Monday, October 18, 2010

AJ Silent Voice Week 22: Soon

AJ Silent Voice

Picture 1

Picture 2

Destiny Cullen’s Choice: Picture 2


“Five more minutes,” I begged. It was our ritual. He even set the alarm so that I could have my five minutes, and possibly another five if I needed it.

He kissed me softly and let his hands travel up my thigh, savoring the curve of my hip, before pulling me flush to his body.

“This is number three, babygirl. You need to get up now.”

I groaned, half asleep. “No. You're so warm and soft...”

I laid my lips reverently in the crook of his neck and savored the taste of his skin. He excited everything inside me by just being himself...his wonderful, tasty, fragrant self. My lips left a wet trail as I made my way to his jaw.

“And how exactly did we end up in the spare room last night?” I asked playfully.

“Ahem, well.” He threaded his fingers through my hair. “You had a glass, or three, of wine.”

“Hm.” He pulled me away from him and made a trail of his own until his lips were nibbling at my collarbone. “Go on.”

“You know, the mouth on you when you're 'relaxed' is quite a turn on.” He made his way back up my throat until his nose barely scathed my jaw. “And you enticed me with your wayward talk. You corrupted my innocence with the obscene things you wanted to do.”

“Is that right?” My voice faltered as he flicked my earlobe with his tongue.

“Yes, ma'am, that's right.” I loved the low, husky voice he used in bed. “And then you 'lost' your clothes, or so you said. I wasn't much help finding them.”

“I can see...that,” I whispered. My breath hitched as his index finger drew feather soft circles around my nipple. “And before I could protest, you did that thing with your tongue...”

I moaned as he increased the pressure, and my body hummed under his touch. He played me like a familiar instrument. He read every groan and sigh perfectly. He was the perfect lover, not because he knew my body, but because he knew my mind...and he had my heart.

I tried to push myself against his leg, but he moved away. “You haven't let me finish the story. It's getting quite interesting.”

I couldn't seem to catch my breath, so I whispered, “I think I can figure out the rest if you'd like to skip to the end.”

He laughed and laid his head against my chest, listening to my heart. He did that sometimes. I asked him once what was so fascinating about the sound of my heartbeat, and he said that it made him feel whole. As long as my heart beat, he had said, he knew that nothing else mattered.

After we both calmed down, he rose up above me, but I pulled him down. “Nah, ah, ah, Mrs. Smith. Besides, you've used up your third five minute-pass, and we need to get going.” He kissed my forehead before rolling over and pushing things around, looking for his boxer shorts. I could see he'd been affected more than he let on by our morning conversation.

“Lee,” I whined, ever so slightly, “don't you want me to, ah, help you with that?”

I ran my fingers down his spine, and around his hipbone until I had him firmly in my hand. He grunted and his hips involuntarily thrust into my palm. I could see his shoulders shaking with a chuckle. He squirmed out of my enticing grip and quickly whipped his boxers up his body.

He looked down at the tent. “Down, boy!” he said, with a slight British accent.

I laughed and he blushed.

I showered and changed into my robe while he made a pot of coffee. After I was out, he jumped in to rinse. I laid out the sports section of the paper for him so that he could check on his fantasy league points. After chugging my glass of chocolate milk, I headed to the bedroom to get dressed. We needed to get to the public library for story time.

About four months ago, he had urged me to sign up as a reader. At the time, it had been three months since I'd miscarried and not a day had gone by that I didn't think about what we'd lost...what I'd lost. I wasn't leaving the house, wasn't talking much to my mom, and I'd go to bed earlier than he would just so he didn't have to see me cry myself to sleep. Later on, he told me that he had heard me every night.

So, when a buddy of his at work said that he took his daughter to the library every Saturday morning for story time, he did some research. He found out that the were always looking for volunteers to read, and even needed someone on a permanent basis. I was angry, at first, and accused him of trying to hurt me more. What did he think, that if I went and read to a bunch of children that I'd forget out losing our child?

He'd pleaded with me to give it a try. He broke down in tears and told me how he grieved for our baby. He said that he felt like it was his fault. I was shocked as he told me how he'd already bought a frame for his desk so that he could have the latest ultrasound picture on display for everyone to see. We both grieved together that day instead of separately, in silent.

After a lot more talking, I agreed to try the reading. The first time, we went about an hour early, just in case I needed some time to get my bearings...which I did. I hadn't even gotten down the hall before the laughter and yells of children made me tear up. He'd held my hand the whole way.

It got easier, and now it was our Saturday ritual.

“So, what did you choose for today?” he asked, stepping into the bedroom while he tugged on his t-shirt.

“I thought maybe I'd start a series on 'Peter Pan',” I said. “I'll need to ask Louise if that's okay to do a series. I did pick up the Walt Disney book in case it wasn't okay. It's shorter.”

He walked behind me as I was trying to get my short hairs into the rubber band. He laughed at the look of frustration on my face. Sticking his hand out, he motioned for me to give him the brush. I handed it over, and he proceeded to smoothly gather all my whispies until I had a perfect ponytail.

My eyes misted as I pictured him putting our daughter's hair up. I could see him helping her choose a bow or pinning small barrettes on each side of her pigtails. I laid my hand over his and he stopped.

“You'll be a great dad,” I said, pouring every ounce of love I had into the statement

He smiled widely and kissed my cheek. “And you'll be an excellent mother, Anna.”

I wiped the tear away and went about the task of finding my Nike's.

Soon, we were walking up the large, stone stairs of the library.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Always.” I grabbed his hand in mine and we walked in, together.

Blog admin admission: copy/paste error lead to dropping the first line of this piece. My apologies.