I pause long enough to look up into his eyes, the starlight reflected in their dark depths, and I see his aura is pulsing about him. I imagine my own is too, my entire being alive with this very moment.
I resume my kissing of his beautiful body, licking and tasting his tan skin, touching him everywhere I can reach. I can feel his fingers in my hair again. His very touch is taking me far too close to the edge for comfort, and I need to find an image that will stem this treacherous tide before it releases prematurely, against my will. I have it, the very thing—Mary M naked. A repulsive thought in and of itself that serves to bring the situation under my control once again.
Having traversed the soft flesh of his chest, I bury my nose in the dark nest of his curls, inhaling him as much as I can, taking in his scent—a sensuous mixture of olives and lemons with just a hint of musk, and something else that is wholly Jesus.
I’m extremely hard, and my own hardness is weeping profusely. A good thing, I know, and rather useful.
Jesus is my first and only priority—his comfort, his needs, his pleasure, his everything. He’s the first virgin I’ve ever been with. First and last now, actually, for I’ll never have another lover. Ever. I don’t want to frighten him, or to displease him. And I definitely don’t want to move too quickly either, although my body has other opinions on the matter. Luckily, I’m still in control of my second brain—at least at the moment.
I kiss the tip of him. My eyes search his face, looking for a reaction. I know he’s never been touched here before, and if I had to guess, he’s probably not touched himself either. Hopefully he’ll enjoy the sensations I’m about to offer him.
One look at his expression reassures me; his kiss-swollen lips are parted breathily.
He seems to be very content with what we are doing, with what I’m doing to him.
So I continue.
What I need right now, more than anything, is to kiss him, to feel his lips against mine, to know that he’s all right with what we’re doing, and to make sure he likes it. Of course he likes it, what’s not to like. I mean what I’m doing. To him.
With him. Gah, I’m so inarticulate all of a sudden. I just need to make sure he’s okay.
I slide up his warm body in order to claim that kiss, but his lips are on mine before I can even say a word, and he’s taking my very breath away with the intensity of his need and I cease to question anything anymore. Everything’s perfect. Just like him.
Our bodies are pressed tightly together now, as tightly as our lips, and all I seem capable of are guttural moans, but that’s okay, he’s making them too. At least we’re speaking the same language, whatever that might be.
And then he surprises me. Not by the words of love he whispers into my lips, not in the way he caresses my name with his tongue, almost like a prayer. Or even the look in his eyes that speaks volumes more than mere words ever could. His touch is both gentle and confident. I might have to rethink that whole never touched himself thing, I think.
“I love you,” he whispers, and any thoughts I once possessed of doing anything else have flown from my head, to be resurrected at a later date, no pun intended.
This feels too good to stop, this feels too amazing, even. And it feels too immediate. I shatter into a million pieces, and he picks me up, every last piece, and puts me back together again. He is perfect.
For once I’m speechless. Anything I can think of to say falls into the category of too trite, too banal, or too stupid. Perhaps words are simply not needed.
“Stay with me, tonight,” he asks, and I cannot deny him this request. Not now, not ever. “Please don’t leave me…” As if I ever could. I think he knows better than that. At least he should, by now.
I offer to go get a blanket from the tent, to cover us, but at my suggestion he clings to me and simply says, “No, don’t go.”
In the back of my mind, a niggling thought attempts to make itself heard, but I push it aside, intent upon preserving this moment for as long as possible. This perfect moment. This perfect fucking moment. Everything’s perfect, all’s right with the world, as we cuddle together in our post-coital bliss, hold one another, and bask in the glow of our newly-confessed love.
And that’s the moment, of course, when all hell breaks loose.
Chapter Nineteen: Lucifer
I don’t believe I’ve properly introduced myself—or the self that my adoring followers have come to know and love. Mr. Lassiter, at your service—founder and leader of the Citizens Opposed to Carnal Knowledge group. Or C.O.C.K. for short.
I do find it amusing, does that answer your next question?