Light and Wine Page 4

  I want to touch them to mine, light and wine. I want closer and closer in every way.

  Grasping my fingers the slightest bit tighter, Lacie tilts her head further back, more near my own, and the glow inside her is so lush, so full, her bottom lip trembles. Moved at the sight of her so moved, I gather her to myself like I wanted to in the confessional.

  “Come here,” I whisper, wrapping both arms around love’s lamb and shift us up, back onto the pew.

  “Come here, come here,” I intone quietly and purposefully as a prayer.

  Nodding, she settles gently down onto my lap. Bare, warm legs encase mine, and she clasps fervent fingers along my neck, over and under and along the sides of my collar. I touch her temple with reverence and veneration, but I can’t still my hands in any one place. She’s glowing all over, and everywhere I press and brush and slide my palms, she shines brighter. Even through layers of soft sweater cotton, I feel living faith bending and humming.

  “Come here, little one. Come to me, come here,” I whisper. With my left arm around the small of her back and my hand curved carefully, protectively around her hip, I hold the back of her head in my right and bring her face slowly down to my own. Little lashes like dark wings open and close, and she brushes her nose along my own as I guide her infinitesimally more near.

  Wrapped and covered and basking in love, I still can’t get close enough.

  “Come here,” I whisper, breathing in the gift of her air, stroking my thumb and fingers through all the hairs on her head I know He’s numbered for me.

  “Come here,” I tell her, lips to lips as I melt into warm white light and sweet red wine and undeniable holiness. “Come here, come here, come here.”

  “Here,” she whispers, her breath like paradise over me. “I’m here. I’m yours. I’m here,” she says, her soft voice only becoming softer while she touches the sides of my neck, my jaw, my hair.

  “I’m yours,” I intone, touching my seeking lips to her sacred skin. The pulse point in her neck flutters under my kiss, and sparks of salvation radiate down my spine as I bring her closer still, murmuring the truest word I’ve ever said.

  “Forever.”

  I forgive and I am forgiven.

  I accept and am accepted.

  I need and am needed.

  I love, and I am so loved.

  This girl with light for a pulse was born for me, to give herself to me, and I was born for her, to protect and guide her.

  I’m more surrendered than I’ve ever been, but I am fearless in my abandon.

  Her mouth opens and I gratefully enter, cherishing the shy little note her throat sings as she admits me. Delicate fingers slide and wind through my hair, just as gentle as they are deeply needy, while my hand slips unbidden beneath her sweater. The small of her back burns warm, and I tilt her head, brushing my thumb from her cheek to her lips in my need for more.

  From her mouth to mine, a hum echoes as she invites me deeper, and I flatten my hand over the precious dimples at the base of her spine. Little beloved gives under my touch, slipping closer and clinging to me as I slide my hand higher under her shirt and up her back. Pressing my palm over dainty clasps and lacy satin brings us so close I can feel the tender trembling in her belly and her breasts rising with our shared breaths.

  An ethereal hum-sound slips from her throat to her tongue, to mine, and I hum back, kissing her deeper as soft hands leave my hair to unbutton the top button of my shirt, then the second, before she breaks our kiss.

  Lacie’s eyes are closed, but her kissed-pink lips smile as her fingers work around my collar. Still damp with tears, dark lashes lift. Luminous eyes meet mine and bind me to her as she follows crisp white cotton to the nape of my neck and unfastens it.

  The sound of it slowly sliding free from my clerical shirt is almost like the sound of my breath as I exhale, my chest sinking as the lamb I was made to shepherd leans back to pull the collar completely away.

  We’re taught the significance of our vestments in the seminary, but in truth, once you’ve been called, you are God’s man, ordained and chosen, regardless of what adorns your body. But still, as my collar comes off in her hands so carefully this time, I feel the moment of shock that comes with it.

  As though I am just a man without it.

  Just her man.

  And Lacie doesn’t let it go.

  As she returns her smile to mine, she keeps the tab of stiff cotton loosely in her right hand, and I can feel it as she pushes my shirt more open, searching for the heartbeat that brings love to life. I take a deep breath of shared air, filling my chest with rhythm she can feel and devotion she holds under her palm as our lips part and press again.

  It makes her melt wholly closer.

  Unable to keep my hands still along such fervent softness, I slide my right higher between the gently burning blades of her shoulders and return my left to the small of her back, circling so-loved dimples. A slender shiver moves through her, making her legs open a little more just as her lips do, drawing my kiss deeper and fitting our hips together so perfectly I moan.

  Our lips part for air as Lacie smiles, and she undoes another button as I keep kissing her neck and shoulders. She feels along black cotton and untucks my tee shirt from my slacks, the nearness of her fingers to my belt dragging a groan from my hard-beating chest. She giggles through her smile, and it’s only breath, but it’s the prettiest sound in the entire world.

  When my button-down is completely unbuttoned, she places her left hand on my shoulder, and I feel my collar still clasped lovingly in her fingers, brushing my neck. My undershirt and her sweater still separate us, but with clerical cotton parted, I’m closer to the light that’s making her glow, and my need for more doubles.

  Cradling the back of her neck in my left hand, aching for the slide of her tongue along mine, I kiss her slower, deeper, and work on brushing her sheer grey cotton up with my right. The touch of air to her skin opens Lacie’s lips more, and she kisses me with neediness so devout my heart pounds for it. Long, soft hair falls around her shoulders and my fingers as she straightens in my arms, her sweater rising like heat off her body, and I need both hands for this.

  Cherished and sweet, Lacie lifts her arms in the air, and the kiss that’s quickly broken is more quickly restored. Strapless and delicate, a small ivory bra clings to her, but not as closely as my hands. Soft and pale and holding onto me with all the might their meager weight can muster, her arms are bare and so warm under my hands, unaffected by the crisp air of the church—and for a moment, I remember where we are, but I hadn’t actually forgotten.

  We’re one with Him and at home in His house.

  And her so rarely bare around me arms fill me with ardent, natural need that makes lips I can’t stop kissing pause against mine. Forehead to forehead, her mouth drops open just above my own, a deep little sound rising from her lungs as she rocks herself against me. Soft over hard. Ache over ache.

  Her sides tense and her breathing shallows.

  And I remember—

  “Did you wait for me?” I ask quietly, lids barely open and my pulse like a weight in my ears.

  Lacie nods as she slides, slowly and adorably, fastening our half-opened eyes as securely as the rosary that’s hung around her neck since I put it there.

  “Thank you,” I tell her with my hands in her hair, along her neck, up and down her sides, on her hips, helping her move.

  She presses her top teeth into her desire-pink bottom lip, and I kiss the side of her mouth. Watching. Guiding. Loving as she rocks her weight to the most natural cadence.

  “Show me,” I whisper, my voice stripped and threatening to break around a moan as bright and blessed grips me tighter, rocking with need so natural, so ardent it almost hurts.

  Between small gasps, a smaller whimper is pushed from her lungs as she presses against me, easy little slides slowly becoming sharper and sweeter as she follows the light that absolution opened within her. With every roll of her hips, my collar, still c
urled between her fingers, brushes against the back of my neck.

  Following the light in her, I open my knees a little wider, causing a little more of her weight to drop onto me. Her own bare knees shift against the pew as she breathes my benediction, temple pressed to temple.

  “I waited, Father Marcus. I waited for you …”

  Seeking exposed sides, I slow her movements and lower my mouth, kissing her shoulder and whispering into softest skin, “Agna dulcis, delecta agna, bona, ita bona …”

  Sweet lamb, darling lamb, good, so good …

  The echoes of her precious sounds off stained glass and marble walls fill me with prideful longing. Her breaths slip to a quick paced cadence of tiny gasps, and I know her toes are curling in her shoes. I know that under rosary beads, her sacred heart is racing, causing the most perfect hue of pink to glow from her cheeks to the tops of small, barely cupped by ivory lace breasts.

  She’s this close, and I know before she does.

  Little light loves to touch and be touched.

  She loves to be moved just like this.

  While I’ve only carried her all the way through a few times, I know her better than I know myself. She loves for me to see, to hear, and to help—

  A stripped little keen pulls my attention and my heartbeat all to the surface, to her.

  Lamb of love.

  Lacie.

  Lacie.

  Lacie.

  I don’t realize I’m whispering her name until her whole body starts to shake. She tilts and turns, seeking my eyes and presses her forehead to mine.

  “Lacie,” I whisper, licking my lips, rocking her hips harder, slower, closer. “Baby …”

  She draws the quickest breath in, holding it with her mouth open and eyes clenched shut as grace rolls her hips. Naked legs tremble, trying to close, but my own hold them open, making her heart pound against my chest, hammering and begging as she begins to come.

  Tightening my hands on her hips, I drop my parted lips to her chest, groaning over its palpable beat.

  “Come here, Lacie. Closer. Come, Lacie. Come …”

  My love bends her temple to my shoulder, digging her head against me as her body shudders and tenses, riding sweet pulses of relief that course through her as I pull, and push, and savor the gift of her bliss. Her hips rock. Her fingers cling. All her muscles hum, and His light shines right through her.

  Swallowing a breath, the girl still holding my collar pants against my neck as I kiss thanks and praise from creamy pale lace to desire pinked cheeks. When I get to her mouth, I don’t hesitate to kiss her deeply. Breathlessly silent through her pretty release, Lacie moans softly into our kiss and meets me with equal fervor. When we breathe, she wraps her arms around my neck and rests her head on my shoulder, keeping her lips open and her tongue close. Under shy lashes, innocent, adorable, and beloved meaning lights her eyes as she looks at me, making where I’m sore for her acutely harder.

  Kissing her sweetly parted mouth, I rock Lacie slowly all the way along myself, drawing a moan from her throat to our lips that lasts the entire length of me. I hold her where longing aches while I lean back, lifting my own hips up, needing.

  She breathes another sharp little sound as we crest, and for a moment I think this must be too much, that she’s too sensitive. But pure light swivels her hips in a shape that makes me shake, leaning back just long enough to sweep unruly hair from my temples and her own vibrant waves of brown behind her ears. She moves and moves, making heated hunger tighten and pull through me for more, but holding her eyes as she rides, I realize it’s not for my own gratification.

  It’s for hers.

  I’m starving to fulfill her.

  Soft and sliding love pushes my undershirt up before leaning down to me again, and with my bare chest pressed to palest ivory, I bring my right hand between us, between elegantly cupped breasts and then down. I brush from her belly to her hips, where I slip my touch under her skirt, seeking the source of all her pretty ache. Sheer feeling lace does nothing to cover or keep her eager need from me. The tips of my fingers are slick with her warmth, and I haven’t even touched her yet.

  Dropping her forehead to my shoulder, Lacie curls around and clings to me, cherished little movements unfaltering against my right hand. She pants for breath, and I tilt my head, finding her lips and giving her my kiss to breathe through and my fingers to rock against. Ever clenched in her left hand, the brush of my collar along the side of my neck brings a smile to my lips.

  “Mea carissima, mea pulchra puella,” I whisper, kissing the side of her bit-bottom lip.

  Precious, beautiful girl.

  Through delicate cotton, her body parts for my fingertips as her lips open further for mine, and I groan within our kiss.

  Little light of love is so wet she burns.

  “Mollissima, minima agna … veni ad me,” I whisper, moving my fingers with gentle insistence along where she’s open and soaking to be adored.

  Softest, smallest lamb, come to me.

  Free inside my arms and steadying her knees, little agna Dei leans up and her bold right hand slips between us, moving the thinnest threads of lace aside to change the whole world for me.

  As her head falls back, a low coo pours from her lips. Her arms loosen, but her grip on the starched white that sets me apart brushes against my neck, bringing us closer together as she rides. And the heat of her along my fingers—

  The full and soft swallow of vulnerable skin melting and opening for my touch makes church air too thin to breathe in. I harden so entirely I feel little light rise. Her thighs tighten around me, and she rocks forward, bringing the tips of my first two fingers to the most private part of her.

  “Mmm …” She hums, and I straighten for what sounds like the start of my name.

  With my left arm around her waist, I gather glowing love closer, and with my face in her neck—my nose and lips breathing in the scent of new flowers and newer skin—all I feel is light, all around us. It brightens and warms with every helpless little sound that colors her inhales, and I kiss where I feel her heart fluttering in her throat.

  She’s so small under my fingers, so chastely sweet that every soft-slide and slip-stroke I give feels new to both of us, like I could spend days touching her just like this and she would still feel brand new beneath me.

  Sliding my fingertips up with careful slowness around the littlest, most timid part of my heart’s beat makes her tremble hard, and I swear I can feel how pink she is for me.

  “Marc,” she pants, breathless and gripping and rocking. “Please, please, Marc …”

  It makes me groan, and I glide the tips of my fingers back down, pressing and circling against where she’s brightest hot and darkest pink feeling, open but not enough. She grips tighter and cries higher, circling with me, and I know.

  She’s trying to bring me in.

  She needs my touch inside her.

  And I’m gathering her temple closer to mine, helping her slow down and working to give her what she needs when she spreads her knees outward.

  “Father,” she pleads.

  It’s barely audible, but fills me with beckoning I can’t deny.

  Rubbing a slow circle around where pure yearning aches for me, I whisper under her ear, “Again.”

  Beloved light curls wholly closer, burying her face in my neck as mine in hers, as she tries so adorably to ride.

  “Father,” she begs and bestows. “Father, please …”

  She grips me tighter as it leaves her lips. Her hand tenses into a fist behind my neck, crinkling starched white cotton, and her entire body strains with trembling as another wave of light moves through her. The way it makes her roll brings my fingertip inside, and a joyful little cry escapes with the last of her air.

  “Good girl, Lacie,” I whisper, her belly still tensing with sensation against mine. “Bona puella, mea carissima.”

  Good girl, my beloved.

  Still humming under the surface, love whimpers for Latin she’s n
ever learned in class, but only from my lips. Trying to pull herself closer with her arms, she parts her knees further and rocks her hips in effort to bring my touch deeper. Flames of ecstatic light flicker, and I curl my finger, not wanting the bliss she’s feeling to ebb.

  “Come, good girl,” I whisper. “Closer, Lacie. Come here.”

  Steadying and securing her to myself, I smile against her skin as I stroke carefully deeper to keep the little girl made of light shining.

  “Come, baby. Come here. Come to me. Come, little carissima. Little light, little blessing, come, baby.”

  With every kiss and whisper and slow-stroke I give, breathless, hidden-in-my-neck cries grow higher until they peak, and my soaking-warm, burning-soft love moves in sincere abandon. She arches with the effort to open for more, and I sit straighter, parting my knees wider to help her as I slide my first finger and middle finger together, and press slowly inside.

  A groan of helpless devotion comes up from my chest, and Lacie sings grateful praise as she comes again, harder this time, the light of just a few moments ago burning through her with new strength. I kiss every bit of her bare shoulder my lips can reach, and keep our rhythm as she revels.

  “Father,” she coos, lush and lost-sounding in her passion. “Father, God, Marc, Hallowed–God, God …”

  “I’m here,” I assure her, tilting my face toward her cheek, wanting beautiful, nearly incoherently murmuring lips against mine. I rub her back, gently soothing small shakes while she continues to rock so shyly.

  “God, Marc …” she whispers, opening and sliding and burning along my fingers. “Father.”

  The beckoning this truth on her lips fills me with has always elated me. God’s most precious flock has always been mine to tend to, and hearing it now, with the collar she’s still holding brushing along my neck, opens a feeling like a promise kept in me. And I know why it’s so gratifying to hear.