Save Me, Sinners

We are locked like this for a long time, panting and grasping each other tightly. I love how she fits me, how she feels like a part of me I was always missing. And she is so tight and wet, always ready for me.

But we can't stay on the sofa forever. I wrap my right arm around the small of her back and stand. She giggles and locks her ankles behind me as I climb the stairs to the bedroom… now our room. The guest room, where she used to sleep, is now her personal library and study.

“You don’t have to carry me… I can walk!” she smirks against my neck. But I notice she doesn't make any attempt to climb down.

“Walking is too good for my little princess,” I inform her.

“I'm not a princess!”

“Yes, you are,” I tell her as I set her on her feet, pushing her hair back behind her ears. She stands at the corner of the bed, beautiful and graceful, a humid sheen of sweat between her small, heaving breasts.

“Actually, maybe princess is not quite the right word,” I suggest, swiping the box from the top of my dresser.

“Is there a better word?”

I drop to my knees in front of her, drawing my face along the smooth under curve of her belly, back and forth, drinking in her deliriously intoxicating scent. When I pull back, I hold the box out in front of me. She looks down at me with curiosity that quickly turns into something like alarm.

“What is that?” she whispers, eyeing the box suspiciously.

“Oh, this?” I ask, shrugging.

She nods urgently. I can tell she's afraid to touch it, so I open it for her, watching her intently as her eyes widen even further, the faint glow from the shimmering rock reflected on each iris.

Her fingers fly up to cover her mouth... that sweet, shy gesture surprise.

“Kita… my beautiful Nikita, will you marry me? Would you be my bride?”

She bounces slightly, stretching her ankles like when I saw her the first day. A huge bubble of love rises in my chest and bursts, turning to fireworks that warm me from the inside. She doesn't even know what she does to me.

“Are you serious?”

I tug her hand down, pulling the ring from the box and sliding it over her knuckle. It fits perfectly, just like I knew it would. Then I switch the antique Russian ring to her other hand.

“There, I think that's a double omen, don't you?”

“Daniel… I don't know what to say!” she whispers. Her eyes are glimmering with wetness, her cheeks flushed to a candy pink tint.

“Just answer the question, Kita. Will you be my bride?”

“Yes!” she yelps. She drops to her knees in front of me and throws her arms around my neck, dragging me close as she is shaking with laughter or tears, I can't tell which.

I have to admit, some part of me was afraid she wouldn't say yes. Some part of me was terrified that asking her would frighten her away. And as soon as I felt that terror, as soon as I knew that losing her would propel me back to a life with no song in it again, that's when I knew I had no choice. I had to ask her.

And now we’re going to be all songs, from here on out. Our new song, together.

Epilogue

Kita

Daniel holds my hand, tugging me gently toward the door. I don't even know why I am resisting, but I sort of want to be coerced. I don't think I could make it there on my own. I need him to pull me forward.

And so he does. He keeps tugging, and I keep trudging along next to him because I want to please him, even if it scares me half to death. No matter what.

As we climb the flagstone steps, the door suddenly opens and an older woman tumbles out, squeezing through the door jamb as two other young people are pushing through at the same time. She wipes her hands on a towel that she picks up from around her waist and then throws her arms out, her ample chest sloshing jubilantly from side to side. She's shouting at me, grinning widely through tear-streaked cheeks.

Daniel glances down at me, nudging me further forward. I just gape at him in shock.

“Well, go on then,” he encourages me with a s