I take hold of the opening of his jacket and work it down over his shoulders. He does the same with mine. Our lips separate, but we remain silent, not using words to express our love, but our bodies. I take my boots and socks off, then start on the buttons of my dress. He pulls his shirt and undershirt off.
It’s only been a month, but my memories of his perfection weren’t doing me justice. I follow the lines that carve into his stomach, highlighting his ab muscles and the top of a V that trails down to ecstasy. His biceps are cut, all his muscles more defined. Standing with my dress open in the front, I release the buttons to run my fingers over him. Valley to peak, each muscle is distinct and hard. He says, “I’ve been working out in my free time.” His voice is huskier, the air between us thickening, “You sure have,” I reply with a grateful grin. His skin is firm and smooth, beautiful like him. I move to kiss his chest, but when his scent—soap, leather, and the open road—infiltrates my senses, I press my tongue against him and taste him instead. My dress slides from my shoulders and puddles around my ankles, the rough pads of his fingertips scraping against my skin. I welcome the damage. I welcome him back—the beautiful torture to my soul, the miniscule demarcation between pain and hope, the desire that only comes from him and for him.
With his palm flat to my belly, his fingers dip below the lace of my panties and takes what he knows is his. He’s not gentle or rough but somewhere in between, a lot like us. Moisture coats his fingers, and he smirks. “So wet. So wet for me, baby.”
“I’ve missed you touching me.”
“I’ve missed being inside you.” His thumb finds my clit and teases.
Watching my chest rise and fall, his hand abandons me and his belt is undone. I pull the leather loose and drop it to the floor. Together, we strip the rest of our bodies till we’re naked, standing in front of each other, bodies exposed, souls bared.
I move to the bed, not shy or embarrassed to be followed by his watchful gaze. Folding down the blanket, I lie on top of the sheets while he waits for me to settle. When my eyebrows cinch together, he comes over and sits on the bed next to me. “You’ve changed, Firefly.”
My heart soothes from hearing my name from his lips once more, taking immense pleasure in its comfort. But then the statement creeps into my insecurities, revealing my anxiety. “I’ve lost weight. Do I look bad?” I ask, bringing my knees up to my chest, and hiding myself. What if he doesn’t find me attractive anymore?
“No,” he says with such confidence while loosening my arms and spreading me open again slowly. “You’re beautiful, although you didn’t need to lose weight.”
“I didn’t on purpose.”
“That’s what worries me.” Leaning down, he kisses my chest, and then sits back up. “I was going to say you’re softer around the edges. Your eyes, your reactions, the way you carry yourself. Is that what I did to you? Did I make you hard?”
“You made me come alive.” Taking his hand, I bring it to my breast. “Make me feel that way again, Alexander.”
He stands, goes to the bathroom, flips on the light, returns to my side, and turns the lamp off. The room is now dim, but we’re left with enough light to see each other’s intentions. I move away from the headboard, and he levels himself next to me.
I admit, “I’m nervous.”
“Don’t be, baby. It’s me, just me and you.” Alexander caresses my cheek and kisses me lightly. My body reacts as my mind welcomes him back. Our kiss deepens, and I wrap my hands over his shoulders. His hand slides to my chest. Lightly pinching my nipple, a moan follows before I even realize it came from me, so easily from his touch. With a roguish smile turning me into putty, he moves lower and takes my nipple into his mouth while I run my fingers through his hair. “You’re so beautiful.” Moving on top of me, he aligns until the tip of his cock is touching my entrance. He kisses my jaw and my lips again and whispers, “I love you so much,” and presses into me.
My mouth opens for air as my body takes him in, reveling in the stretch and burn I haven’t felt in too long. When he moves, he’s agile and strong, muscles flexing in his arms and jaw. I watch him, feeling him deep inside, reaching parts of my soul that have only ever been touched by him. Our connection overwhelms me, and I feel a tear slip from the corner of my eye.
Alexander stops and looks into my eyes. “Don’t cry, Firefly.”
“I left you when you needed me most. Will you ever forgive me?”
A soft, understanding smile highlights his handsome features. “There’s nothing to forgive. You did what you needed to do. It doesn’t make it hurt less, but you needed the time.”
Rubbing his cheek, I say, “You waited for me.”
“I’d wait three lifetimes for you.” He smiles, reassuring me. “You feel amazing, baby.”
He starts slowly moving inside me, and my tears dry. “You feel so good. I needed this, more than you know.”
“I’m happy to oblige.” When his gentle strokes inside turn into thrusts, he looks up and says, “Hold on to the headboard.”
I take hold of the wood above my head and stop thinking, wanting to lose myself to feelings and this man that is all consuming. Alexander thrusts harder, chasing the pleasure only I can give, and he takes it full bodied. My orgasm hits hard, my nails digging into the wood while his name rolls off my tongue.
My name comes fast with his orgasm seconds later, paired with two swear words and whispers of love. An hour later, he’s asleep on his back. The smell of our bond lingers in the air, sweet sweat and dirty sex. Alexander’s scent is stuck to my skin, and I’m tempted to never shower again. I lightly run my fingers over the stubble on his chin, the same stubble that made the skin of my inner thighs feel raw and equally heavenly.
Careful not to wake him, I move closer and lick the wounds that I emblazoned on his skin the second time he took me to the edge and let me fall under his spell. He reaches over and wraps his arm around me. Kissing my temple, he whispers, “If you come back, it’s for good.”
It’s not a question or a threat but lies somewhere within the love our souls share. He’s right so there’s no need for a discussion. I kiss his neck, close my eyes, and find sleep soon after.
Light slips through the small opening in the curtains, and I open my eyes—rested and relaxed.
“You have nightmares.”
I look at Alexander who’s sitting up with his back against the headboard, and reply, “Every night since . . .” I don’t need to finish. He knows which night I’m talking about.
“I don’t. Does that make me a bad person?”
“You’ve found peace with him gone, but I don’t know if I’ll ever get that night out of my head.” The smell of whiskey from his father’s breath as he hovered over me. The dark and evil glint in his eyes as he groped me. The loud blast and the thump of his body as it hit the ground. That is what I hear the most. The thump. Over and over again. Then the blood. The mess . . .