Page 88 of The Sun
“You’re so conniving, it’s worrisome.”
She drew an invisiblePon her chest. “I’ve gotta earn that preacher’s kid title before graduation.” Smiling, she backed up, the red glow of the taillights reflecting off Elias’ truck.
By the time I reached the first step of his porch, Elias was already waiting at the door. His lips were on mine before I’d made it inside, and he swatted blindly at the door until it clicked shut.
Hands and mouths and a lot of bumping into walls on the way to his bedroom. My chest was tight with excitement and fear and what ifs. Suddenly, I was terrified I would do something wrong, scared of how ridiculous it must look for two people to have their naked bodies tangled together. Worried I wouldn’t be as good as other girls had been . . .but never once did I worry I was making a mistake. That was the one thing I was certain of. Nothing with Elias would ever be a mistake.
And no matter what happened, I wanted this with him. No one else.
The back of my legs bumped against the mattress, and my heart went into a crazy hiccup. Elias kissed me until I couldn’t breathe, until I felt if I stayed in these clothes for a second longer, they would eat through my skin like acid rain.
I broke the kiss, sliding my hands from his shoulders to his chest and then to the hem of his navy-blue shirt. I lifted the material the way I imagined a collector would peel the protective shield off a fine piece of art. Slowly, inch by inch.
I tried to memorize each dip of his muscles and the hair that disappeared underneath the waist of his jeans. And once both our shirts were crumpled on the floor, we just stood there. Staring, touching. Using our fingertips and mouths as silent confessions of love.
“God,” he whispered against my neck. “You’re so beautiful.” Beautiful meant so much more than hot or sexy.
Somewhere between the kisses and touches and our shoes and pants coming off, we ended up on the bed. Skin to skin.
That very new sensation quickly became my favorite—the way his warm body pressed against mine, how much closer I felt to him with nothing separating us that wasn’tus. It was just he and I, and this moment that no one could take away.
Elias worked his mouth over my collarbone, and I lazily circled my fingertip around his sun tattoo.
“That was my first tat.” His lips met mine. “For you.”
“So, you did save some of your firsts for me?”
“I saved them all for you.” He hovered over me, one expression after the other creeping onto his face slow like a lazy summer’s night.
Certainly, he didn’t mean sex. He must have given that away long ago to some girl in the back of his truck, because that’s what bad boys did—only Elias wasn’t really bad. “All?” I asked.
“Every. Last. One,” he said, and I kissed him hard and long, breathing I love you against his lips.
His mouth eventually worked down my stomach to places only he had seen or touched. Each touch, each kiss built until my body felt like a fault line bearing the brunt of some incredible tension.
“Are you sure?” he mumbled against my throat.
“Yeah.” I swallowed, trailing my fingers over his back. “I’m so sure.”
I pretended to ignore when he grabbed a condom because it felt embarrassing. I closed my eyes, waiting for his weight to settle between my thighs.
More kisses and touches and just when he positioned himself between my legs, his brow creased. “I may not,” he wet his lips. “You know, be very good at first.”
“I may not either.”
And then slowly, everything changed. It was nothing like I expected. It was clumsy and perfect. Passionate. A mess of tangled limbs and heavy breathes. Of feeling vulnerable and eternally connected because you can only give this part of yourself away once. We faded into each other in ways only people who love one another can. This was so much more than sex. It was two people who had long ago fallen in love with each other’s souls finally falling in love with each other’s bodies.
29
Sunny
Amy Grant’s “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” channeled through the speakers of the Piggly Wiggly. I had the pregnancy test buried under a pack of Soft Batch cookies and toilet tissue while I stood in the middle of the aisle trying to find a cashier who may not know I was Sheriff Lower’s daughter.
The lady at register two had bottle-blonde hair and electric-blue eyeshadow. The black smock emblazed with the smiling pig ironically wearing a butcher’s hat didn’t conceal her massive, Dolly Parton chest. The little name tag tacked to her left boob read: Krystal.
Smiling, Krystal waved me over.
I tried to act nonchalant when I unloaded the basket, making a teepee out of the cookies and the tissues that I slipped the E.P.T under.
