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I smirk and the memory lightens my mood. “Because he said I was either breathing fire and destroying everything or I took the fire inside of me and created life. ”
“Created life?”
“Fire can destroy, but it can also create—provide warmth, protection. ” I still remember him explaining when I asked the same question. “He told me until I chose my path, I would always be capable of life and destruction. ”
“Did you choose?” She weaves her arms around my neck.
My hands melt into the indentation of her waist as I wonder how far we should go tonight. Rachel takes my bottom lip between hers, and the kindling bursts into flames.
“I don’t think it’s up to me,” I answer. “My path chooses me. ”
“You’ve chosen, Isaiah. ” She kisses the side of my neck. “You’re life. ”
“I’m still destruction. ”
“Not to me,” she whispers.
“How far?” I ask while I still have a voice. Cupping her face, I reclaim her lips and gently guide her body next to mine on the bed. Rachel’s tank rides up and my fingers explore the satin skin of her belly. There are so many places I long to go, so many places I crave to take her.
“I want to go further,” she whispers. When I skim the waistband of her pants, her breathing hitches.
Further. Damn, my entire body responds. I don’t miss the way her hand fidgets with the hem of her shirt. Scared I’ll spook her, I don’t push her too far, but I’m all for reading body language. I place my hand over hers and her smile appears.
“You sure?” I ask.
She nods and her hand falls away. I lower my head as I slowly edge the material of her tank off her stomach. Jesus, her stomach is gorgeous. Flat and smooth. As my lips press the spot above her belly button I confirm how undeniably sweet Rachel is.
I kiss each and every centimeter of her exposed skin as I move up her tank. I linger over the material of her bra and Rachel fists the sheet with both hands. She’s so damn hot I’m about to forget slow and go for fast.
But I ignore those urges and guide the material up and over her head. I don’t know what the hell I did to have such a beautiful creature in my bed, but she’s here and I’m going to spend tonight worshipping this gift in front of me.
I roll my body over Rachel’s, and her legs tangle with mine. Elvis’s deep voice drifts from the apartment below. He sings about wise men and fools who rush in. I know as I hold Rachel in my arms that I, too, had no choice in falling in love.
We become lost in kisses, warm bare skin and touches. I move, and this time Rachel moves along with me. There’s a building, a sweet pressure. It’s as if we’re not even two separate people anymore, but one.
Hands are everywhere. Kisses on the lips, the neck and shoulders. I move faster and Rachel keeps the pace as her thighs press against my hips, bringing me closer.
Right as my world is about to be pushed over the edge, Rachel grasps on to my body and calls out my name. I wrap my arms around her, holding on as if I’m saving myself from dying. My body jerks, and behind my closed lids there are bright colors. I inhale, and it’s the scent of jasmine and when I open my eyes, I see an angel.
“I love you,” Rachel whispers, and her eyelids flutter with the delicious exhaustion.
I slip to the side and gather her into my arms. I want Rachel here every night for the rest of my life. It’s what feels right, what feels natural. “I love you. ”
“I’m tired,” she yawns.
“Sleep, angel. ” I rub my hand up her spine and revel in the feel of her body pressed tight to me. “Sleep. ”
Chapter 56
Rachel
MY EYES POP OPEN AND a nervous adrenaline beats through my system. A nightmare. Just a nightmare. One of my mom and my father and of speeches. . .
I’m in the same position as whe
n I fell asleep: one leg draped over Isaiah’s and my head resting against his bare chest. His heart has the same steady rhythm that I’ve come to depend upon. Slants of light filter into the room from the streetlamp. Time lost all meaning hours ago. With one hand wrapped around me, keeping me tucked close to his body, Isaiah dozes.
Tonight, Isaiah took me places I’ve never been, and the memory almost drives away all the fear from the nightmare. . . .
