Page 75 of Heathens
No prayer, no communion, nothing—would ever compare to the feel of her moving her hips along my shaft underneath me. The smell of lilacs, the sound of her labored breathing, the feel of her soft skin on my hands—so opposite from the starched shirt I’m wearing. Sweat drips down my chest. I loosen my collar a bit with one hand, and something about the sight of her beneath me, her arousal already staining my sleeves and, soon, my pants... I thrust into her. Hard.
She cries out. “Salem,” she whimpers, the flush spreading up to her cheeks.
I rock into her again, biting my lip and concentrating on making her come.
Something about being with her like this solidifies some deep-rooted, primal knowledge that I’ve been suppressing for three and a half years. Natural. This all feels so natural, so right. And I remember something she said to me over FaceTime a few weeks ago.
Why did God make sex so enjoyable if it’s a sin? I’m talking, bend you over and fuck-you-til-the-cows-come-home sex, mind you.
Remembering that, I take one of her legs and place it over my shoulder, rocking into her with my hips. She’s practically levitating now, and I feel her tighten around my cock.
“Fuck,” she cries, arching her back.
Fate.
Fatality.
An entire book inspired by one word.
Lily is my inspiration. Seeing her that day in the confessional was the day everything changed.
And I never want to look back.
Only you.
Only her.
She pants and trembles, quiet and overwhelmed and in the same sort of daze I’m being pulled into.
I feel my own climax tightening in my balls. Her noises and movements are the only remedies I need. “Look at me, Lily,“ I growl slowly. Her eyes fly to mine. The heavy, hooded darkness overtakes the usual light hazel of her pupils.
I hold her hands down at her sides and slam into her over and over. I swear I can feel her soul leaving her body as she begins to climax.
“Come with me,“ I order. She groans and writhes underneath me. “Jesus,“ I spit, and I start to see stars dancing in front of my eyes. My cock hardens, and I feel myself start to empty into her.
“Holy shit,” she whispers. “I’m coming, Salem,” she breathes.
“Oh fuck,” I groan, thrusting into her hard as we both cry out. I spasm as the last of it leaves my body, and she shudders below me. I stay inside of her for a few seconds longer.And for the first time in my life, it wasn’t meaningless sex. It was ... a holy, spectacular fusing of souls. Incroyable.
“Wow,” she whispers as I pull out and fall next to her on the bed. Neither of us says anything for several minutes. The only sound I hear is the screeching tracks and our heavy breathing. The only thing I feel is complete satisfaction and the sway of the train.
I don’t know what compels me to say it. Maybe because, as I prop myself onto my elbow and begin to trace my fingers along Lily’s bare skin, I feel Him more than ever before. The light, the sounds, the taste of her still on my lips...
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters,” I murmur, my voice quiet and low. Lily gives me a shameless, knowing smile and begins to chant with me. “He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”
Smells Like Wealth
Lily
Present
Apologizing profusely, Salem leaves a few minutes later. The thirty minutes he was gone could be written off by saying he needed a walk or some food—any longer than that, and Auguste might become suspicious. The only way to enact our revenge—our one, true advantage—is Auguste's complete and utter trust in Salem. He'll never suspect the metaphorical knife that's about to be driven into his spine, not from Salem. So, with one last desperate kiss, we bid farewell, and I find myself naked and alone in a hot, hazy room full of the smell ofus.And I don’t ever want to leave, because what just happened was the most incredible experience of my life.
Rolling over and pulling my clothes on slowly, lazily, I clean the space up a bit and fold my legs underneath me while I watch the scenery change from country to coastline. Though I’d been in France for almost three years, I hadn’t yet made it out of the greater Paris area. The city offered too many things. It was my opium, my drug. I hated and loved it, couldn’t leave it but also didn’t want to stay in it. So as the train barrels down, parallel to the coast, I find myself mesmerized.
Mesmerized, and sad.
I look down at my phone. I still haven’t heard from Benedict. I still have no ideahowhe’s going to find Evelyn. But he promised me he would—today. While Auguste is gone, while we’re gone. He told me to trust him, and I do. But I haven’t let myself comprehend the level of brokenness that might await me when I see her. Perhaps she’ll be addicted to heroin. Perhaps she’s...dead.I never really let myself consider that possibility, but it’s still probable. All I know is, after two and a half years in hell, she won’t be the same.
