Page 110 of Promise

He leans forward, cupping one breast and bringing his mouth to it. His tongue twirls around my hard peak before he opens wide, taking more of me. My belly flutters. My eyelids shut again.

The homage is slow, calculated, like he’s taking his time to sculpt me, memorize me.

I haven’t really changed in three years, and yet I feel completely different.

More confident. Much bolder. Demanding even. Deserving of this attention.

He takes his time, like we have all night, and I allow him to play my body like only he can.

Running my hands through his hair, I massage his scalp, reminded again of that fictional couple.

I’d been hurt. The break painful. But I meant what I said to him a few weeks ago. I have no regrets about our relationship. Our marriage. My only regret is that we let ourselves drift apart. We got lost in what we lost.

And I’m grateful we’ve found our way back to one another.

As Dart moves lower and lower, he hooks his fingers into my shorts and tugs them down, taking his time to undress me until I’m bare on the bed. We haven’t been in this position yet.

Where we face one another.

Where we’re missionary again.

Where I feel so raw and exposed to him.

I whimper, uncertain where the noise comes from as he tickles his fingers up my ankle to my knee.

“I know, baby,” he says, as if he understands somehow. The need for him. The vulnerability I feel in this position.

“Let me love you,” he says.

Once upon a time, I crassly joked that we were only hooking up. Only fucking.

Dart argued then that he was never fucking me, he was loving me.

He spreads my legs and takes me with his mouth like he did the other night, only slower. Torturous teasing. Frisky flirting. He’s meticulous, purposeful, like he’s painting me. Stroke by stroke, he’s memorizing the spaces, the folds, the flavor. Like that poster that hangs in the entryway. Petal folds of black, blue, and yellow outlined in gray. Where the lavender shades are distinct, and the pink fold stands out the most.

Dart slices his tongue into me, and I whimper at the softness of his licks. The depth of his strokes. I spread my legs wider, allowing him to go deeper. He hooks his hands around my thighs and holds me open to him.

When I finally break, shattering like splatters of paint in vibrant colors, he pulls back and removes his boxer briefs, revealing how hard he is. How eagerly he wants me. How desperate he is to bring us together.

“All I need you to say right now is yes.” His voice is rough, raspy and low, as he holds his base and drags his tip through already wet folds. He catches on my clit, toying with me there.

“Yes,” I whisper.

Yes to this.

Yes to him.

Yes to us. Again.

Dart easily slides into me, releasing a deep moan of relief as we come together.

Slowly. Sweetly. Us.

When I’m full to the hilt, he pauses over me, staring down at me.

“I’m always going to love you,” he says, before lowering and taking my mouth, cutting off my response once again. Or saving himself from a lack of one on my part.

We don’t need to talk. Our bodies read the message.