::THIRTY EIGHT::
I love the rain, more than anything else now, save her, because of her, I love the rain. I used to hate the stuff when I lived here and thought it was depressing, now it’s a reason to pull her close to me and curl under a blanket with her, her back nestled into my chest and my hand across the warm curve of her belly. It’s been hot for days here, the guy who brought us up breakfast said, and it’s finally breaking now.
A thunderstorm that plunges us into cool weather. A thunderstorm that had her awake before me, as if something in the storm called out to her. She crouched over me, long before she would usually get up, her eyes lit with that weird inner light. I opened my eyes as a crack of thunder ripped the sky open, Jeanette grinning above me, eyes closed, listening to something only she could hear. She kissed me softly before getting up. Softly isn’t really the right word, the spark from her was intense, a wild heat that had nothing to do with the forks of lightning splitting the sky open outside.
She held my hand as she sat above me, dressed in nothing but my t-shirt, her hard nipples poking at the fabric. I would have pulled her back into bed. Maybe some other day, right now I would follow her anywhere. Another crack of thunder splits the sky almost right overtop of us and I sit up, almost feeling the force of the storm through her as she looks out of the window wistfully, still grinning as she looked back at me. Pleading with me without a word to come sit with her, and see what she saw, the way she saw it, to understand something deeper than words about my Jeanette.
I hand her our red blanket as I kissed her, that same gentle kiss, my hand stroking over her beautiful face. She was like a wild animal, her hair in a tangle and her eyes bright, she listened, her every sense crackling with energy as she sat on her heels. I joined her outside with our breakfast, sitting behind her on the deck chair, getting more comfortable eating my breakfast with her sitting nestled in front of me. It was Sunday, and they had some sort of a seafood buffet for breakfast downstairs, so she’s nibbling on prawns and fruit and other things with her hands, which only adds to the wild look of her, my little animal. I love feeding her, and she does the same with me. Our forks forgotten on the small table beside us, maybe I’ll have to throw them all away when we get home.
She pulls the blanket closer around us after fixing a cup of coffee for me first, and herself second. Nestling into her spot against my chest, where she belongs. She takes another tiny sip of her coffee, holding her cup between her small hands as the sky turns blue around us in the aftermath of lightning. “So…” She waits a moment, grinning a little, the corners of her mouth turning up. I make a point of not taking a sip of my coffee, which doesn’t escape her, making us both laugh out loud. “No more onions.”
“Ever, ‘Nette.” Her laugh isn’t shy or embarrassed, it’s the laugh of a woman that took a dare and ran with it. I’m going to have to remember that the next time I dare her to do something, she can be fearless, in her own way. That she feels she can be fearless with me, even down to something so goofy as eating a great big pile of onions and chili, knowing the consequences, makes me feel pretty good about where we stand with each other.
The thunderstorm raged around us, before blowing itself out, tatters hanging out of the sky, too exhausted to stay up any longer. We both went back inside and closed the curtains rather than watch it die.
“I could get to like this, ‘Nette.” Our breakfast dishes were piled outside the door now, for someone else to deal with. I turned to catch her leaning over the bed, flicking out a part of the blanket that didn’t lie right when she flung the blanket over the bed. She turned at the sound of my voice, for a moment stretched in a very provocative half crouch across the bed, all thought leaving my head, even the ability to breath in doubt.
“Room service?” I think that’s what was in my mind, at least when I put the dishes outside. When she flipped over onto her back in the middle of the red bedspread I forgot about everything else, barely remembering the words I just said. Her eyes follow me when I step closer to her, I can hear nothing but the pounding of my own heart in my ears. The thing with the plates? Not having to make meals myself? How does that compare with her, half naked, wearing my shirt and spread across a red blanket, her arm flung over her head and her dark hair everywhere. There for me. Her eyes rake over my body, noting my obvious arousal. She smiles, more of a sexy grin than anything, her voice dropping to a purr as she continues the thought. “Not room service…” Her knees had rested together when I watched her at the door, she parted them now, wantonly, as I stood in front of her, looking between them as I moved closer to her, drawn to her.
“You are so sexy, ‘Nette.” Her hand reaches out between her knees, beckoning me to join her, like I needed any encouragement. My fingertips skate over the skin of her ankles, moving in to the soft skin at the back of her thigh making her giggle, that soft deep purr of laughter that cuts right to the heart of me. My hand caresses the line of her thigh to the curve at her rear, cupping and squeezing, leaning down to kiss her. Her body arches up to mine, her hands running over the skin of my sides, letting out a hungry sound before her fingers pull at my boxers, which end up somewhere on the floor quickly followed by the t-shirt she’s wearing.
Forced to break the kiss to undress her I find myself captured by her, by something I had only started to notice recently. The softness in her eyes when she looks at me. There’s love and then there’s this, something so much deeper. She loves me, I know that, deep in my heart I know it, but this is something else. I look at her the same way I think, with that same depth. Perhaps I wouldn’t allow myself to think too much about it before, and now I’m free to.
I answer her soft laugh with one of my own when she traces her fingertips over my bottom ribs, tickling me. “Feeling playful, beautiful?” Watching her eyes as she grins up at me I get the feeling I might have dared her again. I pull back to look at her again, my eyes traveling over her body. The swell of her breasts, her dark nipples already hard. The dip of her bellybutton and the flare of her hips, her thighs brushing against my sides. Where to begin.
I want everything, all of her, all at once, the thought of her makes me so giddy I have to close my eyes and start small, sucking and nipping at her ear. She’s not willing to let me off so easily however, the back of her fingernail tracing the outline of the ear she can reach as I kiss hers. Is that what I do to her? Her touch is electric, tightening everything in me as I kiss a wet trail down her throat, trying to go slow. Her hands caressing my throat in return, urging each other on, one touch at a time as I work my way down her body. She pinches my nipple gently as I suck on hers, touch for touch, until I slip between her thighs regrettably out of her reach.
I look up over the slow swell of her belly, between her breasts, her body trembling ever so slightly as her heart pounds. I gently scrape my whiskers over the inside of her thigh, it’s not only her that feels playful. I could do this all morning, touch and kiss every inch of her, and spend all day doing it. That I could do just that if I wanted pleases me to no end. Her body tenses, her breath held, when my thumb strokes along the outer petal edge of her, from her hard little button peeking from beneath it’s hood to the trickle of wet running in a clear line at the bottom of her perfect pink teardrop. Her toes curl and the rest of her body fidgets slightly, as she fights to keep her hips still, as though moving would break the spell and I would move on without touching her further.
Lying on the bed between her thighs, I kiss the very bottom curve of her thigh where it meets her rear, watching her skin erupt in gooseflesh, a flicker of heat ripping through me at the sound of her gasp. My own words echo back to me, if breathlessly, her voice shaking ever so slightly. “Feeling playful, Sean?”
My hips buck once involuntarily at the sound of her voice, at the need in it, before I look up at her. She’s resting on her elbows, her eyes holding mine and I can’t think of a single thing to say, watching her. My thumb brushes over her slick entrance and down over her perineum, I watch in wonder as her back arches at the touch, her chin raising as her head falls back. Playful doesn’t come close. I love her beautiful pink flower, it’s wet heat the promise of heaven for us both, but this is different. Every touch making her react differently, making me want to find out what works for her, so that I can please her. The pad of my thumb, slippery from her juices, slips back further to move in a slow circle across the dimple of her anus. Playful.
Touch for touch and move for move we press each other further, her complete trust in me not to harm her turning me on more with every second that passes. We watch each other again, saying more with our eyes than I think we’re capable of any other way, as if saying the words for what we want will sound so absurd that speaking them will ruin the way this feels. Her eyes widen a little and she quickly pulls her bottom lip in, biting and releasing it quickly before letting her knees spread a little further and her hips tilt up, giving me better access, permission.
She looked nervous and took a quick inhale when I got up from between her knees, before I leaned down to kiss her belly, leaving my hand there for a second. “Stay…” I grabbed a towel from the bathroom floor, a pillow from the head of the bed, and the lubricant she had bought earlier, and settled back between her thighs again. We’re both blushing, I can feel the heat burning in my ears first and our hearts race as I tuck the pillow under her rear.
I kiss her clitoris first, delighting in her back arching under the touch, maybe just needing to start with the familiar. “‘Nette?…” Her hand already rests on her belly, I gently tug on her fingers, through her curls, to rest against her hard wet bud. She looks at me once and grins at me before lying back, her fingertips playing over her clitoris, leaving me free to discover what else works for her.
She shivers, and giggles a little nervously, at the first cold feel of the lubricant. I don’t rush. I want to take my time, this is all still so new to me. I think this is the first time I’ve really watched what I was doing, the times I’ve touched her like this previously I’ve been so nervous that I couldn’t touch her this way or that way, to find what was the best for her.
The KY warms quickly, slicking back over the ridge of her perineum, the flutter of anticipation making her toes curl again and her fingertips press harder against the engorged bud of her clitoris. The pad of my thumb again traces circles over the dimple of her anus, the lube making the passes smoother, pressing firmly with every pass, relaxing what had reflexively clenched. Her strokes over her clitoris are perfectly timed, to match my every move.
A little more lube and my breath hitches slightly, as does hers, when I slip one finger past the tight ring of muscle. Playing just at the edge, twisting within her, listening to her breathing speed up as her muscle flutters against the intrusion, unwelcome and welcome both. How much is too much, I have no idea, but a little more lube, as I tuck a second finger hard against the first, and ease into her slowly, more easily this time, full strokes to the knuckle and back. I had gone for three in the shower which had triggered her incredible orgasm. I’m torn between not wanting to push it and a strong desire to give in to male pride, to give her everything, to do anything, just to make her come that hard again. She’s panting hard, but her ring has relaxed a little, making stroking within her easier. I watch her face, instead of what I’m doing, when I add a third, the muscle resisting a little more at first, easing past, going so slowly until her body accepts. Her every exhale is a needy moan, her hand stroking over her clitoris in counterpoint.
It isn’t until I’m sure I’m not hurting her that I look back at my three fingers easing in and out of her, the realization instant that I could make love to her like this and not hurt her. Maybe it’s a strange thing to want, but feeling her shudder as an orgasm slams into her unannounced I know I’m not the only one. I stay still, her body clenching my fingers tightly, until it passes, moving again when she relaxes.
“Jeanette…do you want more?” I eased up slowly, to watch her as I asked, the both of us daring and pushing, for one step further.
Her voice is a deep sexy purr when she answers, her eyes never leaving mine the entire time. “How much more would you like?…” Quietly daring again, her brave question belying the furious blush across her cheeks and the tremble in her voice. I can’t believe how nervous I am, I feel like a virgin all over again, shy and nervous about even saying out loud what I want for fear of being shot down or feeling ridiculous.
We’re both so nervous, which makes this both easier, and harder, at the same time. “I’d like to make love to you like this, ‘Nette.” I had to swallow hard a couple of times, and my voice trembled, just trying to say that one small sentence. I eased my hand back and pressed forward again, watching her gasp.
“You would be my first.” Her voice shook as much as mine did, her turn to push in our quiet game of dare. “My only.” Her eyes plead with me, telling me in every silent way she knew that she was as nervous as I was, and to be gentle with her.
“You’re my first too, ‘Nette.” The weight of that settles on me. The first, a real first, for us both. We’re virgins. Any other day I might find that funny, having been in a relative rush to lose my virginity the first time, but I can’t laugh about it, not today, not with that same deep softness in her eyes that tells me just how much she loves me. How much she trusts me, body and soul. It was a week after my fifteenth birthday when I lost my virginity, to Stacy, who was just a few months younger than me. I was her first too and it was rushed, too rushed. I didn’t really think too much about it at the time, I wouldn’t have known where to begin anyway, not having the slightest idea what I was doing, neither of us did. We hadn’t really thought too much about it, it just sort of happened. This is different because we both know what we’re doing, and we both know what we’re offering. This is by choice, by design, with our eyes wide open. “I’m scared of hurting you.”
“The first always hurts, a little, but it doesn’t last. Make love to me, Sean. I want you to be the first.” It means the same to her as it does to me. We fidgeted a little at first before I settled between her thighs. My hands shake, nearly dropping the tube of lubricant. I couldn’t tear my eyes from hers as I crouched over her, the blunt point of my erection pressed where my hand was before. My first.
She cried out as I entered her, a sharp short cry that nearly had me pull back out, terrified that I had hurt her, our game of dare pushed too far. So tight it’s nearly painful, the squeeze as her ring of muscle fluttered against me. Her short nails dug into my hips when I tried to pull back. “Stay…just give me a minute…” Her voice was breaking and I was afraid she would cry, I couldn’t answer her, knowing I would. As with my fingers before, she relaxed, eventually, and with the tiniest of nods from her I pressed slowly, ready at the slightest sharp cry to pull out, and swear on everything I valued to never hurt her like that again.
A guttural moan is pulled from her, so different from the wild animal sound of her that I’ve grown to love but I could get to like this too. I stop halfway and pull back just a little before pressing deep, all the way within her, where I rest, trying to catch my breath, whispering her name just under my breath. Her lips parted as she looks up at me, her eyes nearly closed, glazed with lust and that same indefinable softness underneath. In the mirror of her eyes I notice that we share the same expression.
“Does it make it easier?” Her hand had moved between our bodies, pressing and circling over her clitoris. “Uh-huh….”, the sound barely more than a moan. I stroked slowly within her, the feel of her so tight around me, incredible. “Oh god, Jeanette…” She never cries out or screams, and I listened so carefully to every sound for the slightest indication of pain. Withdraw almost all the way and press deep. I watch her come this time, her neck arching as her mouth opens, a wide ‘o’ of surprise, coming so fast she barely has time to make a sound. Her eyes never leave mine, not once, as her body clenches reflexively, her deep moans now a series of short gasps for breath. I can barely breathe, my belly a pit of fire before I come, the tightness of her around me making it inevitable, struggling to keep watching her. I never want to stop watching her.
She’s crying softly and I kiss the trails of them when I ease from her, both of us trembling, shaken to the core. I lie beside her and pull her tight to my chest, fighting my own tears. “I wish you were my first, the first time, Sean.” Her voice shakes as she buries her face in my neck.
“Wasn’t he good to you, beautiful?” I suppress the jealousy, she’s mine, her every word, touch and look tells me she’s mine. But I’d still have to fight not to kill in a minute anyone that hurt her.
“It wasn’t like this.” I cup the back of her neck as she looks up at me, her tears already dry. Her hand shakes before coming to rest on my jaw, tilting her head up to kiss me. We watch each other as we kiss gently, touching each other as if we’ve never touched each other before. “I’m glad you were my first this time, that it was with you.”
My first, she’s my first. “I love you so much, ‘Nette.” I pull her so close that her answer is muffled against the skin of my neck, she loves me too. She will love me forever, her lips whisper against my skin. It’s so hard to ease up, to stop squeezing her. I help her up off the bed, holding her up as her legs shook, she’s not the only one. We washed carefully, gently, and held each other until the hot water ran out, her dark hair a ripple over my arms as I held her tight.
“Will you go to church with me this morning, ‘Nette?” I haven’t wanted to go in years, a year and a half to be exact, but I wanted to go this morning. I handed her another cup of coffee once she was dressed and we stood on the balcony looking across at a sky cleared of smog. The rain, another reason to like it.
Her laugh was a quiet sound under her breath as she held her coffee cup, her arms resting on the edge of the balcony. My arms slipped tighter around her waist at the sound of it, fighting a grin. “I’ll have to follow your lead, I haven’t been in a church since I was a little girl.”
Religion isn’t something I have really wanted to talk about. All of us in the neighbourhood grew up with it, I suppose a lot of it was just expected. Without calling, I know that we’ll run into Hicks and his family at church, I’ll call him anyway, but the simple thing of it is is that I wouldn’t have to. “You’re not religious?” I asked quietly, carefully. Religion is a biggie, to some people.
Her back settles into my chest and she looks up as parts of the sky clear, sending rays of light over the water. I can feel her deep breath against my chest as I hold her, as she watches the sun dance over the ocean. I remember her looking out over the water, while we ate in Seattle, and her fascination, gazing out the windows when we drove through forests and mist and fog. Staring out over the mountains on the Space Needle, and that one image of her that will forever be etched into memory, as she turned her head to look back across the mountains, etched in pink, on the first day I ever saw her. She’s religious, in her own way.
I grin into her neck, whispering in her ear. “I’m a lapsed Catholic. A lot of kneeling, mumble along with me, you’ll do fine.”
Her head rests back against my shoulder and her laugh floats in the still morning air. “As long as I don’t have to sit down.” I worried again, about hurting her, before laughter hit, muffled at first in the skin of her neck.
I had called Hicks to let him know that we would meet him at church, and that no, we would just walk over. He said we were crazy, that it was a twenty minute walk, like that was a bad thing. I covered the phone with my hand, as I asked Jeanette if she was okay with having lunch afterwards with them. I didn’t want to even ask her, I just wanted to say no outright, but it might come up later and I didn’t want her being embarrassed or pressured. She grinned around the corner of the bathroom, hairbrush in hand, her smile genuine when she answered that yes, she’d love to. One eyebrow raised for a moment, her finger rubbing the spot between her eyebrows before she grinned again and pointed at me, disappearing back into the bathroom to finish brushing her hair. I rub the bunched up spot when I get back on the phone with Hicks, letting him know we’ll have lunch with him afterwards. I’m still a little nervous about that. Candice tends to get over upsets easily, but she never did learn much from them when she did it.
We had picked up a coffee outside, wandering slowly, my arm comfortably around her waist, having given ourselves lots of time to get there. The threat of more rain at any moment keeps the streets nearly empty of people, so we can walk comfortably, stopping occasionally to look at things in windows. We stopped at a small store that was just opening, the blown glass animals in the front window had caught her eye as we passed. She lets out a sigh of complete contentment that I think only another woman could understand, at having found the perfect thing. A paperweight for Dan, who she said collects them. It’s funny the things you learn about people, it’s hard to imagine him collecting something like that. A small glass angel for Adriana, I already knew she collected angels, and what caught her eye as we passed, a pale blue glass unicorn, for Rachel. I hold her a little tighter as we leave, happy with her in a way I’m at a loss to explain. She does that to me a lot. Rachel has always been a tomboy, for as long as I’ve known her, but the unicorn is perfect.
The church hasn’t changed since I was a boy, when I came here every Sunday with my mother. Three stone steps, through the massive wooden doors that still seem to loom over me, as they did then, and we’re inside, into the relative cool and dark, taking a seat behind Hicks and his family. Jeanette and I sharing a tiny secret grin before she sits. It doesn’t matter how old you get, every time we’re here, we whisper, a leftover from being kids when we’d get swatted for making noise. I don’t think they do that anymore, but we’re still quiet anyways. It’s harder for Rachel, who turns and kneels on her seat to flash her huge smile at me, waving at Jeanette, who grins and waves back. Jeanette and Candice smile at each other, and I try my best not to think about it too much.
I’ve never really been very religious, not in the way my family was, the way Stacy’s family was, but I do like to be here. Jeanette follows my lead, kneeling at the low padded bench provided for that reason. We share a grin watching Rachel fidget with a dress she doesn’t look at all happy to be wearing. It’s easy to get lost in thought during the service, I had forgotten about that, how the words become a sound in the background in the otherwise still room lit only by the soft red glow of candlelight and the light from outside through the stained glass. Jeanette is silent, discreetly looking around as I mumble through prayers I had thought long forgotten.
I turned to watch her when she moved, her hand tucking her hair behind her ear, gold light from the window beside her giving her a halo. Everything else disappears as I watch her, my angel. If I was younger I would have gotten swatted for it, I’m sure, but I reached out and touched her hand as we knelt close together. Our fingers interlaced as we watched each other in silence, our eyes speaking volumes, that same softness that makes everything else around us vanish, until it’s just us. We are with each other, forever here.
I’ve danced around this moment for what feels like forever, asking everything but what I should be asking, afraid to ask that one burning question. But I’m not afraid of it anymore. Neither of us moved, and we didn’t separate, for the rest of the service. I watched her the entire time, knowing in my heart that I was finally ready to ask her. “I want to go home, Jeanette.” My lips touched her ear as I whispered to her. I ignored the dirty look the woman behind us shot at us.
The skin bunches between ‘Nette’s eyebrows, her voice low and quiet as she answers. “To the hotel? Or…”
“Home. I want us to go home.” She smiles up at me, a quiet smile that’s deeper in her eyes than anywhere else. The woman behind us lets out a snort of disgust as I lean down to kiss her, my lips touching hers just gently at first, the import of kissing her like this in a church isn’t lost on me. The last time I had done that I was getting married, in this very church. Our kiss deepens, I don’t care who notices. I love her, with my whole heart I love her. Rachels’ quiet giggling at our kissing brings us back, the tinkling sound of it carrying and echoing, no matter how much she tries to be quiet. Hicks and Candice looked back at us, smiling at us as we separated and sat back, listening and not really listening to the rest of the service. I held Jeanette’s hand the entire time, and we didn’t take our eyes off each other. We were going home, and I would ask her to marry me.
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