Not that I need to hear myself think. I’ve been thinking the same thing since Bianca told us to leave her.
How do I get back to her?
But I couldn’t just barge in there. Not after she asked for some space.
So I put on the darkest clothes I brought with me and walked to the church. Or rather, to the small house a few yards behind it where the priest lives. It’s a lovely house, small, two stories, white picket fence, a big garden, with roses and such blooming everywhere.
I could just sneak in there, smother the bastard in his sleep and it would all be done. He probably doesn’t even lock his doors. And I think the old me would’ve done it. The one who always acted on his desires first and asked for forgiveness later. And I didn’t actually ask for forgiveness that often.
I’ve betrayed my whole family. But I couldn’t live with myself if I betrayed Bianca.
And that simple little fact is what kept me from going into the priest’s house.
It probably should’ve also kept me from knocking on her door when I returned to the motel. But here I am, standing in front of her door in the darkness, hoping she’ll answer my knocking. Hoping she’ll let me in.
I can see the bluish light of the computer screen through the narrow cracks where the blackout drapes meet the wall so I know she’s still awake. But she’s not coming to the door.
I knock again, although I’m already resigned to spending the night in a chair, listening to Zane snore while taking up the whole bed in my room.
I’m about to leave when the door opens just a crack and she looks out, her wide eyes catching the moonlight and glowing almost silver.
“Can I come in?” I ask quietly, in a whisper actually. Not sure why I’m whispering. It’s almost like I don’t want to startle her, which is idiotic because she’s definitely one of the strongest people I know.
“Why?” she asks.
“Because I’d prefer to spend the night with you than with Zane.” I grin as I say it, even though I know that’s not really what she’s asking.
I’m just about to tell her that I’ll just sit quietly by the window, if that’s what she wants, when she opens the door fully and stands aside so I can enter.
She locks the door behind me twice. And then we’re just standing there. She’s so close I can smell the shampoo she used to wash her hair—roses. Her damp hair hanging loose down her back and across her breasts like melted white gold. All she’s wearing is an oversized, washed-out T-shirt, her milky white legsbare. What I wouldn’t give for a chance to trail kisses up and down those pretty legs of hers.
She’s looking up at me like she doesn’t know what to say. Like she wants me to kiss her instead of talking.
And I could be completely wrong about that, but I scoop her into my arms anyway, lean down and do exactly that. I’m expecting her to push me away and kick me out of the room. But she doesn’t. Instead, she wraps her arms very tightly around my waist and kisses me back, tension leaving her body as I deepen the kiss. She doesn’t actually, but it feels like she just sighed out a breath she’d been holding for a very long time.
I lead us to the bed without breaking the kiss, lift her up when we reach it, and sit down with her in my lap. All while still kissing her. The kiss is like a drink of water after spending weeks in the desert. Like those first quenching raindrops after a long summer heatwave. Like a little piece of heaven right here on earth.
I’m not a religious man, never found God despite my strict Catholic upbringing. But right now, kissing her, I believe in all the good things the bible teaches will come when we reach Eden. I probably won’t go to Heaven after I die, but this… this is already enough for me.
She’s straddling my legs, gripping my thighs with her powerful ones. I run my hands across her bare skin there, can’t help myself.
Her skin feels like touching a sun-warmed stone in the middle of the night, pleasant, safe. She tenses at my touch, pauses in her kissing.
But then kisses me deeper and more fiercely than before. As though she’s powering through whatever bad memory my touch brought up for her.
I’ve been with plenty of virgins. Used to enjoy that for a while, getting them when they’re fresh, being their first, the onethey’ll always remember. There’s no such selfishness running through my mind right now. All I want is for her to feel good. But I do want her to remember this night forever. Fondly. And I want to be right there beside her when she does, many, many years from now.
So I won’t force her into anything she’s not a hundred percent sure she wants. I lift my hands off her thighs, but she grabs my wrists to stop me, breaking away from the kiss to look deep into my eyes. I don’t know what she sees there. I hope it’s the fact that she’s in control of this. Maybe one day I can be. I certainly want to be. Want to throw her down on this bed and take her in all ways. But not until she’s ready.
She keeps looking very deeply into my eyes as she takes hold of the edges of her T-shirt and starts pulling it up. Lust bubbles in my chest, and especially my dick. I must be insane, but I say, “We don’t have to do more than kiss.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t speak. Or I’ll change my mind.”
I don’t want that. At all. So I shut up and watch her perfect breasts come into view, the nubs of her nipples barely darker than her milky white skin. They look so delicious. Like two pieces of strawberry candy. But I’m sure they’ll taste much better than fake strawberry and sugar.
And because I have poor impulse control—the bane of my existence—I lean down and take one in my mouth to make sure I’m right. I am.
Her moan is soft, surprised, and she trembles in my arms as I suck on her nipple even harder, needing to taste more of her sweetness—the kind that neither man nor nature can ever recreate.
