Bonus Epilogue
A little experiment
There is something wildly interesting about the universe. It’s called the observer effect. And while you may be thinking the observer effect is a scientific name for a Peeping Tom or a deranged stalker or a diabolical voyeur, it’s actually much less sinister and much more interesting.
See, in physics there is something called the double slit experiment. This experiment shows unequivocally that particles change their behavior when observed. Say you have particles running through the experiment with no one watching. They behave in one way. THEN, you run the particles through the experiment again and you (a human) observe them. What happens? The particles change. They alter their behavior.
The mere act of watching and observing causes a change in the nature of reality.
What does this mean? Is it that consciousness changes reality? That observing alters reality? That consciousness is required for reality to exist?
The observer effect goes back to the age-old question: if a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, did the tree make a sound?
Or in my case, if I eat the entire box of the dark chocolates Henry gave me for Valentine’s Day, but I don’t remember eating them (because I was too invested in Deep Space Nine), did I actually eat them?
I don’t think I did. I think the chocolates magically ate themselves.
“Henry,” I say, mournfully holding out the empty box of chocolates, “they’re gone. How is this possible?”
The rich, chocolate scent drifts between us. There were chocolate ganache truffles, caramel and sea salt chocolates, honeycomb praline truffles, raspberry coulis truffles, so many truffles. Now gone.
Henry peers at the empty wrappers and the gold foil in the box. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. We’re curled on the couch and the flickering light of the Deep Space Nine credits rolls over the living room.
Outside our frosted window, the evergreen and pine are bundled up in layers and layers of glistening white snow. The green boughs look like nodding, sloping-shouldered forest gnomes decked out in white sweaters and white fur hoods.
It’s cold outside. February in Geneva, on this side of our mountain, isn’t what you’d call balmy. But it is blue-skied, diamond white, and crisp aired.
Purrk lounges in a strip of sunlight falling across the wood floor. Cupid sprawls next to him, feet in the air, snoring quietly. I don’t blame Cupid, he’s worn out from the two corgi siblings we recently adopted from Kate’s rescue—Higgs and Boson. Named after the famed particle, of course.
The two puppies are little balls of fluff, rolled together in front of the wood stove. They rarely stop moving, but when they do, they sleep deep. This morning we took the dogs out for a romp in the fresh snow. They fell through the powder, hopped up, tunneled through banks and chased each other until they were tiny, four-legged snowmen with bright black eyes and flashing pink tongues.
The growing fire crackles and sends out homey smells that reminds me of hot tea and biscuits, hanging wet mittens and snow-covered scarves to dry, and cuddling with Henry on the couch under a pile of squirming puppies. It’s a happy kind of smell.
This is my favorite sort of weekend. Me watching Star Trek. Henry reading next to me. Relaxing after playing in the snow with exuberant puppies.
If only I had more chocolate.
“Would you like some of mine?” Henry asks, nodding to his still full box of white chocolate.
He laughs at the look I give him. He knows how I feel about white chocolate. It is not chocolate.
Cupid lets out an irritated sleepy moan and rolls over.
Valentine’s Day was a few days ago. And while it was amazing. Wonderful. The best. I’d been thinking.
“So…” I say, dropping the chocolate box to the coffee table.
“So?” Henry smiles when I take the book he’s reading, mark the page and set it on the coffee table next to the empty box.
“I’ve been thinking about the observer effect,” I say.
Henry tugs me closer and I settle into his side, sinking into the soft couch cushions. He twirls a strand of my hair around his finger and nods. “And?”
“Do you remember Wednesday, when…” I raise my eyebrows and Henry’s cheeks shade pink and his blue-gray gaze warms happily. He remembers.
If the pink in his cheeks and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes tell me anything, it’s that he remembers it fondly.
It’s Saturday afternoon. A perfectly lazy, snow bound day in our mountain cabin. Henry has weekend stubble, messy hair, and is in jeans and a long T-shirt. I’m in a sweater and cozy flannel lined pants.
This is important, because what we did Wednesday night involved a suit, a dress, and a red tie.
Business clothes.
I clear my throat.
Henry straightens. “So…” he tilts his head and a line forms between his eyebrows. He’s thinking. Following the trail of prints in the snow I left for him. After a few seconds he nods. “Ah. It was pitch black. Your eyes were closed—”
“Closed tight. I didn’t see a thing.” I agree. “It was like I was blindfolded. I didn’t observe a single thing. Not your tie. Not your hands. Not your mouth.”
“And regrettably, I couldn’t see either.” There’s laughter in his eyes. “Which means…”
“The observer effect. We should probably run an experiment. I think your tie, that thing you did with your tongue, that bit where you lifted me up and kissed my clit…would it change if we observed it? My hypothesis is, yes, our behavior will change. Definitely. Yes. But we should…check.”
“Right. A hypothesis should be tested. Many times.”
Gosh, he’s always been a quick study.
It’s why I fell in love with him the second we met and he offered me his coat.
Henry picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. He strides toward our bedroom and I grin at him when he kicks the door closed and without setting me down grabs his red tie from the closet.
“Many,” he says, dropping me to the bed, “many, many times. It’s a matter of science.”
I settle back into the bed, letting the smell of mint, apples, cedar and starlight fall around me. The sheets whisper against me as Henry kneels on the wood floor and tugs my pants free. My skin is left bare and puckering in the cold. Henry graps my ankles and then quests his hands over my calves, across the back of my knees, and up my thighs. A shivery warmth travels up my legs and curls in my core.
Henry trails a hand over the lace edge of my thong.
“Serena,” he says, his voice a soft, need-filled murmur. He presses his mouth over the lace and kisses me, holding my hips in place. I send my hands into his hair and curl my fingers tightly as his kiss extends.
Then suddenly, in the bright splash of afternoon sunlight, where we can see every blush, every flush of pink skin, every rosy nipple, every throb and erotic draw of breath—things change. We go from gentle want to unparalleled need.
Henry grasps my hips and flips me over. I reach behind me and yank him over me. His jeans scrape against my naked skin. His hardness presses me into the bed. His breaths come in harsh, jagged exhales and I can feel him shaking as he cages me against the mattress.
He drops the red tie. It’s forgotten. Instead, the focus of him is on the thrust of my hips as I rise back to meet him. My heart pounds, a wild, need-filled drumming. It’s a pulse that builds until I’m consumed by the dragging need of it.
I grip the bed sheets in my hands and press my cheek against the cool fabric. “Now,” I say, my voice ragged. “Now.”
Forget about ties. Forget about experiments and hypothesis. I just want the feel of Henry inside me. I just want the press of him over me. There’s the noise of a zipper. Henry’s sharp exhale. Then the weight of him. He grips my hips and tilts me up to meet him.
I clench as he thrusts inside. Filling me. Sunbursts and white spots clamber through my vision as he buries himself in me.
There’s no thought. No hesitation. It’s only give and take. Need and fulfillment.
His drops over me, the scrape of his jeans against my bare legs. The roughness of his stubble against my neck. His lips dragging over my skin. The heat of him plunging into me. The harsh exhales as he forgets everything but chasing the feeling.
It races through me, a glowing, growing, speed of light, sensuous pleasure. It fills me.
“Henry,” I say, “Henry, Henry, Henry.”
It’s a request. A need. A desire.
He tugs me up, tilting me so his thrusts go deeper. Hitting me so that each thrust makes a starburst light inside. Then he reaches around me and curls his finger over my clit. He sets a rhythm that drags a pleasure down my spine, around my abdomen, and into my very core. So that when he feels me tightening and contracting, he loses control and starts a wild, desperate rhythm.
I cry out, an orgasm ripped so suddenly from me that I can only be carried along as Henry loses the last of his control. He grips my hips, plunges deeper and dives into his one goal. Making this an orgasm that doesn’t end.
When he flips me over, lifts me, still inside and thrusts me against the bedroom wall, I don’t object. Instead, I grab his hair and pull his mouth to mine. The thump of my back against the wall is a desperate, urgent hard rhythm in direct contrast to the soft, seeking, loving feel of his worshipful mouth.
I bite his lip. At that, his soft, gentle kiss ends. Instead the thrust of his mouth mirrors the hard movement of him inside me. He caresses every inch of me. He grips the roundness of my hips. His shirt, his jeans are still on. His mouth is hot and his eyes are closed.
“Open your eyes,” I gasp, another orgasm building. “Open your eyes.”
He blinks his gray-blue eyes open. They’re glazed. Pleasure-soaked. Full of love.
He locks his gaze with mine.
When he does I cry out, another orgasm ripping through me. Watching me come, he can’t stop himself, observing changed the outcome, he follows me into oblivion.
I hold him tight, my hands buried in his shoulders as he empties himself into me. I kiss his lips, his jaw, his neck, then I look up at him again, connecting our gazes.
He smiles, his breath hard and ragged, as if he’d just run a dozen miles. “Ducky?”
“Hmm?” I ask, tingling and warm and happy.
“We’re still dressed.”
“Yeah.”
“We didn’t use ties or tongues.”
“True.”
“So…the hypothesis. The experiment.”
You could say it failed. Or you might say it wasn’t even tested. Fair enough.
“We should probably try again. With the tie and tongues. And clothes off,” I say.
Henry smiles. Presses a kiss to my mouth. When he pulls back his eyes are bright and clear. We still have hours of daylight left. And then we can always turn on the lights. For observation. For science.
“I love how your mind works,” Henry says, carrying me to the bed.
I grin up at him when he lays me down. He strips off his jeans and shirt, then holds the red tie up for me to see.
Did I ever mention how much I love that tie?
I smile and say happily, “Little did she know, her ordinary life was about to change.”
Henry laughs. “And we haven’t even gotten to the good part.”
I reach up, tug him over me and pull him in for a kiss. “It’s all the good part.”
Henry smiles into my kiss. “Yes, it is.”
And that is the best part of all.
