Page 34 of Bartholomew
And Christ, was she sweet.
Her body was soft beneath me, all curves and all woman.
My teeth caught her lower lip and tugged gently, making her gasp.
“Like that?” I barely uttered against her lips.
“I… I…” she stammered.
“Hush,” I commanded, before claiming her lips again. My hand went around the back of her neck, pulling her in a fraction of an inch further and anchoring our lips together. She tasted sweet, and those lips were so soft and full I couldn’t get enough.
“I want to kiss you all the time,” I groaned against her lips, doing everything in my power not to slide between her legs and show her just how good I could make her feel.
“Why do you say that?” she questioned, almost in chastisement. Her tone made me pull back.
“What do you mean?” My eyes searched her face in confusion.
“Why do you say things like how much you want to kiss me?” she asked, a mirroring look of confusion furrowing her brow.
“Because I do!” I sat back, giving her space, and watched as she shook her head and seemed to wave the question off. “No, Delilah, don’t brush it off. What do you mean?”
“It’s nothing.” But I knew it wasn’t nothing.
“No, no. The whole point of this game is being honest and open. What do you mean, Delilah?” I sat back against the opposite arm of the couch and picked up my drink once again.
“I just mean, how can you say things like you want to kiss me all the time when —” she paused.
“When what?” I insisted.
“When you had such disgust for me on our wedding day,” she sighed, picking up her glass and taking another sip. She wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Disgust?!” I repeated, somewhat shocked. “Delilah, I had no disgust for you on our wedding day. None. Why would you think I did?”
“Because of how you looked at me.” She was being open, if a bit hesitant, and I couldn’t ask for more than that.
“I looked at you with no disgust. I swear on my life.”
“Yes, you did!” Her voice raised, getting more passionate and I could have kissed her again for taking such a step.
“When?” I countered, feeling hungry for her truth, wanting to delve into this woman, to know her.
“When I first walked into the church and then after,” she admitted, her eyes fixated on that glass of water in her hands.
“When you first walked into the church, the only feeling I had was shock,” I admitted. Her shoulders slumped. “Shock that the ridiculous people of Zion couldn’t see what an beautiful woman you are. I don’t care what other people say, darlin’.”
“You don’t?” she asked quietly.
“No. People are stupid. I will never for the life of me understand what gives people the audacity or the right to look at another human and cast judgment on them. Women, in particular, are stunning. Their curves, their softer features, their soft skin. There is so much to love about women,” I explained passionately.
“So, you just like women in general.”
“No. Well, yes. I appreciate women. Truly and completely. But Delilah, you are beautiful. When you walked into that church, it shocked me because I couldn’t understand why anyone would have a negative thing to say about you. You have amazing curves and these pretty little dimples that peek out when you smile. And hell, don’t get me started on that smile. It lights up the room and makes your blue eyes sparkle. You have full soft lips that I’m becoming addicted to kissing.” My answer was honest and open and raw. If I wanted her to be those things, I needed to show her she wasn’t alone in that space.
“And after?” she asked with trepidation. I knew what she meant. She did not need to elaborate further. I reached out and took one of her hands in mine.
“What happened in that room after our wedding did disgust me,” I began. She immediately started to pull her hand away. “No, don’t pull away. Let me explain. Being intimate with you is not something disgusting. Being forced to be intimate with you in the most un-intimate way imaginable in front of not only the Elders of our church and community but in front of our own fathers, was traumatic. There is no other word for it. Traumatic. And it’s not how I would have ever chosen to begin our marriage, particularly the intimate portion of our marriage.”
My words hung in the air for a moment, and I could see the wheels turning in her head.
