The Song of David

“I see. I won’t make you sleep with me in my coffin then.”

“That’s right . . . you’re a vampire. I forgot.” I smiled, and she heard the grin in my voice because she smiled with me.

“The darkness is huge, though. You don’t need to be afraid of the dark. Whenever you start feeling trapped or helpless, just close your eyes, and you have more space than you’ll ever need.”

I nodded and kissed her forehead because she was so earnest and sweet.

“Close your eyes. Come on, close your eyes,” she commanded.

I did, but immediately felt dizzy, disoriented, and I reached for her. My balance had been off lately, and I blamed it on lust.

“Don’t be scared.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “I’m right here. I’m touching you, and you are safe.” She was enjoying this game.

“Go down.”

“What?” she asked.

“Your hands are on my chest,” I said.

“Yeah, they are.”

“Keep moving them down. I’ll tell you when to stop,” I demanded.

She burst out laughing, understanding dawning. “You have no idea how often I’ve used my blindness to “accidentally” feel someone up.”

“Really?” My voice rose in surprise.

“No. Not really. Now shhh!” she commanded. “I need to look at you a little.”

I swallowed as her hands slid across my chest and down my torso, her fingers brushing against the swells and valleys that made up my well-muscled abdomen. If it was possible, I felt more naked, more vulnerable than I’d ever felt with a woman, even though I wasn’t naked at all. The fact that she couldn’t see me made me more aware of the attention she paid to every detail. She slid her hands beneath my shirt, and I smiled into her hair. I was both ticklish and turned on.

“Your skin is smooth. But it’s bumpy too. I adore bumps, you know.”

I chuckled, thinking of all the braille, the “bumps” in her house that helped her order her world, and I tried not to moan as she ran her fingers up the swell of my lats and rested her head against my chest, pulling me close. I leaned down and kissed the top of her head, the silk of her hair welcome against my lips.

“I am going to touch you a lot,” she said sincerely.

“I’m okay with that,” I said magnanimously.

“But the things I can’t touch, you’ll have to describe.”

“Okay.”

“Your eyes . . . what color are they?” she asked.

“Green.”

“Like the grass?”

“Yeah, maybe a little paler.”

“And your hair?”

“Dark and light. A mixture of both. Yours is chocolate, mine is . . .” I thought for a moment, trying to come up with a description. “Do I really have to describe it? You can feel it.” She ran her fingers through it, and I tried not to purr.

She reached for my hands and brought them to her face.

“Now, look at me the way I look at you.”

I ran my fingers over her cheek bones, closing my eyes so I could see the way Millie did.

“Your cheekbones are high and pronounced, and your face is slightly heart-shaped,” I declared, though her face was in my mind as my hands traced the features I described.

“I have a big forehead,” she interrupted.

“And a pointy chin,” I added.

I felt the silk of her hair and pushed her hair behind her ears.

“And big ears,” she said.

I traced them with my fingertips. “You have pretty ears,” I said. And they were. Between my fingertips they felt dainty and detailed, little whorls of soft skin in the shape of a question mark, always waiting for answers.

“What’s your favorite thing about my face?” Millie said after I’d explored a little more.

I touched her mouth, pressing the pads of my thumbs against the fullest part of her bottom lip and then sliding them upwards to rest in the crease so I could part them slightly.

“This. This is my favorite part.”

“Because you can kiss me?” Ah, my girl knew how to flirt. I liked that.

“Yes,” I said. And I did. I kissed her softly and then sweetly. And then I kissed her again. And again, over and over, for several long minutes, until our lips were sore and I knew I should stop, but found myself sinking in again, licking between her smooth teeth and sliding my tongue against hers because the friction felt so good, and her flavor lit a fire in the pit of my stomach.

“I don’t want to leave,” I said again. I didn’t know if I would ever be ready.





MILLIE TRIED TO take me to church again, but I had a surprise for her. We lived in a city that boasted one of the most famed choirs in the world, and we were going to hear them sing. I twisted some arms and made some calls and got permission to sit in on a rehearsal. I didn’t want to share the experience with a crowd, and Millie would be completely surprised if I just led her in, right down to the front row of the tabernacle, and sat her down. If there was a crowd she would be expecting a performance. No crowd, and the surprise would be complete.

She was excited, her cheeks pink and her smile wide, and she held onto me, squeezing my arm like an anxious child.

“Are we in a church?” she whispered theatrically.