Page 62 of The Crush
I’ve never found much peace in Sundays.
In rushing through morning chores only so I could wait outside the bathroom for the hot water to be doled out in rations according to birth order.
In forcing myself into some stiff, scratchy,godawfuldress that my mother picked out while she fussed at my hair, my makeup, and my very existence.
In falling in line behind my father down the center aisle as he treated mass like his own personal parade.
Handshake here, polite nod there, as he filed his pristine family into our usual row while everyone else did the same. Easier that way for the town gossips to take attendance, to tally sins, to pass whispered accusations along with their sign of peace. To comfortably cast their stones inside of a house where the glass is already stained and iron-wrought.
Stand. Sit. Kneel.Repeat.Stand. Sit. Kneel.Repent.
I think that’s always been the hardest part for me—bowing my head to ask forgiveness for sins I hadn’t been given an opportunityto commit. Ironic then how even when I no longer find myself attending church on Sundays, I still find myself seeking salvation on my knees.
“Oh, God,” I moan quietly. “Fuck, Danny, please.”
My head is thrown back, my body trembling as I kneel in front of Daniel’s headboard, one hand on the wooden frame and one holding fast to his early morning bedhead of unruly brown curls.
I receive a nip to my inner thigh in reprimand, his fingers digging harder into my hip to keep me in place as I whine and pant through the overstimulation.
“Easy, Isabel,” he murmurs against my skin, granting me a small bit of reprieve. “You can give me one more.”
His mouth returns to my center. As if he intends to be at it for hours yet, he delves his tongue back inside, the bridge of his nose lazily rubbing against my kiss-swollen clit. I can’t stop the whimper he drags from me, again and again.
Still full dark outside, I’d woken up to him pulling me tight to him, kissing me deep as he shifted me on top of him.
“Danny?” I muttered sleepily, still feeling sated from the way he’d had me before bed, struggling to get my wits about me as I let him move me from straddling his lap to his chest. “Did you have a bad dream?”
Without answering, he continued to guide me up until my bent legs were positioned on either side of his head. “Just let me have you for a bit.”
“Mmm…yeah, okay.” I was already starting to breathe faster as he kissed his way up my thighs. “Are you sure you’re—”
A soft groan ripped free from me as he found his desired destination, loud enough that Daniel whispered for me to be quietfor him, and I had to whine my agreement, my hips starting to rock against his mouth from the moment I felt the first pass of his tongue.
“That’s it,” he murmured back to me. “There’s mi bonita. Good girl.” He held me closer, pulling me down so he could more easily reach me. “Fuck, you still taste like me.”
Taste of him. Smell of him. My hair tangled fromhisfingers, my lips swollen fromhismouth.
His. His. His.My choice, when all I’ve known up until now is obligation.
“Please.” I’m softly crying his name again when he sucks gently on my clit and slips two fingers inside, an offering of mercy that still doesn’t absolve me of the ache. “Please, please, please.”
“Fucking love it when you beg for me.” He moansintome, the vibration of his voice like a chorus to my singing bloodstream, his exhaled breath a wave of heat that makes me shiver. His hands push at the tops of my thighs, directing me back down his body as he kisses his way up mine.
He has one hand fisted in my hair as soon as he’s got me in his lap, keeping me near while he sits up, fusing his mouth to mine. My nails leave visible stinging streaks of anticipation down his chest as I feel him line himself up and push inside.
He kisses me slowly then, exploring my mouth the same way he slowly rocks into me. Making me feel whole, making me hungry for more.
He tastes like me, too. Hair made messy, grip made desperate. All by me. I’m the one he reaches for in the middle of the night. I’m the one he wants in his bed. I’m the one he wants with him.
God, please let it stay that way.
Forty-Six
Daniel
Isabel’s eyes drift closed within minutes, sleep easily claiming her as she curls against my side, but no matter how long I wait, it won’t take me too.
Instead, I stare up at the ceiling as I lie in bed, my eyes flicking to the clock every now and again. Watching two o’clock turn to three turn to four. Finally, I reach over and switch off the morning alarm, resigning myself to another day without sleep but refusing to inflict Isabel with the same.
