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“Is that for me?” She gestured for the towel.
I nodded, finally tearing my eyes away from where I shouldn’t have been looking. But her face was equally riveting. Normally, she wore a lot of makeup. Black eye liner. Heavy lashes. Blood red lipstick. It highlighted her black hair and pale skin. I’d never seen her without it. Now, she wasn’t wearing any. Her usually camouflaged freckles dusted the tops of her cheeks and nose, both pink from the cold rain. Her lips were pale and smaller than usual, eyes as doe-like as ever. She looked just as much a heartbreaker without the makeup, only more kissable like this. Less smearing.
Although I had to admit there wasn’t a more beautiful sight than a woman’s mascara trailing down her cheeks as she took my dick deep in the back of her throat.
She took another step toward me, her yoga-muscled arm snaking up and around my head, her fingers running through my too-long hair.
“Gus?” Her body pressed against mine. I took a step back to… what? Create distance? Fuck that. It’d been too long since I’d felt the soft heat of a woman. She moved with me, urging me back another step, then another, until my back hit the closed door of my monk’s cell. Pressing in even closer, she ripped the towel out of my hand, then placed that hand on herself, cupping her breast.
My eyes drifted, reveling in the warmth of her flesh bleeding through the cool wetness of her shirt. I closed my fingertips over the top, her nipple hard as a diamond in the cup of my palm. She moaned and threw her head back, exposing her neck to me. An invitation to kiss, to lick, to bite.
And I did. It was impossible to hold back with Salome in my arms.
I was Saint John the Baptist and, at this moment, I didn’t care if it was my head on a platter or my cock in her cunt she wanted—I’d give either. Just to touch a woman again.
Thiswoman.MyDecca.
This felt right. For years, I’d been living another man’s life. Wondering whether or not it would ever feel like my own. While knowing full well it should, because this was the life I chose. Suddenly, with Decca, it all clicked into place. Of course it was her. Maybe I’d been waiting for her all along. She was mine.
Grabbing her neck, I bucked against her, flipping us around in one effortless move. Now it was her pressed between me and the paneled wooden door.
“You’re soaked through,” I breathed against her neck before sinking my teeth into her white skin, hard enough to leave a bruise. I just wanted to feel her on my tongue. Her flesh between my teeth.
“Take it off,” she said.
I didn’t hesitate as I peeled the skimpy garment off her tiny frame, exposing her naked breasts. They were small, perky, and obscenely hot. My mouth watered as I imagined all the ways I wanted to feast on her bounty, loving her breasts more than wine. Covering her with my palms, wanting to take rest between them, just as Solomon had written. The Song of Songs had come alive for me now.
“My jeans,” she said, looking deep into my eyes, giving me permission to let go of myself, telling me it was okay. It was all going to be okay now that she was here. Now that we were like this.
My hands found the top button quickly, undoing it, then unzipping them hastily. I knelt in front of her to pull them from her chilled legs. Inch by inch, they peeled away, baring more of her goose bumped skin for me to kiss away her chill. And I did. I kisseddown her legs, pulling up each knee in turn for her to step out of the tight, soggy, miserable material.
I stayed there at her feet, praying the same prayer that we were called to pray ceaselessly.
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.
Only I didn’t say it out loud. I repeated it in my head again and again, looking up into Decca’s open and curious face at the end. Her fingers raked through my hair. The tension on my scalp felt like heaven.
I smiled up at her in wonder. How could she have known this was everything I wanted? She was all I needed, and she had delivered herself to my doorstep. God had given me the opportunity to unwrap her like a Christmas present.
She truly was the dove of Solomon.
I rose to my feet. I still hadn’t tasted her mouth yet, hadn’t slaked my thirst with her wine.
I crashed against her, kissing her harder than I intended, but it couldn’t be helped. I was in some kind of dream state. Her mouth tasted of bitter beer and honeyed almonds. Her tongue caught mine with the same intoxicating frenzy, but then she pulled back, smiling, tasting my lips while she sucked.
“Fuck, Decca. You’re perfect,” was the only thing I could think of besides Bible quotes that would probably send her running out the door naked.
She laughed from deep in her belly. The sound was wine to my ears, rich and silky, but it lit a fire inside my own body.
I jerked away and turned her around, pressing her cheek to the door. My brazen cock was insistent, practically bursting through my pants, wanting to nestle between her cheeks. She reached back, moaning with a slight hiccup, but I gripped her wrists in one hand, raising her arms high above her head.
“No, Dove. Don’t touch me.”
She groaned but accepted her fate.
“But I’m going to touch you,” I whispered.
She sucked in a breath and her ass punched back against me. God, she felt good. Even as small as she was, as tall as I was, we somehow fit each other. I was strong enough I could throw her around and she was strong enough that I wouldn’t break her. We were made for each other.
