Jessie
The day is cold and damp. My boots are snug but I still feel the chill from the ground as I walk through the iron gates that lead into the cemetery. In my gloved hands I hold a small bouquet of flowers. I know he’d think I was ridiculous for bringing them. What man cares about flowers?
His grave is deep into the cemetery so it takes me a few minutes to get there. All the while my heart is beating faster. I don’t think this will ever get easier, no matter how much time passes.
When someone is snatched away from you without the chance to say goodbye, there always seems to be unfinished business. I wish that the last thing I said to him was something profound, something that would have let him know how I truly felt about him.
It’s eerily quiet. No birds sing. No cars travel down the winding drive that leads from the road. It’s as though time has stood still and I am the only living thing still in motion.
When I reach his graveside my throat tightens. Seeing his name engraved in the cold black marble seems unreal.
So final.
There are other flowers here. I’m not the only one who has remembered that it’s the anniversary of his death. I place the bouquet on the ground and stand awkwardly to the side. All the things I wanted to say are like ash in my mouth.
When someone you love dies there is a part of you that feels guilty. Why am I still alive and they are gone? There’s no rhyme or reason to the pattern of life. We are born and we live and the only certainty is death. I wonder how differently we would all live if we knew the exact date and time we were going to pass away. Would we be better people or worse? More selfless or selfish?
I don’t have the answers but know that there is no making sense of any of it. No point in dwelling on the whys and what ifs. Every day we are gifted is precious and needs to be spent in pursuit of life’s truth.
Love.
We waste too much time. We don’t say the things we want to say. We hold what’s really in our heart too tightly and focus on the mundane and unimportant.
We are blinded by the features of the modern world; entertained to the point that we no longer engage in our own lives, and it’s not until it’s too late that we see what we should be focusing on.
He was twenty-seven.
Jackson Ford; my high school sweetheart. We were happy for a while. For all the trouble he left for me, he was a good person in his soul.
I tell him I still think of him. I tell him that his favorite restaurant downtown has closed. I tell him that yesterday I went for a burger and a beer in memory of him. I tell him that I don’t blame him. Not anymore.
As I make my way back to the car the baby squirms in my belly. I lay my hand over what I think is her little foot.
Ryan is waiting for me. He’s still not well enough to drive himself but the limo is comfortable and I enjoy getting to snuggle up with him in the back.
“Are you okay?” he asks me. I knew he wanted to come to the graveside but it didn’t feel right. This part of my life was over before we met. I’ll always come here out of respect for Jackson, but Ryan is my priority now. Ryan and our baby.
“I’m fine,” I say, stroking his face. “It was strange but I’m okay.”
“That’s good.” His eyes are soft. I can see he’s worried that I’m sad and his concern makes me want to cry.
It takes nearly an hour to travel home. I’m finally starting to think of Ryan’s mansion as our place but it has taken a while. I don’t have my own suite this time around. I’ve moved into Ryan’s.
It’s the middle of the day but we both head upstairs. Ryan still gets tired. His muscles were weakened during his recuperation and his condition has progressed a little too. My pregnancy has been mostly uneventful but I’m starting to feel the burden of the weight of our child.
He takes my hand and leads me to bed. “Come on, mommy,” he says, patting my rounded belly. “It’s nap time.”
“Very funny, daddy,” I laugh.
He grins. “Call me that again.”
“You gonna take me to bed, daddy?” I joke, poking his pec and dodging to the side so he can’t catch me. I’m too slow, though. His hand on my wrist is gentle.
“Yes, baby. I’m gonna take you to bed.”
Ryan’s lips meet mine like a soft hello. A reminder that this thing between us is loving and sweet and good. He tastes me like I’m delicious, and I drink in his kisses like I’m parched. A rumbling sounds in his throat. He’s hungry and damn if that doesn’t make me horny as hell.
His hands caress my cheeks and stroke my temples. His fingers slide through my hair and all the nerves on the back of my neck come alive. I know what those fingers can do to me. I know the pleasure they can give.
I’m restless. Antsy. Impatient. I want to feel the heat of his skin against mine. I want to breathe in the scent of him that makes my brain foggy like the best kind of drug.
He’s slow though, in a way that’s infuriating and amazing.
No part of me is neglected. His lips gently nibble my earlobe, tongue trails down my neck, kisses are peppered across my collar bones, fingers find the buttons of my blouse.
I’m not wearing sexy lingerie. Those days are over for a while, but it doesn’t seem to faze Ryan. He uncovers my swollen breasts impatiently. When he palms them for the first time his touch is firm; frantic almost. My clothes drop to the floor so fast I’m dazed and when I’m finally standing in front of him in just my plain pregnancy bra and cotton panties he drops to his knees.
“Jessie,” he says softly. “My girl.” His hand trembles against my belly and place mine over it as he kisses across the tight skin of my stomach.
His fingers find the soft fabric of my underwear and tugs until they are sliding down my thighs. I feel his breath against my skin, then soft kisses that get closer and closer to where I want his mouth to be. “Sit,” he orders, holding my hand as I perch on the edge of the bed.
His tongue finds my clit so easily, it’s as though he’s learned my body as well as he knows his own. That first tentative touch is always the best. I want him to go slow. I want him to hold back and keep the point of his tongue glancing over my clit so softly that it makes my toes curl and my pussy drip. He licks me exactly the way I like it. Slowly, regularly, interspersed with movements that surprise me enough to make my back arch. Oh god, I needed this. I crave release. I crave to surrender to this man who has brought me from my knees to pinnacle of happiness.
“Baby,” he murmurs against my pussy. “You smell so good. You feel so good against my tongue.” He licks me from my clit down to where I’m wet and back again, then just as I’m getting close he backs away.
I moan with frustration, but I’m quiet when I see him tug off his shirt and drop his trousers. When he’s left in just his boxers, Ryan moves to stand between my thighs.
“Shift back, baby. Lie on your side.” I do as he asks, knowing how good it’s going to feel when he pushes his big cock inside me from behind. The anticipation is too much. My pussy bears down in anticipating the penetration, hungry for the sensation.
His strong chest presses up against my back. His lips find my neck and he suckles gently. I feel the weight of his cock nudging at my ass. It throbs as though it’s impatient. His hand guides it to my entrance and I hold my breath.
There’s something about this moment. The anticipation. The expectation.
The memory of the sensation.
The intimacy of that first penetration.
Welcoming someone inside you is such a huge thing.
It feels as momentous as the first time he pressed his way inside. More even because now I love him and that makes this more about connection and less about chasing pleasure.
“I love you,” he whispers when he’s as deep as he can get. Even then, he nudges forward again as though he wants to get deeper. I’d take him deeper. When he’s inside me it feels as though we are one person. A single entity that can move and breath as one. When he’s inside me I don’t fear anything. I am free to let go in the circle of his arms. I’m free to close my eyes to the world and rest easy within our bond. I’m free to be vulnerable in the knowledge that he will protect my heart.
“I love you too, Ryan,” I say. His name is like sugar on my tongue. The beginning and the end of everything good in my life.
His finger finds my clit and strokes gently. We rock together, every push and pull of his cock nudging that place inside me that’s the source of all my pleasure. Between us our skin is slick. Where we are joined I feel wetness against his thighs, evidence of my arousal. I touch my own nipple, pinching to bring about that connection with my pussy that can make me come in a flash. Oh god. I want to come so badly. I want to feel that oblivion. That surrender.
I want to cry out his name and spasm against him. I want him to feel what he does to me and know that he is my world.
Ryan’s thrusts get deeper and my movements get more frantic and then his fingers pinch my clit and I’m coming and coming and coming.
“Oh,” I cry out. “Don’t stop—”
He keeps moving but slowly now, riding out the pulsation of my orgasm and that way my pussy clutches him as though it never wants to let him go.
“That’s it baby,” he whispers. “Let it go.”
I remember a time he said that before. When we were in Las Vegas and I was terrified. Letting go and allowing myself to love was what I feared the most.
As Ryan comes inside me I have no fear. This man, who can give me almost everything except the moon and stars themselves, has given me the one thing I needed the most.
Love.