Page 24 of The Facilitator: Part 3
I made love to my wife, slowly, gently, and with every ounce of my soul. I kissed her tenderly, I told her I loved her, and when we both came, we fell asleep in each other arms, not before removing the still vibrating cock ring, of course.
Chapter Seven
“Oh, Mackenzie,” she said when I’d presented the bag of makeup. “You’ve really thought of everything.”
We had been sitting at the table having breakfast, still in our robes. She’d showered, I was yet to. Lauren could wear no makeup and still be beautiful, not that she agreed. She saw every wrinkle and freckle as a blemish, I saw them as a life lived and loved.
“We have a tour arranged for this morning, lunch, and then sightseeing,” I said.
I gave her the tickets for the exhibition and she squealed. “How did you manage to get them, they sold out ages ago?” she asked.
“Thank the concierge, he did,” I replied, giving credit where it was due.
“What an amazing day planned,” she said, clutchingthe tickets to her chest. “I have comfortable shoes, don’t I?”
“You have jeans and your Converse, although I didn’t check to see if they were a matching pair,” I confessed, suddenly having a thought.
“Oh well, my heels go just as well with jeans,” she said.
“And then tonight…” I handed her another set of tickets for The Royal Opera House.
“No way,Madam Butterfly?” she said, turning them over in her hands. “And a box?”
I nodded. Gabriella was the opera buff and I’d attended a few with her in the past. I’d grown to love it over the years but hadn’t seen one for a while. I’d remembered Lauren mentioningMadam Butterflyand her love of the music, although getting tickets had been hard. I’d only heard that morning when they were slipped under the door that we had.
She raced around the table and hugged me. She kissed my temple, my cheek, and then my mouth. She tasted of tea and I chuckled.
“How about an open-topped bus?” she said and I nodded. “I’ve never been a tourist in London, isn’t that terrible?”
“Neither have I. We could go see the Crown Jewels.”
With our day set out, I showered while she dressed. “Where’s the cock ring?” she called out and I laughed. It wasn’t everyday I heard that said.
“Don’t know, look under the bed,” I suggested.
“Found it.” She walked into the bathroom and washed it in the sink. Smiling, she waved it around the air and left the room.
She stored away my purchases in the wardrobe, in my suit carrier, after wrapping them in a pair of my socks. “There, secure as the Crown Jewels,” she said, laughing.
I shook my head and dressed.
A taxi was waiting to take us over to the Saatchi Gallery. We lined up and when it was our turn, we marveled at the exhibition. She took lots of photographs with her phone, including a selfie alongside the replica of his coffin.
We took our time walking through the exhibition, finally arriving at the last room and exiting back into the sunshine. I took Lauren’s hand in mine as we walked through Chelsea. We sat outside a café and drank coffee. She raised her face to the sun and just soaked in its rays.
“Do you remember when you saw me sitting on that bench?” she said, reminding me of when I’d actually stalked her to know where she was that day.
I chuckled. “I knew you were there,” I said.
“Mackenzie Miller, you are man of confessions lately, aren’t you? How?”
“I knew where you lived and I stood outside your apartment house for ages, wondering if I should call up. Anyway, the security guard started to get suspicious and told me, in no uncertain terms, he’d call the police if I didn’tfuck off. So I did. I got in my car and as I was about to drive away, I saw you,” I said, laughing at the memory.
“Bloody hell,” she replied, and, thankfully, laughed.
“I was smitten. I still am,” I said.
She shook her head gently and took my hand in hers. She raised it to her lips. “I don’t think anyone has ever loved me as fiercely as you do,” she whispered.
