Page 128 of Wreckage and Rain

"You."

"More specific."

"I want to undress you slowly. Wanting you has been keeping me awake."

"Okay."

"I want you to tell me at every step if anything I'm doing isn't what you want."

"Okay."

"I want to put my mouth on every part of your body that I've missed."

"Be specific."

"The hollow of your throat. The inside of your wrist. The spot on the back of your knee that makes you laugh. The crease where your hip meets your thigh. The two little freckles next to your belly button. The space between your shoulder blades where you used to make me press my palm before you fell asleep. The dip at the base of your spine. The inside of your thigh, just above the knee. The other places too. All of them. But those first."

"Okay."

"I want to make you come because you want to come, not because you're proving anything to me. And I want it to take a long time."

"Okay."

"And then I want you within reach of me, in this bed, while you tell me what you want next."

I tilt up. Kiss him.

He kisses me back like a man who has been instructed and is obeying carefully. His hands stay at his sides for the first kiss. Hewaits. I take his hands and put them on my hips. He says into my mouth, "Thank you," and the words go straight through me.

He starts at the bottom. The hem of my dress. He lifts it slowly, watching my face. The fabric drags up over my thighs, my hips, my stomach, my ribs. I lift my arms for him, and he pulls it off over my head and lets it fall on the chair. I'm in nothing but a scrap of underwear. He looks at me. The way he used to look at me. The way I forgot he could.

"Hi," he says. Quiet.

"Hi."

"Can I put my hand here."

He puts his hand flat against the center of my chest, between my breasts, over my heart.

"Yes."

"Can I put my mouth here."

He bends and puts his mouth at the hollow of my throat. The first place on the list. His lips are warm. He stays there long enough that I make a small involuntary sound.

"Yes," I say, with my voice gone soft. "Yes, there. Keep doing what you're doing."

He works the list.

He kisses the inside of my wrist. Slow. He turns my arm over. Kisses up the soft skin to the inside of my elbow. He kneels in front of me on the hardwood floor. Lifts my foot, the back of my knee, finds the spot, runs his lips across it. I laugh because it does still tickle and he smiles against my skin. He works up the inside of my thigh. He stops at the crease where my hip meets my thigh. He hooks two fingers in the waistband of my underwear and looks up at me.

"These."

"Take them off."

He pulls them down. I step out. He sets them aside. Kneels in front of me. Two freckles next to my belly button. His mouth oneach of them. The whole list. Slow. Specific. I have my hands in his hair, both hands, not pulling, just resting.

"I want you on the bed," I say.