Page 35 of Bartholomew
“How would you have started it, then?” She spoke without lifting her eyes.
“I’ll answer on two conditions,” I began, my voice lowering once more.
“I’m listening,” came her reply.
“Condition one. You must look at me. I know these conversations are hard, but we don’t have to hide ourselves here. I want to know you and I want you to know me. All of me, in time. Condition two. When I am done telling you, I would like you to kiss me. I want you to feel comfortable initiating that kind of interaction between us. What say you?” I waited for her response, watching her nibble at that lower lip before raising her eyes, squaring her shoulders, and answering.
“I accept.” There she was. That spark of fire, only enhanced by the flame of the actual fire, made my desire for her rise by leaps and bounds.
“Good. Now, pay attention, sweetheart. Had I been able to plan out how our wedding would go; it would not have been here. We would have gone somewhere beautiful and private. We would have only invited those people who add to our life. Not those who continually subtract from our joy. We would have been married amidst beautiful trees and smiling faces. We would have fed ourselves on good food, great music, the joy in those around us, and at the end of the night…” I trailed off, watching intently as I watched her pupils dilate with wonder. “At the end of the night, I would whisk you away from all of our loved ones to a cabin away from everyone. I would have picked you up in my arms and carried you across the threshold of that cabin. Not for any weird tradition, but simply because I wanted to — no, needed to — have you closer to me. I would not have set you down until we were in the bedroom. A large bed would fill the space and I would have set you at the foot of it.”
I took a sip of my drink, feeling my mouth go dry as the words flooded from my brain and past my lips. Her eyes had not left mine once. Good girl.
“I would have gone slowly. I would have stood behind you, undoing the fastenings of your dress and letting it fall away from your body. With each piece of skin that I uncovered, I would have spoken a truth and sealed that truth with a kiss.” The tension in the room grew between us.
“A truth?” she questioned so softly I barely heard her.
“Yes, a truth. For example, I would have kissed the curve of your waist as it meets your hip and spoken this truth: that this curve had been calling to me like a siren’s call all day. That it called to my fingers to trace, to my lips to taste, and to my hands to grasp as I pulled you into me.” Her jaw hung open at my words.
“I would have done that to every place on your body, speaking only truths with reverence and requests spoken as impassioned pleas. I would have laid you back against the bed and touched you. I would have guided your hands to me and shown you how to touch me. And together — always together — we would have gone into our marital bed as equals and as lovers. That’s what I would have done, Delilah.” My voice felt raw with the need I was feeling for her. Need to bring those exact words to life and show her just how good this part of marriage could be.
“Ollie…” she trailed off. I could hear her own needs in her voice. New and hesitant, but they were there.
“I think you should kiss me now, Delilah. If you want to,” I coaxed. I set my drink down, my hands at my side, and waited for her to make that first move.
CHAPTER8
DELILAH
He wanted me to kiss him. After that enticing tale he had spun, he wanted me to kiss him? The thought was ridiculous.
Ridiculously true, that voice in my head taunted me.
He wanted me to kiss him.
He was not moving towards me like he had before, which meant he intended for me to go to him.
That was a terrifying thought. And yet…
And yet, the way he had described what could have been, what should have been, captured my senses. He was not lying either. No one was that good of a liar, and if I were being completely honest with myself, I wanted to kiss him; to feel his lips on mine again. I wanted to feel the way his chest rumbled as he groaned into me. I had never known that would happen. Who was I kidding? I didn’t know almost anything that happened. Even though I had heard my sisters talk time and time again, I knew that what Ollie was offering me was not what they knew. This was something different. It was something I wanted. Something that scared me to want. But none of it was going to have the chance of happening if I didn’t set my glass down and go kiss my husband.
His words gave fuel to the fire that he had begun with his kisses and spurred a confidence in me that was at least partially real. In truth, it was a lot of bravado and a speck of true confidence.
With that false bravado spurring me on, I stood from the couch and moved to face him. He, in turn, shifted until he sat back against the back of the couch, his legs spread.
“Do you want to kiss me, Delilah?” he all but drawled in a low voice that made my low belly clench with anticipation. Anticipation for what, I wasn’t sure, but I wanted to find out.
“I do, Ollie. But… I don’t know what I’m doing,” I answered, trying to disguise my shyness. He had said repeatedly that he wanted me to be real; that he wanted my authentic self. Well, this was me, in all my naïve rawness.
“That’s okay, sweetheart. Not knowing is okay. Would you like me to show you?” There it was again, that way he had of making me feel seen and heard without pressuring me.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Come here,” he guided, and I blushed furiously.
“How?” I asked, feeling stupid.
“One knee goes here, the other goes here,” he instructed, patting the couch on either side of his thighs.
