Page 38 of Restored Dreams

After a dinner he prepared, which included grilled steaks but a hearty salad, he leads me upstairs to his room. Each bedroom is a mirror image of one another. Same double bed. Same French doors. Same small balcony with glass railings. And on Brut’s, he’s made a nest of blankets and pillows with votive candles lining the railing.

“What’s this?” I breathe, the setting romantic and sweet.

“Date three. Making love under the moonlight.” My brain races to the things I said to Brut on our first night watching the sunset. Dance in the rain. Plan what-ifs. Make love under the moonlight. He’s doing all the things from my youthful, romantic dreams. Why? My heart aches. Instead of asking questions, I turn to him and kiss him softly. The kisses heat before Brut pulls back and begins the slow tease of undressing me.

He removes my dress, unclasps my bra, and slides down my underwear. His hands explore my body, lingering on the back of my calves, the curve of my hips, and the roundness of my shoulders. I should feel self-conscious, and in some ways, I do. His gaze is so intense as his eyes follow the trail of his fingers over my skin. Then he compliments me.

“You’re the most beautiful woman.” His voice is serious, but for some reason, I reply, “I’m getting old.”

“You’re aging to perfection.” My mouth returns to his, wanting to swallow his sweetness. My fingers deftly undress him as well, removing the short sleeve button-down and khaki shorts he wore to “dress up” for dinner. He wears boxer briefs, and I take in his sexy appearance in the tight undergarment before removing them. He takes my hand and guides me to the cove on the balcony. I feel like a princess as he leads me. A naked princess but also a woman cherished.

As I lie on the bed of blankets, Brut continues to explore my body as the sky darkens over us. It isn’t as if he hasn’t touched me before. We’ve certainly been adventurous this week, but his hands take their time as if he’s memorizing me. He outlines my arms, covers my breasts, and runs a flat palm over my stomach. His fingers trace along my hips before he sits up and massages my legs down to my feet.

“Flip over,” he commands softly, and I do as he says, relishing the brush of soft cotton under my naked body. He massages up my calves, over my thighs, and onto my backside.

“This ass,” he moans, digging into the white globes accentuated by my tan lines. His fingers continue to my lower back, up my spine, and across the base of my neck. It’s a full-body massage, and I’m relaxed more than I can ever recall being. With a gentle press on my side, he rolls me to my back again. His mouth covers the tattoo on my hip, outlining the artwork with sucking kisses on my colored skin. His fingers skate over to my center, and he looks up at me with a devious glint in his eyes.

“Date three is for sex, but we’ve already done that.” A finger slides slowly inside my core. “Tonight, we make love, Lily pad.”

A second finger joins the first, stroking me, priming me, but I’m more than ready for this man. What I’m not prepared for is the slow intensity he uses to fill me. He’s methodical, deliberate, and he’s taking his time to push to the hilt and then pull back to the edge. The rhythm is languid and sweet, and our bodies move in a luscious dance that matches the beat of the tide lapping on the beach. The sound of the waves sets the pace for us, and Brut brushes back my hair as he rocks into me.

“On which date can I say I love you?”

“Brut,” I hiss, tears prickling at my eyes. This one, I want to whisper, but I don’t. The statement can’t be numbered on a calendar. It isn’t measured in time. In fact, I’ve been holding those three words for him for twenty-two years. I’d like to think I’m ready to share them, but I’m too afraid.

Brut lowers his mouth to mine, and he kisses me with the same lazy rhythm of his lower body. My skin tingles. My body at peace with this man over me, filling me. A hum ripples up my center.

“Getting there, sugar?” he asks as he curls to the side a little, slipping his hand between us and touching the nub just outside me as he slips inside. The build-up is drizzled caramel; the release even sweeter. I’m coming in soft waves, light ripples, and dragging pulls. My hands clasp Brut’s backside, holding him inside me as I clench around him. I don’t want him to leave my body.

“That’s it, baby.” He exhales into my neck once I start to come down from the high. His pace quickens enough to take him over the edge next, and he stills inside me. I ride the pulse within, knowing his seed fills me. We haven’t been safe this week—not even a little bit—but I couldn’t be with him in any other way. If one week is all I get, I want everything and beyond with him as he said the other night. Everything and beyond.

22

The morning-after effect

[Lily]

The next morning, I wake to dawning sunlight, the squawk of seagulls, and Brut’s arms around me. After making love, we stayed on the balcony, talking halfway through the night as if we could fill the remainder of our stay with the years missed between us. I’d like to say I felt fulfilled, but instead, a sickeningly hollow sensation burrows through my midsection. The inevitable seems just around the corner, and I can’t shake the feeling.

A light kiss to my shoulder tells me Brut is awake.

“You stayed in bed,” he teases against my neck. “It only took all week, woman.”

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” I say as I twist to face him. Morning breath isn’t pretty, but Brut does not seem to mind. He kisses me, lingering similar to the caresses from the night before.

“What are those two doing over there?” The shrill voice of an older woman stops us mid-kiss. Brut lifts his head, narrowing his eyes.

“Shit.” He chuckles as I tip my head back to see what he does.

“Oh my God,” I hiss, pressing Brut off me and wrapping a sheet around me as best I can. I crawl through the open screen door, not wanting to stand and expose us any more to the nosy neighbor peering over her balcony at ours. Brut crawls after me, completely naked, and tackles me to the floor of his room. Falling to my stomach in a fit of embarrassed giggles, he rolls me to my back and quickly covers me, struggling to unwrap me from the sheet between us. Hands tug and pull at the material, eager to be reckless just as we were outside. But suddenly, Brut’s phone rings the annoying rap music with his son’s name in it.

“Shit,” he swears again, holding still over me as if he expects the ringing to stop.

“You should answer that.” I don’t want him to ignore his son.

“I’ll be home in a few hours. Can’t whatever it is wait?” Brut mumbles into my neck, collapsing over me. The words pull forward reality. We only have a couple of hours left. We need to be out by noon.

“Would he call you if it could wait?”