The Song of David(45)

When I gently pushed her away from me, forcing her to lift her head from my chest, I could see the hurt slam across her face, and her eyelids fluttered closed as if to protect what was already lost. But she misunderstood. I was creating space to move, not distance. I slid my fingers along the sides of her face, cradled her head in my hands, and laid my lips across hers. She clutched at my wrists, a small gasp escaping from her mouth before I swallowed it up, adding it to the fear that still hummed in my chest.

Her lips were soft and her mouth was slightly sweet, and for a few seconds I was hyper-aware of the smallest details, the rasp of my whiskered chin against her smooth cheek as my mouth whispered over hers, the silky heat of her breath hitching in anticipation, a strand of her hair tickling my face as I applied the gentlest of pressures to her lips. And then she leaned into me hungrily, demanding more, and the details blurred into the heady experience of wanting and being wanted.

My stomach dipped and my hands slid from her face to her waist before my arms wrapped around her slim form, gripping her tightly, trying desperately not to lose control, trying valiantly to maintain emotional indifference as my body waved the white flag. Then my thoughts were overpowered by sensation, and I didn’t think at all.

Millie didn’t just kiss me, she traced me, holding my face to her mouth as her fingertips curled into my skin, the brush of her fingers and her mouth peeling away my resistance, sinking into my flesh until I was panting against her lips, my tongue tangling with hers, her feet dangling above the floor as I lifted her off her feet. I urged her legs around me in an attempt to get closer than we already were, and she acquiesced, her legs encircling me as tightly as my arms embraced her. Then I was stumbling out of the bathroom, gripping her to me, cradling her like a child I was desperate to protect, kissing her like a woman I was suddenly hell-bent on having, and falling across her bed like my legs had been shot out from beneath me.

My hands slid beneath her tank top, palming the satiny skin of her abdomen before pushing her bloodied shirt past the swell of her breasts and over her head, tearing my mouth from hers to yank it free, pulling the pins from her hair as I went so that it fell in dark waves across her shoulders and around her head, an inky pool against the white comforter. And my breath caught in my chest. My hands stilled and my heart tripped, thudding heavily against my ribs.

I pushed myself up and off her, bracing myself above her so I could stare down at the girl beneath me. Dark hair, smooth skin, full breasts. I swallowed, throat closing with an emotion that felt more like love than lust. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, waiting for me to come back. She didn’t cover herself or reach for me. She just waited.

A door slammed downstairs.

“Tag!” Axel bellowed. Millie jerked, and I was across the room, yanking open drawers, looking for a clean shirt to cover what I’d just unwrapped. She was suddenly there beside me, gently pushing me aside as she found what I was looking for and slid it over her head without missing a beat.

“Tag!” Axel sounded desperate, and I wondered if he was trying to hold back a panicked Henry.

“Henry needs to see that you’re okay, Millie.” But she was already headed for the door, moving with such surety and purpose that I marveled for a moment before I shook myself awake and followed her out of the room.

Axel and Henry stood at the base of the stairs, Axel holding on to Henry, trying to comfort and contain him. When they saw me and Millie above them, Axel let Henry go, cursing in relieved Swedish. Henry raced up the stairs, barreling into his sister, who heard his flight and braced herself, wrapping her thin arms around him as he flung himself against her.

“I’m okay, Henry. I’m okay. I just cut my finger. You should have talked to me, Henry, before running out of the house so late at night! I didn’t even know you were awake. You should have let me explain.”

“A baseball has exactly 108 stitches,” Henry whispered and buried his head in his sister’s shoulder.

“I don’t need stitches, Henry. I’m fine. I promise.” She smoothed her hand over his messy hair and held him tightly.

“Everything okay then?” Axel shifted his weight and reached for the door handle, as if Henry’s distress had worn him out. I descended the stairs and extended my hand to my friend.

“Yeah, Axel. Thanks. I owe you one, man.”

Axel nodded and grasped my hand, the relief still evident in his quick smile. “I couldn’t convince him everything was all right.”

“It’s okay. He’s had it tough. He had no reason to expect good news, poor kid,” I said, my voice low, meant only for his ears. Axel nodded again, and releasing my hand, slid out the door into the night, calling his goodbye to Henry, who lifted his hand but didn’t lift his head from Millie’s shoulder.