Page 71 of Secrets That Bind Us
“Do you know how many nights I cried in the shower to hide my tears? How many times I would call out to you while standing under the shower head, saying ‘Miss me, miss me, please for the love of God, miss me so you can come back to me?’” I ask, my voice steady and honest, and yet it feels like my throat is being branded by a hot iron poker.
“Dean,” she whispers my name again, but it pulls me like a piece of string tied to a marionette. It feels like warm wax being poured down my spine, slipping between the vertebrae, molding into every possible crevice between muscles and tendon and bone, barely holding me together.
I finally get the courage to turn around and face the love of my life, no longer a girl in braided pigtails with a goofy smile, but a woman who's seen the awful things this world provides. Things I wish I would have been able to protect her from or at least be there to hold her hand through the storm.
Dark hair up in a messy bun, brown almond-shaped eyes– framed by those fantastic dark lashes that always captivated me and held me prisoner– watch me through the screen door. Eyes that now have tiny, barely-there crow’s feet from all the laughs she laughed without me, and my heart cracks wide open.
“Did you ever feel my soul crying out to yours?”
She gnaws on that plump bottom lip the way I used to, until she stops. “Every day.” She whispers. “I wanted to come back to you,everyday.” Through the porch light, I watch as one sole tear rolls down her cheek. She quickly wipes it away but doesn’t take her burning gaze off of me.
And that confession is all it takes to break me, but she sees me coming. She takes one step back as I pull that goddamned screen door and wrap my arms around her waist to haul her up to me. Her legs immediately wrap around my torso, and I groan at the feel of her soft, womanly body finally against mine again.
The kisshurts, teeth clashing, lips parting, tongues colliding. It’s a kiss meant to bruise, to mark, to claim, igniting and extinguishing as much as it is healing the last thirteen years we were apart. It’s two souls that were destined to find each other in the darkest of voids, in every lifetime, finally reconnecting.
I start taking the stairs but remember her bedroom is now the primary, and head there instead, groping the thick globes of her ass like I did when we were hormonal teenagers, figuring each other out. Except this time, I have Verity Experience, and I hope to whatever God is out there, it won’t have me spilling in my jeans before I can even get them off. The anticipation of gettingher, naked, of seeing her in this new body, the body that carried my child, is killing me. I want to seeallthe changes.
I dump her on the bed, pulling my shirt over my head and shuck off my boots, unfasten my belt, and shove down my jeans, only to stay in my black boxer briefs, not wanting to scare her with my own changes.
The sight of her sitting on her sleigh bed, watching me undress, honey eyes wide behind her glasses, makes me know working out with Jason has paid off big time.
I flash her a grin when she visibly swallows and her mouth hangs open. But then, she reaches over and turns out the lamp on her nightstand.
I rectify that immediately.
“What are you doing?”
She shrugs, pulling her knees up to her chest and draping her arms over them. “It’s better this way. You look… you know. You look great. And I- well, I take my bra off and my boobs drop like the next hot album.”
Well, I’m fucking stunned because that just sent a jolt of need to my already aching dick. “Prove it.”
“Dean, this… I… I don’t look the same as I did when we were seventeen.”
“Perfect. I’m not attracted to minors.”
She groans. “God, you’re infuriating! That’s not what I mean! I've had two pregnancies. Bodies change!”
I kneel by the side of the bed, reach over, grab her by an ankle, and yank her close, which makes her squeal like she did when we were seventeen. I kiss one ankle and then the other. “Darlin’, if you don’t let me undress you right now and let me kiss every freckle, lick every silver stripe, grab and touch every inch of your body and fuck you till we both forget our names, I just might die. I can see the headlines now:Sheriff Dean Carson, Death by Blue Balls.”
She groans out in frustration. “Dean, it’s different. Men get hotter as they age. It’s science.”
My fingers trail up her soft legs, skin like silk under my touch, and shove her thighs apart, marveling at the wet spot on her light pink panties. “I’m damn near thirty-three, if you think a little bit of cellulite on these perfect thighs or a bit of a roll on your stomach is enough to deter me from loving you and fucking you into oblivion”- I replace my fingers with my lips, crawling up on my stomach, placing kisses where I mapped them out years ago, remembering which places caused her breath to hitch– “then I ain’t a man and I don’t deserve you.”
“Dean…”
Fuck, the way she sighs my name when my nose rubs over her panty-covered clit makes me fucking feral. White-hot chills rush over every vertebra to the base of my spine like a fucking raging river. I reach down and shove off my boxer-briefs with one hand, while the other inches up the smooth expanse of her thigh. My fingers find the waistband of her thong, and I yank it upbetween her pussy lips and groan when I see they're bare and waiting for me to kiss.
I lick up one and tilt my head to lick the other, my tongue barely skimming over the engorged bud between them, her thighs trembling each time. Now that I’m fully naked, except for my socks, but I’ll deal with that later. Right now, all I can do is feast. I take both hands and fist the waistband of her thong by the sides and snap it off, only to admire the prettiest pussy I've ever seen.
I won’t ever tell her the only pussy I’ve ever eaten is hers, because when I learned her body the first time around, I became an expert for her body alone. From how to get her there quickly, to how to torture her for my own sick gratification of hearing her beg for my cock. Well, except for that one time I thought it was her. But the whole reason I went down on that woman was because I thought itwasher. Truth be told, I still believe it was. I refuse to believe my lips ever pleasured anyone else in that wayever.
“What… what is it?” She tries to close her thighs, but I shove them back open.
“Won’t you give me a minute to say hello to an old friend, woman?”
She giggles, and it sends fissure-like prickles up my brain. Fuck, I’m not gonna last long.
I plant a kiss on her clit, then another, and another, swirl my tongue over and under that precious gem. I cover it with my mouth, tongue fucking her entrance only to come back up and do it again. I’m kissing her pussy. Worshiping it the way she taught me, moaning in encouragement when her thighs spread and her knees go to either side of her chest, her hand in my hair, caressing gently, pulling on the strands. My hands come down and my thumbs spread her a little more so my tongue can lick up everything she gives me.
