The Locket

My lips trembled and I licked them. “I love you too, Brent.”

Brent continued to gaze lovingly at me, his blue eyes to my green, blending like tropical waters. His hand still rested on my back and I felt the warmth beneath it. Slowly he slid his fingers upwards, under the bottom of my pajama-shirt, up my bare back, through the top of my shirt, squeezing firmly behind my neck and then back down. I thought I might explode. I swung my leg over his. My hips started to grind into him as though they had a mind of their own, matching his movements and I arched into him. He continued caressing my neck, kissing me softly. I whimpered when he brought his hand to my hip and across my belly. He groaned quietly and gently continued exploring my body with his hands. He gripped the back of my head firmly and pulled me close to him. Less than an inch separated our lips. I saw love in his eyes. I could feel it. I believed it. I exhaled softly and squeezed his shoulders tightly.

He took my mouth in his, and I parted my lips, wanting to feel the warmth inside of him. He sucked my bottom lip into his mouth. Oh my. It felt amazing and I craved more of it. He shifted the two of us so he was on top of me again. Putting his elbows on each side of me, he supported his weight and allowed me to catch my breath. Feeling brave, I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled his body close. He brushed some wet strands of hair away from my cheeks and kissed my forehead.

“God, I love you,” he exhaled breathlessly.

Giggling shyly, I put both my hands behind his head, tugging him to me, meeting his mouth, urging him to kiss me again. Our tongues met, sweeping and stroking, absorbing each other’s warmth, his scent intoxicating. I continued, thirsting for him.

I had heard high school girls talk about being with their boyfriend this way, but their stories were nothing like what I was experiencing with Brent. They always talked about how awkward and self-conscious they felt, and how their boyfriends were inattentive and clumsy. Brent was neither. He was passionate, knowing exactly how to move and what to say. I didn’t feel awkward. I felt beautiful and precious, our bodies colliding so naturally. Everything about being with him felt perfect. The more we moved, the braver I became. I dug my fingers into his skin, dragging them roughly down his body, heading to his backside. A low groan escaped his throat when my fingers reached their destination, pressing into him.

“Oh God, Claire,” he groaned and abruptly removed himself. He settled on his back, lying next to me, with his arm over his eyes trying to catch his breath. “Wow,” he sighed.

My voice was unsteady as I tried to speak.

“Why did you stop?” I asked, trying to conceal my disappointment.

Brent turned and faced me, resting on his elbow. “Because if I waited any longer, I wouldn’t have been able to stop,” he confessed.

“And that would be a problem because?’ I asked.

“Ahhh, Christ… It’s just not right.” Brent stressed his point in a way that made me feel small, like I should be crawling in a hole.

Rejection had a death grip on my heart and squeezed furiously. Oh God, he didn’t have the same desire for me that I had for him. I was ready to give myself to him, but clearly, Brent was not ready to reciprocate.

“You don’t want to?” I tried to smile but my effort was weak, and I was sure the word, insecure, was tattooed across my face.

“Oh Jesus, Claire, I want to,” Brent said huskily. “Believe me, I want to. Just…not here, not like this.”

I bit my lip. “Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say.

He placed a finger under my chin, lifting my gaze to his.

“You deserve more, Claire,” Brent explained. His reassuring smile worked, making me feel better.

My body still wanted Brent, but my heart understood it was ingrained in him to provide more for me. I placed my forehead against his and my senses were heightened. Visions of us being together intimately were circling my brain. Fingers trailing over every inch of exposed skin, my emotions raced through me feverishly. Our bodies and minds were joined together, providing us with intense physical pleasure, while outside of the vision, only our foreheads touched. I felt a layer of sweat between us, beading like condensation on the outside of a glass, trickling one drop at a time. Our bodies hummed softly. Feeling as though time was standing still, I relished every moment of the thrilling experience. The pictures I witnessed were causing my body to shudder, and I was sieged by uncontrollable tingling. Even my toes curled. With one long sudden breath, my body trembled and then went limp, completely fulfilled. Brent was struggling to catch his breath next to me. His rapid breathing suggested he had the same experience. Thick silence filled the room as we recovered from what happened.

“I felt it too,” Brent finally whispered, still breathless.

When I caught my breath enough to speak, I finally asked, “What was that?”

He nestled into my side, resting his arm across my stomach, his eyes locked on mine. “I think our seals just made love,” Brent theorized, sending my heart into overdrive, beating so fast, I thought it might jump out of my chest.

“Oh,” I squealed, with giddy excitement. If that’s what love-making felt like, it was hard to imagine anything better, nor comprehend how it could ever be described as awkward or clumsy.

Brent rolled to his back again, lifting his arm. “Here,” he said, beckoning me to fill the nook between his arm and chest. He rolled us, cuddling me close from behind, spooning me. I realized until that very moment, I had never fully understood the term.

“You are mine, Claire,” Brent whispered possessively in my ear.

His claim to me should have sent me running, but I was content to stay. I smiled.

“Forever,” I whispered back and drifted into a deep, satisfied sleep.

When I opened my eyes it was still dark outside. Brent was sound asleep next to me. I slid out of bed, careful not to wake him. Needing a drink, I headed to the kitchen to grab a complementary bottle of water. It was almost 5:00 am. Then I spotted the letter resting on the counter – a piece of paper folded in half with my name on it.

Claire,

I can’t stay. I have to sort this out. I’m not mad. Stay safe.