At the door he stopped and took in the candles, then me. He leaned his forearm high on the doorframe, his eyebrow arched. “You’re not even remotely naked.”
“Not yet,” I said, moving to him and running my hands over his t-shirt. “I know we have to take it easy, so I’ve been doing some research.”
“Research,” Jonah said, ringing his arms around my waist. “There’s an erotic word. What have you been researching?”
“Tantric sex,” I whispered. Then a laugh erupted out of me. “Oh my God, it sounds cheesy as hell. But I read up on it and I think it’ll be good for us. Safe.”
Dr. Morrison didn’t exactly forbid sex, but gone were the days of Jonah taking me up against a wall in a fit of unrestrained passion. We’d only slept together twice since he was released from the hospital, and despite our efforts to take it easy, both times he’d been scarily out of breath. It was as if the CAV had sped up, like a boulder that had slowly tipped over the side of a steep hill and was now rolling, and gaining speed with every passing moment.
“Want to give it a go?” I asked.
“As if I’d say no to you.” He reached for me and we kissed, undressing each other to down to nothing.
“Come sit on the bed,” I told him. “Lotus position.”
“I don’t speak Tantra.”
“Cross-legged.”
He sat in the middle of the bed as instructed. His candlelit eyes went wide and heavy with desire as I crawled onto him. I sat in his lap, wrapped my legs around his waist, but I didn’t take him inside me, which somehow felt more intimate than if I had.
“I like this,” he said against my neck. His mouth moved over my chin. “Kiss me.”
“Not yet,” I said. “We have to go through all the steps first.”
“Steps? Is there a manual I could consult?”
“Stop laughing.”
“Right. Sorry. Tantric sex is serious business. Step one is…?”
“Step one: hold me comfortably and look into my eyes. Nowhere else.”
Jonah rested his hands on my thighs, and I held his arms that held me. I stared into the rich brown velvet of his eyes.
For all of three seconds.
We both broke down laughing, our bodies restless with nerves. We tried again, laughed again, and kept trying. Gradually the giggles retreated. I relaxed and felt myself falling into his gaze. With every blink, my memory flipped up a moment we’d shared—thousands upon thousands—from the first time I woke up on his couch, to now, with the candlelight flickering around our bodies.
“Now what?” he said softly.
“Now we share each other’s breath,” I said, moving closer so my lips brushed his. “Find the rhythm.”
It happened quickly. Within moments, we were breathing for one another, breathing as one. He inhaled what I exhaled. I breathed in what he let go, filling my lungs with him. The world and its needs drifted away. Time ceased to exist. Only now. This moment. And I didn’t need anything but what he gave me.
With every breath, my thoughts fell away. As I drifted deeper in the beauty of his eyes, I felt my self cease to exist. No me. No him. Only us. Our skin melted together, creating a third presence, sharing the air, sharing our bodies.
His grip on my hips tightened and he lifted me onto him. A break in our breath’s rhythm as he slid inside me.
“Yes.” His mouth shaped the word without a sound.
Yes, this…
I pushed forward, my breasts pressed against his scarred chest. My arms wrapped around his back, my legs around his hips, taking him in as deeply as I could,
Jonah slipped one arm around my waist. His other hand slid against my face, his thumb brushing over my lips. Our breathing fell in sync again. We didn’t move but to breathe.
“You,” he whispered.
“You…” All I knew or felt or saw. You. The whole world in my arms. The unfolding depths of his eyes. The hard, heavy warmth of him inside me. A soft, pulsing pleasure that grew with each moment, until it began to move us.
Our lips met in a gentle, deep kiss. Inhale, I rolled my hips back. Exhale, I pushed them forward. Jonah mirrored, rocking his pelvis against mine. A tide, ebbing and flowing. Ocean waves falling gently on the shore as we kissed and shared breath. Eyes open, never breaking contact, the heavy ache of pleasure took on more weight, grew more intense.
“Kace,” he whispered.
I threaded my fingers through his hair, adding new points of contact, new connections. I felt him in every pore, every breath and beat of our hearts. I’d never experienced anything like this in my life. He was a universe. My love for him was just as boundless.
Tears filled our eyes as our bodies rolled and slid, driving toward a bittersweet crescendo of pleasure. Tears for love. For loss. For the weeks he had, and the years he didn’t. For the joy and laughter, the heartache and grief. For this lonely man and the lost woman he’d rescued. For us, and the rapidly approaching time in which there would be only me.
I closed my eyes, sank into his kiss, and gave in to the climax. It rose up and rolled through us, gentle slow-motion swells instead of a crashing wave.
“Look at me,” he whispered. “Don’t stop.”