The Song of David(59)

I chuckled, thinking of all the braille, the “bumps” in her house that helped her order her world, and I tried not to moan as she ran her fingers up the swell of my lats and rested her head against my chest, pulling me close. I leaned down and kissed the top of her head, the silk of her hair welcome against my lips.

“I am going to touch you a lot,” she said sincerely.

“I’m okay with that,” I said magnanimously.

“But the things I can’t touch, you’ll have to describe.”

“Okay.”

“Your eyes . . . what color are they?” she asked.

“Green.”

“Like the grass?”

“Yeah, maybe a little paler.”

“And your hair?”

“Dark and light. A mixture of both. Yours is chocolate, mine is . . .” I thought for a moment, trying to come up with a description. “Do I really have to describe it? You can feel it.” She ran her fingers through it, and I tried not to purr.

She reached for my hands and brought them to her face.

“Now, look at me the way I look at you.”

I ran my fingers over her cheek bones, closing my eyes so I could see the way Millie did.

“Your cheekbones are high and pronounced, and your face is slightly heart-shaped,” I declared, though her face was in my mind as my hands traced the features I described.

“I have a big forehead,” she interrupted.

“And a pointy chin,” I added.

I felt the silk of her hair and pushed her hair behind her ears.

“And big ears,” she said.

I traced them with my fingertips. “You have pretty ears,” I said. And they were. Between my fingertips they felt dainty and detailed, little whorls of soft skin in the shape of a question mark, always waiting for answers.

“What’s your favorite thing about my face?” Millie said after I’d explored a little more.

I touched her mouth, pressing the pads of my thumbs against the fullest part of her bottom lip and then sliding them upwards to rest in the crease so I could part them slightly.

“This. This is my favorite part.”

“Because you can kiss me?” Ah, my girl knew how to flirt. I liked that.

“Yes,” I said. And I did. I kissed her softly and then sweetly. And then I kissed her again. And again, over and over, for several long minutes, until our lips were sore and I knew I should stop, but found myself sinking in again, licking between her smooth teeth and sliding my tongue against hers because the friction felt so good, and her flavor lit a fire in the pit of my stomach.

“I don’t want to leave,” I said again. I didn’t know if I would ever be ready.





MILLIE TRIED TO take me to church again, but I had a surprise for her. We lived in a city that boasted one of the most famed choirs in the world, and we were going to hear them sing. I twisted some arms and made some calls and got permission to sit in on a rehearsal. I didn’t want to share the experience with a crowd, and Millie would be completely surprised if I just led her in, right down to the front row of the tabernacle, and sat her down. If there was a crowd she would be expecting a performance. No crowd, and the surprise would be complete.

She was excited, her cheeks pink and her smile wide, and she held onto me, squeezing my arm like an anxious child.

“Are we in a church?” she whispered theatrically.

“Kind of.”

“It doesn’t feel like there are lots of people here. Are there other people here?”

“Kind of.”

Her eyebrows rose and she pinched my arm. “How can there ‘kind of’ be other people here? Either there are or there aren’t.”

“There are other people here . . . but they aren’t attending church.”

“Okaaaay,” Millie said doubtfully, but I could tell she was dancing in her skin.

The entire back wall was a pipe organ, something I’d never seen before, and when the organist began to play, I felt the vibrations in my back teeth and the hair stood up on my neck. Millie gasped beside me and I reached for her hand and closed my eyes so that I could experience it the way she was experiencing it. Then the choir started to sing. A wall of sound washed over us, taking us both by surprise, the power and precision seeping into our pores and spilling down our spines, sinking into the soles of our feet.

I forgot my goal to keep my eyes closed and found myself staring at Millie instead, who had lifted her chin and was basking in the sound as if it were sunlight warming her skin. Her eyes were closed and her lips were parted, and she looked as if she were waiting for a kiss. It was an Easter hymn, the choir proclaiming joyfully that He had risen, followed by jubilant hallelujahs in triumphant harmony.