feel right.
They both felt it. He motioned with a nod of his head for her to lead the way to the back yard. On the way through the house he picked up a blanket that looked to be the same one they had used the night before. And then he grabbed the flashlight on the counter. He passed her the blanket as he set to work re-igniting the fire that they had started the night before.
Soon enough, it was just as they were when they had left off. They were lying on the blanket, intertwined. Their legs were tangled his hand was knotted in her hair. His spare hand was kneading her flesh, pulling her shoulder closer, pressing her against him. They were in complete accord. They couldn’t get close enough. Soon his hands were under her shirt. And though she expected him to fiddle with her bra, struggle with the hooks like most men would, he instead, opened it with a snap. Literally. He snapped his fingers as he unhooked it. He had one breast cupped in each hand as he kissed his way down her throat. It was all about feeling in that moment. It was all electricity and desire. The kissing, the fondling, the nibbling all grew more insistent. She never wanted it to stop, never wanted this moment to end. He was propped on his side, having pushed her onto her back. And though it was all of forty degrees out, with the fire burning and crackling beside them, and with his body providing a remarkable amount of heat, she was toasty warm. And tingly. So very tingly. It was an epiphany, her ‘aha’ moment. This is how love was supposed to feel. Even though this might only be lust, she would much rather experience it once than never at all. Since she was already thirty-five, there was a possibility that if she didn’t take this moment, this opportunity, she might never get to again.
This was not an experience to be missed. He had stopped playing with her nipple. He had been squeezing it and twisting it in such a way that she was about to beg him to end her misery, to yank off her pants, rip off her panties, and take her right there on the blanket. His head dipped out of sight momentarily as he began to suck on her hard hot bud surrounded by dark peach areola.
It was all too much. If they didn’t…if he stopped…she would need the longest coldest shower in the history of Hope House. That was the truth of it. She was hot, burning hot. She was going to go right up in flames.
Had they not been so distracted with one another, they might have heard the distant sound of metal grinding, the squealing of a faucet being forced on. They might have heard the water as it rushed down the hose. Instead, they were suddenly engulfed by steam and smoke. There was the hissing of vapor and they were being doused by water.
Joe jumped up swearing. “Damn it, Miss Gracie! What do you think you are doing?” He rushed over to her and took the hose from her hands to turn it off.
While he did that, Marti lay there stinging from the pain of the experience, the cold, the unfulfilled longing. She was in agony. And clearly they were not going to finish anything now. She was upset for so many reasons.
She saw that Joe was trying to hurry back to her. She knew he could tell that she was anxious and eager to leave. She had picked up the blanket and was shaking it out, folding it and waved to him as she headed back into the house. The disappointment and embarrassment were overwhelming. She just needed to go back to Hope House. Maybe Keely would still be up. Maybe there would be chocolate cake in the fridge. And with that she set the blanket down on the kitchen table, continued to the front door and headed to her shiny new car.
She hadn’t driven half the block before her phone was ringing. She knew it would be him. “Hey, Joey,” she said quietly, serenely.
“Hey, Marti,” he said. She could hear him walking around, the frustration in his voice.
“So, what’s up?” She tried to laugh off the situation, but they both knew it was futile.
“Oh, I don’t know. It had this really great night, and then it all…went up in smoke!” His voice sounded playful once more.
“Smoke?