Updated: Jun 1
An excerpt from - work in progress - Book of James
I paused for a moment, remembering the reason I’d come, my plan to tell him that I couldn’t see him anymore, but his soft eyes dissolved my plans like butter against a flame. I was liquified under his gaze. Every rational thought I’d ever had vacated me and at that moment, without warning, I launched myself upon him with a passion I’d never known. I wanted to be with him, and not because it was my birthday, nor an exercise in control, but because it was him and I couldn’t imagine not knowing him this way.
The steps defied me as I found myself on his lap and our desperate tongues entangled. He stood, carrying me with him into the bedroom. There was brown suede against my back as he laid me upon the bed. Those clear piercing eyes held as he unzipped my boots and tossed them away. A moment later he was next to me. His finger grazed my bottom lip and the heat began to rise. My rules were lost. I was lost but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t say no to him. I didn’t want to. Come what may, at that moment, I’d made an exception, something I’d never done before. He didn’t know it, of course. How could he? But I knew. I would never forget my digression, and he wouldn’t either, I’d make sure of it and in the sweetest way.
His fingers teased and his mouth matched. I joined him for all of it, and it was like it was my first time, only better, so much better. Everything clicked. Somehow, I forgot there were any rules. How could there be when there was this? Surely a momentous event so perfectly choreographed could overwrite destiny. How I became naked was a blur. Soft hands, graceful touches, and those scandalous smirks that James held at half-mast–I assumed out of respect–melted me as I gave him what he asked. His expertise was clear but mine missed nothing either. My thumb pressed a nerve as my teeth took his lip. He quivered when my nails scratched his shoulders. Synchronicity, balance, perfection, that’s what it was. Being with James was like nothing I’d experienced.
There was no bashfulness, or bravado, no pretense at all. It was us––as if we’d known it would be––and his familiar, unfamiliar face looked softly upon mine. How could he know I’d like that? But he did. He knew every move to make, which he did with impeccable timing and care. My heartbeat matched the throbbing between my legs as his tongue teased and his fingers lingered in my soft spots. My hands took their own liberties and he groaned in appreciation, but it was time. I’d waited long enough, a lifetime really, for something like this, to feel this way, to make love.
If it was ciao then it may as well be magical, the kind of memory you can hold for a lifetime. And it was. The weight of him, his manners, and adoration opened my dark place and showed me a light I’d never dreamed possible. He was a miracle to me. It was a night I’d never forget.
He shook in reserve as he nibbled my lip. I moaned and clinched, but it was unstoppable. Together, we reached the peak. Our combined climax was like a rushing waterfall of ecstasy against ecstasy. We landed in a swirl of bubbles. The rush of our fall floated us. His hand cupped my breast as he took my mouth to another place, leaving no question of his mark. Disaster.
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