The deathly regents

Chapter Two

Choose your words wisely
Hope
I woke up earlier than him. Again. Lewis' hot even breath tickled the
gentle skin of my naked back under the neck. His hand was on my breast–our favorite position of sleeping. My left arm was in agony from the prolonged lying on it, but I didn't want to disturb my husband's sleep. Millimeter by millimeter I was slowly shifting to a more comfortable posture.
His breathing pattern changed, hinting at the slow awakening. My plan to let him sleep a little more before the most important day in his life came had failed. Lewis was still half asleep when his soft full lips with a small scar right in the middle of the upper one touched my spine, giving me pleasant chills.
"Good morning, love," he whispered into the flesh of my body, warmed by his breathing, and kissed again.
I turned to kiss him back, rustling the sheets beneath my nudity. My hands were traveling on his face with the prickly, two-day-old stubble. At the moment the pads of my fingers groped for the familiar spots under the soft earlobes, I cupped the sharp jawline and tenderly pulled him toward me.
"Morning, my darling."
The tip of his cold nose brushed my cheek, and Lewis buried his face in
the curve of my neck, inhaling the scent of the persistent expensive perfume he'd presented me with for our fifth anniversary two days ago. I liked the magnificent notes of vanilla and patchouli it'd left on my waist-length hair.
Getting out of his warm and strong arms, I pulled away the duvet, dressed in a smooth, atlas cover, and placed my bare foot on the hard and cool parquet flooring.
"Where are you going?" his still husky voice sounded somewhere behind.

The second foot touched the floor, and I stood up with my back turned to him, revealing my naked ass, "To the bathroom. The second pack of chips was too much. I really love lime and chilly flavor, but waking up in the middle of the night out of the excessive thirst and the overfilled bladder in the morning drives me insane."
I turned left and made three moves to reach the wooden lacquered chest of drawers by the west wall of our small bedroom. Sliding on the surface with furrows from the brush and sloppy deepening, my hands found the plastic, rough handles of the second drawer from the top and pulled it out. I felt the ties of my knit sleeveless jumpsuit and retrieved it to put on, escaping from the cool claws of the last of Fierce day air.
"Don't," purred Lewis, "You look striking with no clothes on."
I shrugged, lifting up the synthetic straps on my chiseled, according to my husband, shoulders. "I'm blind. I can't see how I look."
"But I can."
He could. His eyes were able to spot a microscopic piece of anything. Lewis had a worthy of envy talent to describe things and people and was keen on doing it. He'd detailed me so many times I knew what each of my tiny moles and wrinkles looked like. Once I'd asked him to describe the turquoise color because I'd never seen that before. I'd been six when I'd lost the ability to see and hadn't been able to recall a lot of what I'd remembered, especially colors. Nobody had ever explained to me what turquoise looked like. Or any other colors.
Nobody.
Except Lewis.
We'd been smoking weed on the balcony of our common acquaintance's
house when I'd asked him to do it, thinking he'd fail like everyone before him. But Lewis had burst into amazing pure laughter and had said, "A piece of piss, Hope."

That'd been the moment he'd interested me.
"Have you ever been by the sea during a storm?"
I'd had no will to make it easy. And neither to complicate. "Perhaps,"
I'd managed.
Lewis had chuckled. "Then you, perhaps, felt the spray of sea waves on
your face."
Again, "Perhaps."
"And smelled the salt in the fresh air."
That'd been the moment I'd noticed that I had been nodding all the time. "This is the way I imagine turquoise, Hope–the splash of salty water in
the ozoned air."
That'd been the moment I'd fallen in love with him.
The king-size bed squeaked when Lewis made his way to me. I'd never
felt anything more exciting and seductive as my man's scent, and when he reached me, the smell drugged me again, and I smiled, leaning back on his jacked, hairy chest. He slid a strap away, letting it fall down my arm freely. The touch was so mild.
"Wait a few minutes," I asked Lewis, adjusting the jumpsuit, "I'll get washed and be back to help you with the speech, my newly minted rector."
He was eloquent, no doubt, but when it came to public speaking, my husband acted like an insecure teenager in an attempt to invite the most beautiful and popular ample-bosomed star of the school to prom. The way he stuttered was so cute I couldn't help melting.
"Three minutes," Lewis whispered into my shoulder. "Five."
"Four."
"Lewis."
He pecked my forehead, "Five. Four fifty-nine. Four fifty-eight."