Page 112 of When There Was You
The waning sun casts a nuanced light into the car. For a minute, it’s quiet except for the radio turned down low.
Butch lifts his brows. “Wanna make out?”
I snort but…yeah.
We chuckle as our lips meet before he cranks up the volume and leaves me breathless.
After polishing off our meal (no spills) we arrive at the local theater (alive) to seeBrighton Beach Memoirs. It’s a grand but intimate space that was formerly an opera house, popular in these old small towns. Along with the usual staggered seating, there’s a charming loveseat-for-two option and Butch guides me right to it. He wraps his arm around me, holding me close, and his woodsy scent with the maple notes invades my senses. There’s no place else I’d rather be.
Afterward, Butch takes us home. I don’t know why I’m suddenly nervous, my insides fluttering. Maybe because of the palpable shift in my awareness that what we share is special, and the unspoken vibration pulsing between us.
He holds my hand and leads me upstairs to the bedroom. We both want one thing: to get our bodies nakedand closer. We shed our shoes and meet at the foot of the bed.
His emerald eyes latch onto mine, and he cups my face. “I’m so fucking in love with you.”
He says it so earnestly, my heart takes flight, the flutters amplifying. “I am totally, madly, wildly in love with you.” It’s sheer relief to utter that truth.
“Thank fuck.” He clutches me against his chest. “I’ve tried waiting, but I can’t any longer.I love you, Jacqui.”
Our mouths connect. It’s impassioned, touching, claiming, and I melt into him, my heart opening, recalibrating again.
He undresses me slowly, kissing my skin as it’s revealed. Goosebumps skate across the surface. His warm breath teases me as he licks and strokes and kisses me, leaving nothing unattended.
When I’m fully naked, his gaze sweeps me top to bottom. “You are so beautiful.”
Smiling at this glorious man, I let myself hear and believe his words.
I make a move to undress him, and he seems like he’s about to brush me off, then doesn’t. I want to return the worshipping he just lavished on me. There’s pure pleasure in peeling off his shirt, belt, jeans, socks, briefs. My hands coast across his skin, caressing his sinewy planes and valleys. My lips graze along the way, and his flesh ripples in their wake.
Butch responds to being touched differently than any man I’ve been with. It’s like oxygen to him, or proof of life. He is loved, but he’s also been deeply wounded—starved of this kind of human interaction, the type of intimacy only shared by people in love.
We’re both so vulnerable in this moment. It’s not only our bodies that stand naked…but our hearts.
Making our way to the bed, we converge, hands roving, legs and arms wrapping, mouths desperate and seeking.
My insides are on fire, my heart full to bursting. He swallows my whimper and holds me so tightly, there’s no space left between us. Our tongues dance as if we’ll never get enough.
Butch shifts, rolling me to lie flat. “I’m going to make love to every inch of your body.”
His breath hits my ear. He licks the shell and ventures inside, and I shudder. His kisses trail down my neck and along my chest, his lips landing on my nipple. He palms one into his mouth while fondling the other and I writhe under the attention, arching toward him. I’m a mass of need, clamoring for more, but Butch takes his time, going at an agonizingly slow pace that’s both reverent and greedy.
His tongue laves its way down my torso, across my belly, and skirts my soaked center. His fingertips trace my legs all the way to my ankles, then reverse up along the inside. I part my legs, and by the time he’s made it to the apex of my thighs, my essence provides visible proof of my pleasure.
“Absolutely gorgeous,” he murmurs. When his breath breaches where I’m exposed, my skin ripples, an inferno blazing through me.
“Butch,” I beg.
He answers with his mouth, his fingers spreading me wider as he claims me fully. I let out a strangled cry of relief, desire…longing.
He’s probing, licking, sucking, fingering...and my body contorts of its own volition, desperate to be closer. It’s a dance of sensations. His appraising groans fuel the flames. His rough razor stubble abrades my inner thighs. I’m drenched with his distinctive scent, melded into the sheets.
A storm brews at my core. Gathering. Quickening.
My breath stills. My mind blanks.
POW. I blow with dynamite force, my orgasm jerking in spasm after delirious spasm, my thoughts so obliterated Iscarcely register him milking me for every drop. I’m only vaguely aware I’m wailing.
Butch shifts to hover over my face, as if memorizing my details. “Beautiful,” he repeats.
