Light and Wine Read online

  My body, however, is far from relaxed. Standing above her, trusting and tranquil and unadorned, save for her tiny pink rosary, my veins fill and the muscles of my spine straighten as hers unwind. With my collar still in her hand, Lacie rolls her shoulders against silk on velvet with her eyes on mine, and I palm myself through black cotton, answering a need that I’ve denied not only all night, but for so long. The relief it brings is almost as strong as the need it feeds.

  Hazel eyes glint and open wider as she fills her chest with a shaky breath. Bare insteps and warm calves brush upward along the outsides of my legs, and she gives me the most sincere smile as she sits up.

  “Let me?” she asks with soft confidence, tucking hair behind her left ear with one hand as she rests her other on my belt, just above my own. “Please?”

  My lips part, but there are no words for the strength and certainty of this longing. It takes my breath and makes swallowing difficult.

  Placing my collar next to her on the altar, confession clean love places her same hand over mine, over me, and I don’t hesitate to shift our touch, instinctively helping her palm and fingers curve and press and hold in a way I haven’t in years. Yearning and comfort thrill and ache with euphoria I’ve never known, making it hard to stand as she moves her left hand under mine, too.

  Carefully holding and feeling the outline of where I’m sorest and fullest, Lacie slides her touch to encompass all of me. With her eyes on mine, she smiles as my chest tightens and my limbs tense, and as my lips start to follow that shape around a sound I can’t swallow, she returns her fingers to my belt.

  I blink and press my lips together, half in pain and missing, wanting gentle affection back where I ache most, and half in acknowledgement for what’s coming. She moves with every bit of slow care I gave thanks with, and I steady my feet for her reverence. Gently cupping her cheek in my right hand, I keep my left over both of hers, grateful for every bend and pull and brush of her fingers as she unbuckles leather from nickel.

  Slipping the button and tugging the zipper, little light is bold for one so bare. Her eyes brim with adoration as she slides her hands to my hips and finds belt loops for her fingers to curl around.

  Nervousness pulses through me.

  This is the first time in my adult life I’ve been undressed by a woman, the first time I’ve been undressed by anyone.

  But we’re here now.

  We could have been separated by impossibly different circumstances, by miles or lifetimes. God could have challenged our souls to go through anything and find one another any number of ways, but she is she and I am I. The love we’re together in is perfect, and her fervor within it belies her age and size, and carries all of my timidity away with a deep breath, leaving me made of earnest admiration.

  With the slightest pull of her fingers, black trousers fall, and I step easily out of black shoes and socks, leaving me in black boxer briefs that cannot begin to hide my body’s soul-deep anticipation. Wide pupils and thin glints of hazel never leave my eyes as she smooths those down my legs, too, whispering, “Love, love, I love you, I love you,” as she goes.

  My chest swells immensely tighter as Heaven’s hands cover me. Her lashes fall and her mouth parts as she feels skin that aches with long-deferred need that knows only her name.

  My hands shake as I draw down to kiss her lips.

  Blessed, bound, and beloved, the heart that was born to hold mine whispers a small sigh from her open mouth to mine. Sliding my hand from her cheek to the edge of the altar, I brace myself there and lean over God’s softest glow, kissing her joyfully and guiding her touch with my own. My knees weaken further and my pulse thunders so deeply, so audibly in my chest, as she closes both hands and shows me love with a singular, curious, and carefully slow stroke.

  I moan.

  I tense.

  I lean harder into my hand on his altar, and when small palms warmly cup the end of me, velveteen-feeling thumbs brushing the head of where life and love and longing are all full and aching, I close my eyes. Her gentleness draws a deeper sound from my chest, and Lacie moans with me, light and high while she circles and covers and comes to learn my body with piously passionate touches.

  With my right hand still over both of hers—feeling her, feeling me—she slides affection from the head to the base and back again, rubbing worshipful and flirtatious fingertips all over the end of me. She hums under my lips, pleased to please, and I can’t help gripping the altar cloth and marble under it.

  Keeping palms made of warmth and slick-soft thumbs slowly moving, cherished and cherubic leans back just enough that I open my eyes. Honor and awe in hers call for my nearness, and I shift my stance as she leans back, keeping close as she lies down again.

  Still touching me.

  Stroking me so slowly, so adoringly all the way down.

  Not along her body, but breathtakingly close.

  I try to swallow.

  I try to breathe.

  But all I can do is endure not rocking forward, along and inside home and love and light.

  Before the words can form on my tongue, Lacie smiles, pure and gracious and promising under desire-dipped lids.

  “Te amo, Father,” she whispers. “Te amo in aeternum.”

  I love you, forever.

  Love that’s ageless and brand new at the same time floods through me with heavy warmth that makes my frame give. Most beloved gasps as we make contact, and I can’t help giving her more of my weight.

  Unabashed, she moans as she slides both hands up my sides and around my back to bring me closer. Her lids fall under my open eyes, and I wonder if she’s remembering the other night in my room, haste and hurt and flesh too weak to wait. She can’t know what’s coming any more than I do, but as I watch her, Lacie surrenders from within, opening like she knows love could never hurt her.

  As if this vulnerability was effortless.

  As if every muscle and tendon was meant to give, irresistibly as the tide, to me.

  I move slowly above her, exploring my blessing’s most insistent need with my own, and watch her breathe beneath me, the lightest little inhales filling her chest as pure virtue enfolds me. Pink cheeks blush brighter and delicate brows draw together as I feel and let her feel what we’ve both ached so long for—because even though I’ve waited while my girl has heeded intensely intimate thoughts, this contact has been equally yearned for. What her precious longing is lacking in my years, it makes up for in ardent insatiability.

  And she’s here now, and so warm, so soft, so all-encompassing that I almost curse for the first time in over a decade as my body slides against where she was made to hold me.

  I don’t.

  I drop my lids without the strength to hold them up any longer, and I groan. The scent of roses surrounds and permeates as the reason I live and breathe echoes my sound, and I want to open my eyes. My brain tells my lids to lift, but they don’t. Blissfully blind in the feel of love opening to let me in, all I can do is slide.

  So warm my blood tingles, so wet all along me, Lacie sings as I move against her with eyes closed. Swelled and soaking like a little ocean made of the softest flames, she surrounds the length of me on all sides, and each time I slide all the way up, I feel the tiniest, blessed just for loving part of her, and it makes her sing the highest, lushest, most ethereal note.

  Slowing down already prudently slow strokes, I press and circle my hips against her there, drawing the prettiest little pleased and pleading sounds from the heart of light. The way it curves her up and into me, and makes her fingers grip onto my shoulders opens my eyes, and I smile at the sight of her: gleaming skin and parted lips, close to breathless and so overcome.

  Steadying my hands on the altar, I lean just enough above her to create space that not only lets me see, but also lets her move freely.

  Between us, candlelight flickers and feints, arches and angles glowing on our skin. Transfixed as she rises and dips against me in smooth rhythm, I look up for a moment and watch our shadows
, already making love.

  Further down, where candle brightness cannot find the length of me, I rock, and her body reminds me with every small sigh and every slick lift of her hips that aching emptiness awaits the mercy of fulfillment.

  “Lacie,” I whisper, leaning further up to let candlelight between us. “Lacie, look.”

  Dark lashes flutter as her eyes open and she tips her head just barely up.

  Yours, hazel rims around dilated pupils whisper.

  None before and none after.

  Yours.

  My smile grows, and her eyes follow my focus over her breasts and belly, down to beautifully upturned hips, to where we’re sliding together where only she has ever touched me and only I have ever opened her.

  Slender limbs and thin muscles all tense, the sweetest cry breaking from deep within her.

  “Do you see?” I ask, grateful and proud joy filling my words just as naturally as my hips dip against hers.

  “I see. I see you,” she pants, little brows drawing desperately closer together. “Please, please—God, please …”

  She tilts her hips higher, seeking more of me where she’s so small, but so devout in her desire. It brings me where we need most, and I press with patient strength, not entering, but testing, asking for more.

  Cooing and helpless, Lacie falls back onto the altar with her eyes tightly closed and her lips sweetly parted. Her legs shake as she strains to open further, and her belly tightens as another release begins to pulse through her.

  “Father,” she whimpers, and I shift my right hand to her hip, holding her body still and my breath deep to keep from pushing into burning, nearly blinding instinct.

  To give and move and sink into love.

  To fill and fulfill love.

  “Father,” my illuminated soul cries, circling under my grip, soaking the length of me anew. “Father, Father, Marc, God, God, God …”

  Her little hymns caress my control, centering me. I lift lids I can’t remember closing and slow hips I don’t remember I began rocking again. I still between quivering, slick-with-anticipation thighs and run my hand from her hip, up her side. Lilting and lulling, lifting and circling as she drifts from her peak, Lacie’s pulse flutters under my palm.

  Blinking to focus, I let most sacred to me move freely in her revelry.

  I watch her legs open more, and try to close, and strain to part wider still, like wings around me. She moves her hands from me to her hair, sliding through loose tendrils of dark and darker brown while her chest rises and falls under prayer beads that are pale compared to her blush. The quivering in her stomach slows and relaxes before my eyes, and lower, I’m enamored with the sight of her so bare, so pink she’s almost red where she cradles me so sweetly.

  I almost curse again.

  “Lacie,” I whisper instead, answering prayers she’s murmuring so quietly. Standing straight, I slide both hands from her hips to her sides, circling the coral pink tips of her breasts with my thumbs and covering her completely with my palms.

  “Sacra, sacra, pulchra parva Lacie.”

  Sacred, sacred, beautiful little Lacie.

  Her lips part further, as if doing so will help her lungs breathe better, and her legs open in kind, as if doing so will bring me into her.

  “Carissima mea, delicatissima Lacie,” I pray in turn.

  My most beloved, most delicate Lacie.

  Regarding her with all my senses, I feel new waves of need overwhelm lingering after-swells of elation as I slide my hands to her thighs. When I curve them around hips shaped for my hold, she cries a high little sound and lifts into my touch.

  “Father,” even her whispers shake now. “Father …”

  “Lacie,” I reply, my voice heavy and straight from my chest. “Sacra parva lux Dei …”

  Sacred little light of God …

  Whispering, I slide the length of myself along tenderly soft, burning wet skin. My bride is eager, glistening, and helpless under the slightest strokes, but as I look closer, I see for the first time how slowly I truly need to move and how much more open she really needs to be. Her body has its own gravity, drawing me with irresistible sweetness each time I slide over where she needs me within, but love is patient.

  Love is stronger.

  Love has waited so long it’s almost too much to fathom.

  Warmth fills and solidifies my spine as I still where she’s open and made to receive me. I press there, and her resistance is so delicate I can’t even breathe. First and only love filled eyes lock on mine as her knees open infinitesimally further in her pretty effort to give me all of herself.

  Hovering over her, grateful for and further impassioned by every shallow whimper, I curve my back, testing and tasting her warmth with smooth insistence. Quavering, Lacie gives me the barest little nod, and my stomach knots around intuition so sharp, so powerful, I can’t defy it.

  “I love you,” I whisper. “I love you, love you, love you,” I chant quietly, leaning close enough that I can slip the words right from my lips to her neck as I steady my stance.

  Pushing with patient strength, I watch dainty dark lashes flutter as pressure becomes penetration.

  With the first slow inch of my cock holding her open, Lacie gasps a deep breath, but her body is relaxed under mine. There’s no tension under skin that gives off the gentle scent of roses beneath my lips as I kiss her neck. Her pulse rushes, but her arms are trusting as she wraps them around my neck, her low little moans vibrating through my chest as I draw breath into tight lungs.

  My heart pounds, helpless as I sink.

  I feel like I can’t stop.

  I’ll go slow, but I can’t stop.

  “Love you, I love you, Lacie,” I promise as my spine straightens on its own, pushing my body steadily deeper without my mind ever having willed it to.

  I lift my head over hers, and she opens her mouth with mine as I advance, lovingly but relentlessly seeking light’s purest depth. I push, but it’s so much more like sliding, like gravity is drawing my body into hers.

  Smoothly.

  Sweetly.

  Absolutely.

  We’re barely connected, but I’m burning warm so near to the heart of love. I rest my forehead on hers and my eyelids fall as pure, visceral, whole body and soul joy surrounds, pulling me deeper as I push toward it.

  Eyes closed, but not in the dark, I feel when the head of myself is completely within, cradled and flush with soft chasteness. I feel every start and shallow peak of every breath love takes. I feel her lips open more and hold open under mine, like a rose is in full bloom on her tongue.

  I feel it when I’m deeper than I’ve ever been.

  I feel her back curve and her stomach tense, and the flutter that starts in her hips and spreads through all of her as I shift my feet to keep going. Low moans climb to little whimpers as I fill her body with my own, and she clings to my neck and shoulders. So inside her I feel made of heat and need and hope, I press and she sings.

  I slide.

  And push.

  All the way until her head is back and my eyes are open. All the way through until God’s name is on both our lips and all I feel is love.

  Lacie chases gasps, her whole body contracting around mine, and I can’t help pushing deeper still.

  “God, God, God,” she pleads, tears sliding over red-pink cheeks as His name between her needy breaths fills my chest with grateful fire.

  “God, don’t stop,” she begs, her whisper just as shivering slick as where she holds me. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop—”

  Soft little cries leave no room for hesitation in me. I am pious ambition and sacrosanct fervor as I straighten to my full height, bringing dark, need-filled eyes into focus as I brush my hands from her hips to between her shaking thighs.

  My palms slide.

  We’re soaking in worship.

  I shake my head.

  No, I tell Lacie with my eyes.

  It’s okay. We’re not going to stop.

&nb
sp; “God,” small and pink and glowing hiccups. “Father, oh, oh—”

  “Open,” I coax, sliding my hands to where she’s holding me. “Open, love.”

  Pressing down as her moan fills the chapel, I spread burning light carefully wider, pushing her legs slowly up and apart until her knees are all the way back. Delicately swelled and entirely parted, Lacie winces and shakes, shifting and adjusting, but the pitch of her words is sincere.

  “All the way,” I tell her, holding the backs of straining little knees apart as I swallow and start to push again. “Open all the way for me, Lacie …”

  Deliberate and loving, I sink with intent and insistence, and quick shallow notes echo into the chapel. Hazel eyes whisper the need for slow, steady strength as she tenses and relaxes, and tenses further in a soft pattern, but the faint beginnings of a smile trace the corners of her lips.

  And I know it hurts, but trust in her and in God keeps me moving.

  Soft was made for hard, as give was made for take.

  Even as her body shakes and stings where love holds her open, Lacie shines steadily and soul-sure under pressure that aches for acceptance, because she was made for me.

  As I push in constant, determined increments, the space between her hips and mine slowly closes. Neither light, nor air, nor sound slips between my skin and hers, and as I settle against her, enduring faith arches. Her shoulders come up from the altar with her backbone’s plea to bring flesh to flesh everywhere. Taut little peaks brush and slide along my bare chest as I lean down, wanting her to feel my heart pounding against hers, blood calling to blood in the warm, wordless language of life itself.

  With my hands still pressed in the burning backs of her knees, Lacie wraps her arms around my neck. The small shift and give in our posture brings me inextricably closer, and with eyes closed, I feel all of her for the first time, tightly holding all of me.