The Empty Jar(16)

Lovingly, Nate strokes my skin, his touch as light as a summer rain, before he moves to my waist to unfasten my pants. He squats before me, nudging the material over the curve of my hips then letting it fall to pool around my ankles. My panties follow, Nate’s warm palms skimming the outsides of my thighs as he traces the length of my legs.

When I stand before him in nothing but the wedge of lamplight coming through the open bedroom door, he steps back to admire what he so carefully revealed.

“You are the most incredible woman I’ve ever seen. As stunning outside as you are inside.” He takes a step closer. “Do you know that I still fantasize about you?” Nate rakes the backs of his fingers over the tips of my heavy breasts. “About doing things to you? Hearing you say my name, feeling your body so tight around mine? Have I ever told you that?”

My mouth is dry, and I’m spellbound.

Heart swollen, body aching, I shake my head. “No.”

For years, I’ve been self-conscious about my physique. Despite Nate’s insistence that he loves my body, I’ve never been able to shake my insecurity. I know my husband loves me, but I’ve always been afraid that one day he would see my flaws more clearly than he would see the things he loves about me, that he would realize there are prettier, younger, thinner women out there. But he never has. And I hate that I’ve underestimated him all this time, hate that I’ve wasted so many years being so neurotic.

“I do. I’ve never met someone who could so thoroughly captivate me. Even after all these years. I’m not sure I ever really thought it was possible—to still want someone this much after so long—and yet... Here I am. Captivated.”

When Nate lowers his mouth to mine, I taste the salt of the tears I can’t contain. Nate leans away and looks down at me. “What’s the matter, baby?”

With the pad of his thumb, he wipes away a single droplet before it can run down my cheek.

“You’ve always made me feel beautiful, even when I didn’t think I was, but now…” I swallow at the growing tightness in my throat. “For months now, all I see when I look in the mirror is the monster living inside me, but not you. You don’t see it. You still see me. Just me. You look at me the way you always have. Like I’m perfect. Like I’m still perfect.”

Cupping my face, Nate leans his forehead against mine. “You are still perfect. No one will ever be so perfect in my eyes. Ever. I’ll want you this much, this way, always. Always.”

When his lips take mine, they are at once gentle and passionate, reverent and reckless. Nate never loses control, though. Not once does he hurt me, not even with the grip of his strong hands.

But he thrills me.

God, how he thrills me!

He lets me know with his body how very much I mean to his heart. He whispers his love into my ear, he moans it against my flesh, he strains with it between my legs.

And when our release finally comes, and Nate is buried deep within my body, I hold him to me with every ounce of strength I can muster. I draw him into me—his body, his seed, his love—and tuck away the memory of it, far into one corner of my mind, knowing that every breath and every heartbeat we share are some of the best of my life.

And some of the last.





Seven

Someday Just Might Be Tonight

Lena



Six weeks.

It’s already been six whole weeks since we left the States. To me, it feels like the blink of an eye. London, Paris, Germany, Switzerland—I’ve explored them all with my favorite person by my side, and each location was just as amazing as I expected. While it could be my mindset, the kind rife with the determination to enjoy every millisecond Nate and I are afforded, I suspect that Europe is, all in all, just a great place, full of beauty and charm.

The only less-than-ideal moments begin on our first morning in Rome when I wake to a debilitating bout of nausea. Since being diagnosed, it has never been this bad. My heart fills with dread and disappointment.

Again, I pray. I pray that it is transient. Maybe even something I ate. Because I know that if it is related to the progression of my disease, it will officially end our vacation. I know I won’t be able to go on like this for six more weeks. And that makes me feel emotionally sick.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to call for some crackers or some juice? I think if you get something on your stomach it—”

With eyes still closed in an effort to keep from having to race to the bathroom again and heave up nothing more than bile, I reach out until I feel Nate’s hands. I take his fingers, fingers taut with the helplessness I know he’s feeling, and I quiet him.

“No, but thank you. It won’t help. This is…this is just part of it.” It’s all I can do to keep my voice strong, without waver. I turn my face further into my pillow, hoping he won’t be able to see the fine tremble of my chin. It’s one of the many things about my body that has sprinted beyond my control—my emotions.

“I know, baby, but…” Nate kneels by the side of the bed, resting his mouth against our entwined hands. “I just thought we had more time. I thought for just these three months, we’d be enough ahead of it that you wouldn’t feel this way. I just wanted to give you a few weeks of peace and freedom and happiness. Three months of perfection.”

I crack an eye and find my husband’s worried gaze on my face. “I know you did. I had hoped for the same thing, but the progression is unpredictable. Doctors can estimate and give educated guesses, but no one really knows. Maybe this will pass, though. Let’s just wait and see. Give it a few days. We don’t have to give up yet.”