Page 82 of A Ballad of Phantoms and Hope
Lanston chuckles; it’s a low, seductive sound that sends a throb through my core.
“Tell me why,” he says, freeing his cock and returning to me.
Our lips connect and I whisper to him, “You look like a god. The constellations behind you.”
His smile against my lips makes me weak.
“And here I thought you were a goddess I worshiped in secret.” He breathes and pushes inside me. His groan is deep and reverberates through his chest, sending lust through my veins like a drug.
My back arches instinctively as he slowly thrusts into me. Our legs tangle as we become one soul. Chasing, kissing, biting. There isn’t a part of him I don’t adore. His half-lidded eyes draw up to mine, sweat keeping his hair to his forehead.
Our eyes lock in this moment, and everything I haven’t yet said, and everything he’s been wanting to, threads between us. Can you feel the weight of a heart through a man’s gaze? I feel it, wholly and entirely.
“I hear you,” I say, reaching my fingers up to trace his cheekbone. “Your cry for life is deafening.” His motions slow, drawing his hips to mine until they are pressed together.
“You are the butterfly,” he says, staring down at me like nothing else matters. “I am the moth.”
My tattoo.His brilliant mind finding us as the somber creatures warms my heart.
We don’t smile as we stare into each other’s souls. It doesn’t feel right to.
Lanston lowers his chest to mine. A fresh wave of pleasure rushes through me as he moves in slow tandem. Our limbs tangle and our hearts cry out until we both cease, still and moaning with our release.
After our breaths calm and the storm in my mind clears, I ask, “Why am I the butterfly?”
Lanston pulls me to his chest, my head resting on his sternum as we stare up at the night sky.
“Because you're colorful and lively, like a butterfly.”
“And why are you the moth?”
“Because I’m always chasing your light.”
36
Lanston
Ophelia,dressed in the most enchanting dress I’ve ever seen, runs alongside the bay. Her white sleeves are clad in lace, intertwined with beige, and sewn in wheat embroidery. It’s a light and endearing look—so bright and in contrast to her usual dark attire.
Secretly, I pretend this is her wedding dress and the black suit I’m in is my groom’s attire.
She smiles back at me, earning her one in return. My hair wisps freely in the breeze. Paris has a crisp wine scent that floats in the air, tasting of rosé and champagne.
As I watch my rose take in the city, I picture what we could have been had we been fated to meet in life. I think of her, eating pastries and begging me to take her to the opera. We would get front-seat tickets that cost a fortune, but we wouldn’t care. We’d be frugal with other things. I’d take her to bookstores, the ones that have a dark, gothic feel to them. Then, with our backpacks stuffed with unnecessary things, I’d drive us around a little toofast on a crotch rocket. Enjoying the feel of her arms wrapped tightly around my lungs, squeezing me as though I’ll disappear if she doesn’t.
A breath leaves my lungs and I chuckle a bit to myself, feeling foolish, because we are already doing all those things. But it would have been sweeter in life, to call Liam and brag about my adventures. To hear Wynn and Lanny’s laughs in the background.
It wasn’t written in the stars for me. I decide.
I accept that now.
Jericho reminded me that graves don’t hold us down. Our ghosts are free, willing and daring. Just as we are.
Ophelia waves me over and I grin, happily meeting her by the water’s edge.
“This bridge reminds me of the one back home,” she says sadly.
I stare at her with sympathy, curious about the thoughts that may be running through her mind right now.
