatedly the game you had decided to play, in addition to the alcohol taking a severe toll on both of you.

When the older gentleman came to his senses in the very hours of the morning and writhing his larger frame to release himself from the hypodermically balmy, promising snuggle you traded the last night by drifting off asleep on the couch instead hopping up in the king-sized bed upstairs, consequently the emphatic unfastening process of the doting grasp and the genuine epitome of lovingly reassuring sanctum you were swathed of a pair of masculinely strong, muscly arms, mildly simmered the subconsciously sheer frustration. Little did you know what time it was except the crude circumstance of the daylight episode's dawn symptoms, which were far cry from arcane such as your widely shut eyelids preventing the scintillatingly dazzling silver light embrace your filtered prospect. The unnerving tick of the elapsing seconds into minutes, minutes into hours was ineludibly versatile process as well.

In order to not flee the living room with fiercely razor-edge pangs of conscience chasing him down on his mission to no longer populate the site's corners, consequently the indubitably dreamless destination to upstairs to snatch a conveniently warm woolen quilt from his bedroom endured no more than a handful of minutes to bedaub his cozily slipper-clad feet against the floor. The sheer elaboration of the unremittingly restless whispers against the floor didn't catch you off guard, whereas you managed to flip on the other side and dimly readjusting your sleeping posture eventually. The convenient softness of the sofa's fabric carrying the weight of your petite frame didn't fail to linger the hedonistic contentment, subconsciously channelizing to flood your tensely tender muscles to outweigh your haughty ambition to rise from the ashes, and mark the beginning of your daily routine's dynamic roller coaster.

In a long minute of solitude and your slumber bled into a reckless beauty coma, authentically discrete soothing your very muscles and mind, thereafter, the British aristocrat hurled downstairs in the hair-raisingly obdurate process of tiptoeing to the imminent destination, while poising the comfy woolen amber quilt sprawled leniently on his broadly muscular shoulder blade as one of his mammoth hands' pristinely long fingers dexterously balled the quilt's edge. When he marched to the furniture and your senseless body, thereafter, he discarded the entity from his shoulder blade and maneuvered with his virginally potent, nimble fingers to sprawl gingerly the rigidly inviting fabric to blanket your shoulders and below. It felt like a heavenly genuine paradise to be pampered by nobody than the former devotional member of the clergy and to be under his care, swathing his flimsy heart in a gilded benevolence for sacrificing modicum of his time to award you with unavoidably wholehearted comfort.

An angelically heavenly, wide smile tugged at the corner of his naturally baby-pinkish, lusciously plumpish lips as his chocolate brown optics fixated on the prospect of his rare bird's beauty coma. He deemed you as an untouchable angel. His only angel. His one of a kind treasure he pearly cherished every ounce of your very existence and presence tinting his eyesight as it was painted with the vividest brush.

"Sleep well, sweetheart!" The huskily alleviating honey-mouthed undertones of the former holy priest's sweet coo plummet down inevitably the decibels of his whisper as his warm breath faintly fanned your earlobe, whilst leaning down and meagerly inching his freshly young-looking, healthily palish façade that maintained a modest distance with yours. Even though your insensate condition and the megawatt immobility of your very muscles to reciprocate to the British aristocrat's affectionately feather ballad and his warm breathing diabolically teasing fiddling your tender flesh, the suddenness of a dexterously weak, sunshiny smile tweaked energetically at the corner of your motionless mouth didn't startle the middle-aged man. "I will prepare the breakfast and the coffee, instead of fatiguing your very being with such petty tasks." Seconds before hurling to the kitchen, therefore Timothy pressed an affectionately mellow, welcoming peck to your moderately warmish forehead as his pale-pinkish chapped lips resiliently hair-splitting scuffed the fleshy layer of your skull.

--- *** ---

--- An Hour Later or So ---

An hour later, the pitiful crop the time harvested to indicate its authentically majestic progress and dividing the daily episodes' twilight, subsequently you endured the breakfast through the eternally restless, blunt discussions that partly interrupted your process of finishing your grilled sandwiches. The opulence of ruthlessly blunt meowed blatantly hedonistic slurps of the caffeine beverages and the meal purified the barefacedly minatory hush strangling the very walls of the kitchen and the luxurious format of your duo you traded with the former aspiring Monsignor to fuel the domestically cozy ambience, interpreted in the frequency of your conversations and your roars piercing the background's stationariness.

The vengefully villainous, pungnent fragrance of freshly brewed coffee and burnt grilled sandwich transfused your tiny flexible nostrils enthrallingly as if a victoriously powerful sorcerer has casted a hex on one of his most amenable preys of his fantastically breathtaking magic.

Once you finished your essential meal, according to your daily routine, thus you approached the counter and be on your mission to diligently wash the aftermaths of the breakfast.

"Rara avis, you don't have to do this!" Suddenly, the infirmness of the coffee-stained breathing fondly stroking your scalp, while molting in the everlastingly promising brace of the pair of masculinely muscular arms securing your middle, and your brittle dainty fingers of one of your hand worked on twisting the faucet on to reward the dry kitchen sink surface to be drenched with the ethereally restless cataract of jet water. Two mugs with brownish residues cocooned their very surfaces along bountiful layer of glossy greasiness-smeared-clad plates which once used to be to carry the weightless effigies of the refreshingly hot grilled sandwiches. A gloriously iron-willed smirk inexorably wide flourished on your roseate cherub lips, squinting up your E/C roundish moons at the rich medley of hot jet water splashing against the empty plates' sticky veeners and the mugs. "You can do something else than-"

"Shu, shu, sweetie! I can take care of the leftovers of our breakfast." Cutting him off politely as your strawberry-coloured, wet tongue crafted a low hum thrusting your rose-coloured mouth, whereas your spidery fingers crooked around the lathered sponge, the meliflous chant of your honey-mouthedly jubilant snickers teased your oral slits. The ultimate distraction from one of your eminent chores entirely emulated to a fiasco to delay your brief mission to wash the categorically soaked items in the kitchen sink. The genuine sentiment of a twain of big coffee brown moons lancing a troop of bullets searing your body especially the back of your skull's anatomy, numbering your H/L mop of immaculately silken H/C locks plastered on your brainpan, bone-chillingly haunted you and yet bestowed you opulence of indulgence as you have always candidly appreciated your partner's unconditional goodwill and his supernatural enchantment of your beauty and persona gathered together. "You are so obsessed with taking care of my chores instead of doing something more specific out there."

"I am not always obsessed with taking care of your chores, Y/N!" Seconds before the lathered sponge to contact and ethereally timeless scrub the sinisterly hideous layers of greasiness and caffeine-stained sludge, meantime, you maneuvered your front pearly-white teeth to nibble your lower angelically cherubic lip at the woefully sarcastic timbre of your fiancé tingled alarming tones in your ears. A gingerly feather-soft peck buttoned the top of your brainpan categorically doting, while leashing tighter his mammoth strong hands pawing your middle as his virginally clumsy fingers fiddled the hem fabric of your sweater. "Don't be silly what your train of thoughts is reciprocating to your illusions!"

"What illusions?" Manipulating your pristine spidery fingers to soap strong-willed the plates and the cups as a superabundant fountain of foam in the form of soap bubbles shrouded exquisitely the entities, the gentle brush of the older gentleman's mouth to the nape of your neck as he leaned down to seal the humble gap of proximity of his oval profile and your swan expanse. Rolling your E/C depths at his woeful sarcasm, which didn't fail to grace you with a healthily guttural, melodious snortles surging your oral slits and struggling your oral slit to elaborate the mindless groan, due to the sultry kiss lingering on the nape of your neck, whereas the former religious holy man's snortle suffocated the monstrously steamy peck assaulting your throat. "Do you think there is something wrong with me?"

"No!" The hoarseness of Timothy's encouragingly honeyed purr blasted series of paradoxal chills waltzing your spine until his kisses assaulting your neck didn't escalate rabidly rapid, following the preternaturally unhallowed heart rate's amplification and the heart pulses' gruesomely unhinged thrashes in your ribcage. "You are perfect the way you are, my rare bird!"

"Your goodwill never fails to astonish me in every single way, Tim!" Cocking back your head at the intoxicatingly insatiable neck kisses sidetracking you from your plain chore, consequently you tossed carelessly the lathered sponge in the kitchen sink and drenched the plates, and the mugs fleetly by settling them comfortably to the other washed entities eventually. "Holy shit! You drive me to pure insanity." Mewling unmercifully blatant your confession at the top of your lungs as the shallow breath hardly allowed you to catch your breath for a single second, the foggy breathless torrent fueled your lungs and suppressing your fragile lungs' persistent function, whilst drenching your hands and turning the faucet off to halt the weightless cataract of jet water pelting down the very surface.

"Do you like it?"

"Definitely!" Shortly after wiping your hands in the rigid kitchen towel and balling it barbarically until you managed to toss it in the trash bin, thus you spun and reclined against the counter as your elbows poised your petite frame. The potent tension of your stubbornly stable eye contact's maintenance abraded your twain of E/C adamants impaled his warm cinnamon brown as if a despondently helpless wild animal confronted one of his worst foes and spending their last moments of the resiliently silent duel of their tremendously intensifying eye contact in scanning one another's façades before the call of arms' final command to bark at them. The art of eye contact. The ineffably unspeakable tension monstrously magnetic reinforced your duo's formation of your adamants perforating like hasty bullets. "Very much!" At the moment, one of his colossal veiny hands registered to reach for your refreshingly youthful complexion as a handful of fingers grappled your delicate chin to tilt your head, dawdling the bone-chillingly obdurate, everlasting ogles. Now, his other hand clawed your waist and you manifested to toss your satin arms to brace his muscular, megawatt upper back for extra support. In the meantime, your complexions meagerly inched, during the uniquely phenomenal ogles' link. "Sweetheart, you are the handsomest man I have ever laid eyes on and the most kindhearted I have always had the chance to get to know."

"I am more than honored to be the reason of your euphoria and to change your life neatly!" The haphazardness of his adroit motion to lace his virginally long, slim fingers through your fistful of H/C flawlessly lustrous locks blighted you to melt in his gentlemanly manners, and pearly treasuring how much he likes every discrete detail about your physique and frontage. A girlishly self-conscious giggle grinded on recalcitrant your wet tongue, whilst you struggled to abrade your blizzard of thoughts persistently neat. Meanwhile, Timothy channelized his front ivory teeth to nip his bottom deliciously plump lip. "You are actually the beauty there. I have never met much more open-minded and benevolent even unique woman than you."

The sole response you could award the former pious member of the church was a meek bob of your head in strong agreement until you sealed your lips in a hardening steamy kiss and pinching widely shut your eyelids to molt solemnly in the authentically romantic moment. Series of bluntly childlike, hungry groans and moans bubbled from your shallow lungs as your fingers tenderly traced and toyed with the garment's fabric, admiring its authenticity formatting its outstanding design and fabric. The arrantly arduous satisfaction of your digits and fingertips cradling the contoured muscules shrouded in cryptic attire didn't cease to highlight his remarkable masculinity.

As soon as the kiss progressed in an unavoidably luscious, consequently the inescapable reconctre of the adroitly zealot berry-coloured tongues commenced poking each other, weighing off their headstrong domination until you managed to reach for his scalp to rake anxiously his short mop of silken chestnut strands between your fingers, and his tongue won its domination by plugging it inside your mouth and deepening the process into a French kiss. Unlike one of his hands, nevertheless, his other hand's handily slim fingers twiddled softly your pelvis.

"Holy fuck, honey! That is so hot."

"I have never done it ever before." Then his pale-pinkish mouth slithered sloppily to your expanse to suckle bloodthirstily relentless the tender flesh between his teeth and peppering galore of promisingly inviting smooches. Breathy insecurity prominently sprawled his northern lilt, puncturing his reckless moan foaming his sharp jaw. "I don't know if I am doing it well." Stilling his sharp teeth to suckle the soft skin of your neck enforced you to cock back your head as you raked his chestnut hair yet.

"You don't have to worry about this, because I am also in the same position. Why don't we try?" At the moment, your folds were desperately drenched, conveying its friendly reminder to plead for his hard crotch to refill the patchy hollow as you have never been intimate with anybody else.

In a long minute of stripping off each other's attires slowly but surely as the sheer freedom of peeling off the fabric from your fleshy anatomies, besides discarding the garments and accumulating its sufficient pile ghosting the tiled floor, throughout the process of wearing even a meager attire to hug your most intimate parts, the pure nudity was ultimately embracing one another's vistas.

Positioning his hard member at your entrance as you have broadly spread your legs and dangling them circa his muscly hips for additional comfort, besides your dainty fingers delicately knitting the nape of his neck, his mammoth hands perched on your pelvis as you have scarcely readjusted your seating posture on the counter. Granting yourselves seconds before the initial phenomenal catharsis, thus the first solid thrusts emulated to a sore affliction, although the former devotional clergyman's insisting attempts to not hurt you and subconsciously surveying in a scrutiny your whole physique to acknowledge the stark stoicism melding a severe pleasure that spotlighted your feminine facial attributes.

Within a handful of thrusts, miraculously, you accommodated to the versatile pace and the ineludibly heavy contraction of your vaginal walls wrapped his erected shaft, escorting gracefully the series of extremely humpbacked, monotonous groans and moans colliding with the very walls of the site.

"I love you very much to death, sweetheart!"

"I love you way more than you can imagine, my rara avis!" All of a sudden, Timothy manifested to buckle the modest distance your faces exchanged to engulf in a preternaturally endless, heartwarming kiss as you dragged your moderately trimmed fingernails to graze his muscly back downward. "You are brilliant."

"You are way more fantastic. Trust me!" Within several thrusts, the climaxes were approaching anxiously until the middle-aged gentleman dumped his alabaster seed in your core and removed his erected member from your entrance instantaneously as your bare toes curled up at the sharply versatile motion, accompanying a soar lump seething wrathfully your feminine Adam apple and hardly inhaling beyond peacefully even modicum of the remaining oxygen. 

✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝✝

✝  And lastly, here we go with the smut as I have solemnly promised in the later chapters, where the things are getting swelteringly exciting. ✝

✝  What are your actual predictions for the impending chapters? ✝

✝  Once the impending chapters air out, subsequently you will find out if your answers you are eagerly looking for are actually reciprocated.✝

✝  Don't forget, if you have truly enjoyed and liked the chapter to award it with your support, which is cordially appreciated such as a honest feedback of your impressions and thoughts poured even in one sentence! ✝