It was a liberation. These truths, the ones spoken to me by my sinner who only specialized in lies. And the truths from my own tongue tasted so much sweeter than any of the lies I’d told myself for comfort or survival.
Sweeter still was the taste of Jay as he let me pull him down to meet my lips so that I could gently, slowly, lovingly kiss him.
It was a kiss unlike any we’d ever shared. Soft. Tender. One that was controlled by me.
My control was short-lived, which I was glad for since my body coiled up with need once more, desperate for a release, desperate to make up for all the nights I’d spent without Jay.
I lost purchase on his neck because his hands gripped my hair, fisting it to expose my neck. He grazed it with his teeth then bit down, soft first then harder. Enough to leave a mark.
“Fuck, Stella,” he grated out, his voice rough, almost animal. “I don’t know how to get enough of you. Don’t know how to stop being so hungry for you.” His eyes flared, and his other hand went down, between my legs then inside.
I gasped as his fingers moved expertly inside of me. Then they were gone. He lifted them up to his mouth, tasting me. “Starving,” he murmured.
“I don’t ever want you to stop being hungry for me,” I whispered, knees shaking. “I want you to spend the rest of your life famished, just like me. I want us to starve and to feast together.”
He grinned wickedly, showing all of his teeth.
There was the sound of clattering forks, plates shattering against hardwood, then my back was on the table. A screech of the chair as Jay pulled it in front of me, his hands wrenching my legs to dangle over his shoulders. His eyes glittered as he looked up at me from between my legs.
“It’s time to feast,” he growled.
Growled.
Then he feasted.
Later, when I regained used of my limbs, I did too.
We were back in bed.
The sun was rising. Soft morning light bathed the room that smelled of Jay, of me, of sex. At some point, he’d carried me from the living room to put me back in the bed, to make love to me slowly, gently. Something told me it was the first and last time he’d touch me this way. That there was no way to reproduce everything we were both feeling right now, the circumstances that pulled down every single one of his guards and exposed him fully to me. That was okay. I wasn’t sure if I could survive the gentle, loving touch from the man I loved so violently.
I wasn’t thinking of anything in particular. My thoughts were fleeting, soft around the edges, light enough to float past the backs of my eyes. It was unfamiliar, this feeling. These past few months, it was integral to avoid moments like this. Soft mornings in bed where my mind could wander. Before this, my thoughts had been anvils, black, all encompassing, prickly, dangerous things that did more damage the longer I let myself be idle and invite them in.
The man whose chest I was currently buried in had everything to do with both the former and the latter thoughts. But to feel so carefree, so light, was again unfamiliar. I didn’t remember a moment like this with Jay.
“I’ll do without the romantic proposal, if you’ll indulge me when I embellish the details ever so slightly to my girlfriends,” I mumbled into his chest.
“By saying that I put the ring into a glass of champagne or something?” he asked.
I moved up so I could scowl at him—my fiancé. My future husband. The man who knew how to make me fall in love with him and how to break my heart. Who knew my body. My fears. The man, for better or for worse, whose roots were intertwined with mine.
“That’s an insult to both of us, to think you would do something that cheesy and tacky and that I wouldn’t lie about it if it happened,” I countered. “What am I supposed to do? Fish a diamond ring out of a champagne flute with my fingers? Get them wet? Or drain the glass and then have to spit the ring out to put it on my finger?” I shook my head. “Yuck.”
Jay watched me in that very certain way of his that showed he was amused by me without his mouth moving. It was a very intimate thing to see that look, know it. I suspected I was the only person on this planet who could decipher Jay’s looks, and I adored that. I felt very greedy over it too. As much as I should want Jay to open himself up to people, to friends, to let people know him, I also didn’t want people to know him. Didn’t want him to feel fond or close to anyone but me. It was an ugly and selfish thought, but that’s what his love made me. Ugly. Selfish. Greedy.