When the Heart Falls

That’s the kind of man I want to be with. The kind of man I could give myself to without fear.

It still surprises me, how I could be with Cade and the only pounding in my heart is from excitement, not anxiety. His kisses make my legs weak, but not out of terror. I had nearly convinced myself that Rodney had broken me, that I’d never be whole or complete and would never be able to give my body to a man without those memories destroying me, but Cade changed that. Being with Cade has shown me that I can flirt and kiss and fantasize without fear.

When the water turns cold, I step out and wrap myself in a plush white towel. I didn’t bring any clean, dry clothes in with me, I realize, as the outfit I’d been wearing drips from the towel rack.

I should be nervous. Shy. Coy.

Instead, I feel bold. Nothing has to happen. But something could, if the moment is right. Either way, I need clothes.

Cade is sitting on the bed facing away from me when I walk in. He’s lit the fire and a few candles, and the shadows of flames dance on his skin. He’s dried off and wearing a pair of clean jeans, but no shirt, and he’s holding his hat.

All thoughts of seduction evaporate, and when I sit next to him, it’s to offer comfort not foreplay. We sit in silence, watching the flames.

When he speaks, his voice is rough. "I'm sorry I worried you earlier. I can't lose this hat." He strokes the brim with his thumb.

"I know."

"But I should have explained it better. This hat was my brother’s, but it wasn't Stevie's."

My heart clenches. "So you have—"

"Another brother. Peter. We called him Pete."

Called. Past tense. "Where is he now?"

"He died.” He says this without emotion, as if pronouncing that the rain had stopped or he was hungry. For a moment, Cade’s face is as empty as his voice, like it was in the rain. But it passes like a storm cloud, and I can see when he comes back to me.

I take his hand and say the words that are never enough. "I'm sorry.” If ever a writer should have a larger arsenal than others, it is now, in times of grief and sorrow. As magical as words can be, it is times such as this that prove how weak they really are.

For words cannot stand in the presence of grief.

He reaches for me, and as his tears burn hot on my shoulder, I give him what he needs more than my words. I give him my empathy. And together we weep for losses we have both felt, for pain we have both known.

When we share in each other’s grief and pain, we lighten it. Or maybe we just give each other permission to feel it fully and, through that act of acceptance, the grief becomes more bearable.

Because like the rain, tears too have an end. And with deep emotions, we are open to each other in unexpected ways.

As his tears dry on my shoulder, his kisses replace them, leading up my neck and to my mouth.

My towel falls away, and I am naked before him, vulnerable in a way I’ve never been with anyone, not even Rodney.

Panic grips me, but I push it aside, and face the self-consciousness I wasn't expecting but should have. I've never been naked in front of anyone, not since I was a child. Every flaw on my body feels circled in marker and highlighted, but, looking into his eyes, I can tell he doesn't see any of them. His gaze is loving, kind, and full of desire.

He breathes in at the sight of me, moving his eyes over my body in a caress that sends chills up my spine. I don’t want to tarnish this moment, but I don’t want to hide any part of me either. “Before we do this. There are things about me you don’t know. Things I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about.”

His hands land on my hips as he silences me with a kiss, then pulls back to look into my eyes. “There will always be things we have to learn about each other. Those secrets don’t all have to be revealed tonight.”

I know, then, that there is more to his story as well, but we will share our deeper pains another day. For now, we share our bodies, our hearts, our souls.

His touch changes me, reshapes me from the inside. He explores my body first with his hands, molding them over my curves, then memorizing those curves with his tongue and lips. I gasp as his tongue flicks at a hard nipple, astonished that I can feel the pleasure and pressure of that touch through the core of my body.

I’ve never wanted anything more than I want him in this moment. I fall back onto the bed, and he spreads my legs and centers himself between them, his jeans barely containing his own evidence of arousal.

Emboldened by this position, and what it promises, I prop myself up and unbutton his jeans. He’s rock hard and so big I’m not sure how I’ll take him all into me, but the sight of him increases the tightness I feel.

He growls, placing his hands around my hips, and pulls me closer to him until he’s rubbing up against me, stimulating the swollen nub of flesh that feels on fire with need.

But instead of penetrating me, instead of satiating that need that’s threatening to undo me, he pulls away.

A moan escapes my lips, and he chuckles and sprinkles kisses down my body, over my belly and… Oh God.