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I screw my eyes shut. Dee hadn’t told me that before.
“I carried her…talked and sang to her for nearly six months, but I never got to see her or hold her in my arms. I wish for that…if even just once. I would have told her how much I loved her. How much I wanted her. As scared as I was, I wanted my baby. I wanted to be her mother.”
My chest feels like it’s being sliced with razor blades.
“How can it still hurt so much?” Her fresh tears trickle onto my skin. “Many women go through miscarriages and they aren’t a mess fifteen years later.”
“You’re not a mess. You kept it in for so long and never gave yourself a chance to fully grieve.”
Her head raises and her sad gaze fuses with mine. “You’re grieving too. I can see it.”
Denial fails me. I work to rein in the images. But they persist across my mind like a rolling montage of my wrongdoings. Making nasty accusations about her inability to love when she told me she needed time to figure stuff out. Mistaking her fear for rejection, I stormed away, leaving her in the rain. Throwing a party, drinking to nurse my misery. Kissing another girl, letting her ride my lap. Dee seeing it. Running. Alone and pregnant. No money. No support. Stressed and scared. Then the loss. Our baby girl, gone. Scraped out, leaving scars inside Dee’s body, and deep in her soul.
“It’s not your fault, Mick,” she says as if reading my thoughts. “You can’t keep believing you’re to blame.”
I can’t believe anything else. We were engaged. She was mine to take care of. To protect. I let her down. I let our baby down. And I can’t do anything to change it. Not one fucking thing to ever make it right.
“I’m so sorry, Dee.”
“Oh, Mick. You are not the one who should be sorry. I didn’t tell you I was pregnant. Instead I made you think I was having second thoughts about us.”
“That’s no excuse. I hurt you.”
“I hurt you first. We were young. We made mistakes.”
“And you paid for them all.”
“We both did. But no amount of self-recriminations will bring her back. We have to put the loss behind us. Not to ever forget, never that, because she mattered. But to let go of the self-blame and all the guilt.”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“Me either. But we’ll figure it out together.” She touches her mouth to mine. The kiss like gentle rain. Parted lips merely brushing. Soothing.
I’m not sure how long we stay that way, for the moment feels timeless, a fraction of eternity that belongs only to us. Nor do I know in whatcatalytic minute or second that our kiss turns from comforting into something wanting, needing.
“Mick…” she whispers. “Love me where it hurts.”
“Where does it hurt?”
“All over.”
I ease Dee onto her back and cover her tear-streaked cheeks with kisses, returning again and again to the dark honey of her mouth and delicate arch of her throat. I work the straps of her bra down her shoulders and bury my face in the fragrant fullness of her cleavage. I kiss her through the sheer cups, then flick open the front clasp. Her breasts pop free, ripe and round, topped with hard chocolate centers. She fists one hand in my hair and pulls my head down. I close my lips around her erect nipple and tug the other between my forefinger and thumb. I suck her gently until her breaths become labored and urgent.
I slide downward to paint her skin, nuzzling my mouth into the softness of her belly, my tongue tracing the white faded lines that are a sign of her strength and struggles. I slip my fingers into the waistband of her bikini panties, and Dee, moaning into my touch, raises her hips as I peel them off. I run my hands over her long, plump legs and hook them over my shoulders. Her skin feels like sun-warm satin. She arches up and the heady scent of her arousal wraps around me.
I cup the curves of her hips and taste her in slow strokes, chasing her distinct flavor from the bottom of her cleft to the top, wanting to eat her alive. To lose myself to the grinding hunger, to the delicacy of her flesh and the primal need to possess it.
I plunge my tongue inside her sweet essence and she lets out a moan that drowns out everything else. Her hips churn and her breaths quicken. I slide my fingers over her clit and her knees fall outward, opening herself up to me. Fire rages through my blood. When she’s almost there, her hands grip my hair and her body coils tight. I circle my fingers faster and hasten the thrusts of my tongue.
“Mick! Oh God.” She comes with hard, quaking spasms that I feel down to my bones.
Not done yet, I kiss my way back up to her breasts, her neck, her lips, before I roll us over. Dee stares down at me, her breathing rapid. I slide my hands under her ass and bring her spread legs up my chest. With her knees braced on either side of my shoulders, she’s hot and silky wet against my skin. I pull her closer and flutter my tongue over her clit still pulsing from her orgasm.
“Ohh.” Dee clutches the iron rungs of the headboard.
It’s a thing of beauty, her flushed and naked, head thrown back, eyes closed, lips parted, breasts bouncing as she bucks into my mouth.
Boiling with lust, I could come just from watching her, but it’s Dee’s mindless pleasure that I’m after. I swirl my tongue, circling that little nub, and softly sucking it. She comes again, shaking and gasping, rubbing out her orgasm against me.
