With This Heart(109)

With one hand I pulled my shirt off as my other wrapped around her as soon as the shirt was gone. She was so small in my arms, but she felt exactly like I’d remembered.

“             Beck, not on the counter,” she murmured, her lips dancing across my ear when she moved her mouth. “I feel like a knife is going to stab me in the butt or something.” Her sentence started out lusty, but by the end I couldn’t help but laugh. We both fell into hysterics and I lifted her up and away from any sharp utensils.

“             Your choice: the bed or the futon.” Our lips were pressed together and I could feel her smile against my mouth.

“             You would have a futon.”

My head tilted back far enough that I could look down at her.

Her smile was still there, just like mine had been since I saw that sign on the table in the union  . I’d resigned myself to the fact that we were over. I thought she saw me as a summer fling, a guy to take her mind off the sadness surrounding those few weeks.

“             How about against the wall?” she asked, pulling me out of my reverie. Her words were quiet and unsure, adding to her allure.

My feet started shuffling us backwards. “Like we almost did that first time?” I asked. I pressed her back against the wall and angled her so that our bodies met perfectly with her legs straddled around me. She was warmth, the type of warmth you had to earn. The type of warmth that sears your skin so that for as long as you live,                          your body remembers what it was like to be close to her, to be buried inside of her.

“             Or the time in Marfa,” she mentioned, her jade green eyes clouding over with lust. I peeled my eyes down her pearly white skin. She was so soft and flushed with arousal, it was hard to decide if the appeal of making love to her against the wall was better than taking our time on my bed. Maybe we’d do that afterward.

“             Tell me you love me, Abby,” I demanded, kissing under her chin and down her neck. She arched away from the wall, pressing her skin against my lips for more. My mouth pressed against the chain of her locket and I smiled at the memory of the flea market.

“             Beck,” she began to answer, but I pulled one of my hands away from her hip to open the locket. I wanted to see if she’d replaced the old couple inside. The tiny hinge was hard to open, but she didn’t rush me. The rising and falling of her chest pressed against my hand as I pulled the tinted metal open.

My body stilled.

Tucked inside were two pieces of paper; one on either side. The first had my name, written small and in cursive. The other held a small outline of Texas with tiny hearts over specific areas. She’d drawn a thin red line to connect the hearts. It was hard to see when it was drawn so small, but I tugged it closer to my face and then grinned when I realized what I was looking at.

Each heart was drawn over a city we’d visited a year ago.

She’d mapped out our trip and kept it in the locket over her heart.

Her hand wrapped around my fingers, tightening my hold on the tarnished locket. “I love you with this heart.” She tipped her head forward and pressed a kiss to my lips. Then she moved her hand and pointed to her scar, to the beating heart that lay beneath, “and             with             this             heart             .”