throws her hands up in the air as a sign of surrender.
Isabelle stays up late tonight. I climb under the covers and turn off the lights.
I want to touch her, but she stays by the dining room table, typing away on her computer.
I hope she’s not writing her confession, but I decide to just give her space.
Finally, she comes to bed.
“Hi,” she whispers.
Her voice is soft and quiet.
There’s a calmness in it now.
Perhaps even a longing.
I turn around and put my arm around her shoulder.
That’s when I notice that she’s not wearing a shirt. I run my hand all the way up to her neck, feeling the bareness of her skin with the back of my hand.
It’s cool and soft.
As I reach down slowly, my fingers find her breasts and I give them a little squeeze.
A moment later, our lips touch. Her mouth opens and our tongues intertwine.
This time is different than the way it was before.
I'm not angry at her and she's not mad at me.
We don't need to take our frustrations out on our bodies. Instead, we just lose ourselves in each other.
She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. The models gracing the covers of Vogue have nothing on her and never will.
She is perfection and I feel it in my soul.
Our kiss is slow and passionate.
It's the kind that overwhelms all of your senses and yet makes you feel like you are home because you belong.
My mouth travels softly down her neck toward her collarbone. Her lips are so soft that I can feel her breath as she exhales.
I can see the moonlight peeking through the blinds, turning the whole room a shade of light blue.
I peel off her clothes slowly, meticulously.
My hands travel up and down her body feeling each curve.
Whenever she tries to reach over and touch me, I stop her.
“This is going to be all about you,” I whisper as I open her legs.
I take my time kissing her on her inner thighs first and then slowly make my way closer and closer to her core.
I feel her body wanting me.
Her whole body throbbing for mine.
She reaches over to try to pull me inside, but again I stop her.
I pull away and lay her down on her stomach, letting her settle in for whatever is about to come.
My tongue makes its way from her inner thigh and up to her nonexistent panty line.
I’m teasing her and she knows that.
Finally, I lick her and then push my fingers inside of her. She arches her back and grabs onto the sheets with both hands.
With each movement, I feel her body relax. I play her like a violin.
Whenever I feel her getting closer, I slow down and pull away.
“You're teasing me,” she says.
“Of course.”
“I'm going to lose it at any moment now,” she says, probably only half joking.
“I want to make tonight all about you.”
“What if I don't want it to be about me?” she asks, laughing, while I go deep inside of her again.
She stares at the ceiling with her eyes open wide.
“Okay. Are you ready?” I ask.
She shakes her head no, and then nods yes. I wink at her.
Burying my head between her thighs, I send her body into convulsions. She shakes from the inside out.
The tremors run through every vein and artery within her, originating at her core and spreading out.
Her fingers and toes tense up and she arches her back higher. She tries to take a breath, but no air comes in.
One wave follows another and another, as I continue to reach further and further inside of her. My mouth is soft and my fingers are hard as I fill up every part of her.
She whispers my name as loud as she can while being unable to take a breath. After I’m done with her, I lie next to her, licking my fingers.
“I love you, Isabelle. I love the taste of you and I love every part of you. Don't you ever forget that.”
In the morning, just as the dew forms on the railing outside, when the sun starts to illuminate the earth but doesn’t quite reach the horizon, I step outside to go for a run.
All of that time inside a cell and then all of that time in the car makes me feel like my muscles are atrophying.
Of course, going on a run is the liberal interpretation of what I’m going to actually do. In truth, it wouldn’t even be called a jog, or a very slow walk, but the