by Frankie Love
I wish it could always be this way.
"You can't get married tomorrow, Abigail. That can't be the way our story ends. We are supposed to be a love song."
I shake my head. "I don't even want you to look at me."
"Why?" he asks, squaring my shoulders to face him. Cradling my face in his hands. How many years have I longed for this moment? How long have I refused my heart what it wanted?
And for what? For a God who never heard the cries of my heart? My pleas and my prayers?
I want more than that.
I want James.
"I don't deserve you, James," I manage, closing my eyes, unable to look at him. Knowing his face is filled with nothing but devotion and not feeling like I deserve that sort of adoration. Not from a man like him.
"Shush, you don't need to cry. I'm here." He pulls my face to his. His lips are even better than I remembered. Soft and hard and here and now. Lips that press against mine and break something open. Wide open. My heart.
I sink into his kiss. His lips part, and so do mine, and he tips back my head, his arms around me, and I can feel how deeply he wants me. No, it's more than a want. It’s a desire. A craving. A longing.
"I love you," he tells me between kisses, and then his tongue finds mine, and I whimper against him, his words a balm to my broken heart.
"I don't deserve this," I tell him. "I made you wait for so long."
"You were scared," he says, kissing me again. "Are you still scared?"
I shake my head, pulling away, wanting his kisses but also knowing the reality.
"George is paying my father ten thousand dollars for me. My brothers and sisters... they need me here. And that money can help them. I can't just—"
James shakes his head, refusing to hear it. "We can make a life and come back for them."
"They will never let me just go with you."
"We won't tell them." He kisses my forehead. "I should have made you come with me a long time ago. Standing by only made you more scared. Scared of me. Of the idea of us."
"I'm not scared of you... I'm just scared of what you think of me, James." I pull back, covering my face with my hands.
"I think you are the only good thing in this place. The only good thing in this world. I love you, Abigail, and I'll cherish you forever. You chose not to go with me before, but when I heard that you were getting married, I knew in my heart I couldn't let this go on anymore. Let me be the man I was made to be. Let me take care of you."
"Do you have money?" I ask, knowing I have none.
He shakes his head. "I'll break into the office, find some. I'll get us a car. We can go tonight when it's dark."
He speaks with fervor, passion, the same intensity he had three years ago. He hasn't wavered in his choice for a moment.
Why am I so weak when all I want is to be strong?
"Say yes." He cups my face again, our eyes locked on one another. My body knows exactly what it wants, even though it feels reckless and dangerous. The men on the compound have guns and are vengeful. They don't let people leave without their permission. If we got caught I'd never be able to help my siblings.
But if we don't try what sort of life will they have?
"Do you love me?" he asks.
"Do you have to ask?" I bite my bottom lip, not believing he’s really here, holding my face and choosing me. Still.
"No," he says. "I know you've always loved me. The same way I've always loved you. Love is enough."
Part of me wonders if that kind of thinking is naive: to believe love will solve all our problems... but I want to believe in that sort of power right now. What else do I have?
An old man who will force me into his bed, have his way with me.
I don't want that.
I want James.
"Come with me," he says. "Please."
I lift my chin, looking at the face I memorized as a four-year-old, the face I have always known was mine.
"Where you go, I will follow," I tell him. "But first, kiss me again."
Chapter Four
She says yes, and as she does, it's as if nearly a decade’s worth of weight has fallen from her shoulders. I wrap my arms around her, unable to restrain myself from deepening our kiss, our embrace. Her hands are on my chest, tugging at my shirt.
I want her more than she knows, but I will let the woman I've always loved take the lead. I don't want to push her when she’s vulnerable, but I also know the love we have has blossomed over a lifetime, and damn, we've bided our time.
"I want you in ways you don't know," I growl in her ear. Her hunger is real as she kisses my neck, exploring more of me, returning to my lips and kissing them hard. Abigail may be a fragile flower, but she’s more than that.
The Abigail I fell in love with knew passion, knew the language of love because it was written on her heart strings and then plucked from her guitar every time she picked up her instrument.
"James," she whispers. "I think I know how you want me. And I want you that way too."
She pulls back, meeting my gaze with a sure nod. "When you kissed me when we were fourteen, my body woke up to you... it has never gone back to sleep."
My cock twitches, damn those words are sweet and forbidden and luscious and ours. "All this time you wanted me pressed against you?"
She shakes her head ever so softly. "No, I wanted you pressed inside of me."
"Oh, love," I groan, wanting to strip her here and now, take her under our oak tree, and in the shallow creek, I want to kiss her breasts, see them in all their glory, trace our love on her skin and fill her up and make her whole.
"We've waited long enough," she tells me, unbuttoning her blouse. "I want to ask for your forgiveness, for making you wait so long. I want my body to be an offering, to you." Her blouse drops from her shoulders, revealing creamy skin and a simple white bra covering her breasts.
"Don't say things like that, you have nothing to apologize for. This life of ours, it isn't normal. It's fucked us up in ways we might never understand."
"I've hurt you, though, and I'm sorry." She reaches back and unclasps her bra. She drops it next to her blouse. Her tits are full and big, made for loving. "And I know we can't go back in time, but I can give you what I've always wanted you to have. All of me. So, take it. Take me now."
It's all I need to hear. I've been saving my body for her because it's always been about her. And now I will give her what we both so badly want.
I run my hands over her breasts, two big luscious globes that get me all bothered under the hot sun and blue sky. My cock grows thick as my fingers run over her beautiful nipples, hard under my fingertips. I have dreamt of this moment for most of my life: her in my arms, offering herself to me. It's more than I can goddamn take.
Growling, I tear off my t-shirt, take her blouse, and lay them together on the leafy ground for a makeshift blanket. The soil is soft, and I need her on her back. I need to see all of her at once, then I'll pull her to me and worship her body like the gift it is.
She licks her lips, sitting on this tree trunk, without her top on, and with the covering of the trees, and the burbling creek, it's as if we're protected from the rest of the world in this wooded oasis of our own making.
"I haven't seen you without a shirt since you became... became..." She licks her lips again.
I step toward her, her knees parting, and I stand between them, looking down at this woman I've known for forever. "Became what, Abigail?"
She hooks her thumbs through the belt loops on my blue jeans, her chest heaving in anticipation. "Since you became a man."
She looks up at me then gingerly reaches up, touches my abs, running her hands over the ladder of muscles. I've worked outside for years, staying here so I could make sure she was safe, and all that work has put my body in peak condition. I'm glad she likes what she sees because I goddamn love my view of her.
"Your body is a piece of artwork," she says, biting the corner of her lip in disbelief.
"No,
you are the piece of art. I want to see all of you."
She nods but doesn't make a move to stand and take off her skirt. Instead, she unbuttons my jeans, tugs them down, and my cock is begging to be released. Her warm hands are so close to my thick manhood, and it’s throbbing with desire, having waited so damn long for this moment. I've released myself over the years thinking of her creamy skin, of her curvy body atop mine, her pussy filled with my length. I've imagined it, gotten off to it—but this is no daydream. No fantasy. No, this is real.
She pushes down my boxers, and when she does, her chest heaves, her mouth parts, her lips are licked, her eyes flutter.
"James, you are so..."
"You can't keep holding back your thoughts, love. What happened to the girl who could tell me anything? Who knew her secrets were safe with me?"
She opens her eyes wide, swallows. "I'm still here."
I run my finger over her soft cheekbone, lifting her chin. "Tell me what you see."
"I see your cock, so big, so hard." Her face flushes at the dirty words, words that I'm guessing she's never uttered, words I'm surprised she even knows. But before the church went fundamental, we'd go to the mall, watch movies, read books. She may have been sheltered, but even as teenagers, we still had access to the outside world.
"And do you like what you see?" I ask.
She sighs, her shoulder relaxing. "James, I love what I see."
"What does it do to you, when you see my big cock, nice and hard for you?"
"It makes me wet... down there." She lowers her gaze, and I know she's talking about her sweet pussy.
"How wet?" I ask, inching my cock closer to her. I stroke myself and my long cock gets harder still.
"So wet, wetter than I usually get when I think about you."
I groan, stroking myself more, wanting her to touch me, but not wanting to push her. "You think about me?"
She laughs softly, reaching for my length, wrapping her hand around me, and running her fingers over my length, cupping my balls, pre-come releasing at my tip with her gentle touch.
"So many times, James, that I think I've worn out my prayer bench kneeling and repenting."
"But you aren't going to repent for this, are you?"
She shakes her head, her eyes welling up with emotion. "No, no more apologies. I think I'm just realizing how much time I wasted being scared. Missing out on what I wanted because of it."
"I don't want my love to be scared."
"I'm not scared now, but like I said," she says, smiling through her tears, "I am wet. And I want you to see what you do to me."
I raise a brow, my cock at attention, and I know I'm going to fucking explode in her pussy the moment she spreads her legs.
She must understand, and when she dips her head, widening her mouth, licking the come from my tip, my lifelong fantasies come to fruition. Abigail is sucking my cock in the same place we shared our first kiss. She moves her head, her mouth tight around my length. She looks up at me, her eyes filled with pleasure, her mouth filled with my manhood, and she looks so fucking hot—her tits bouncing, her head bobbing and her hands all over me. I know I'm gonna come hard and fast.
"Oh, love," I tell her, knowing I'm close. She must sense this because she moves faster, and I know she must be gagging; no way can she take all of me in her mouth, but she keeps sucking with her lips suctioned around my stiffness. I come in her, hard, and her hands are on my ass, pulling me against her mouth, like she wants more, needs more, demands all of me.
My come shoots into her warm mouth, and she moans, swallowing me, sucking me still, as if she wants every last salty taste of me.
I'll give her what she wants.
Now and forever.
Chapter Five
I swallow what he gives me, and I don't care if the church condemns me—right now what I just shared with James is the holiest exchange of love in this world.
But then he lowers me to my back, slips off my skirt, then my panties, bringing the wet pair to his nose, inhaling my womanhood, and I know I've yet to experience the holiest of holy.
"Oh, love," James says, running his hand over my skin, parting my knees, touching me as if I'm the most precious thing he’s ever touched. "Your pussy is perfection."
I smile, not embarrassed or ashamed—my best friend is looking at me, loving everything he sees, and it makes me whimper under his hand. As he touches me, I see his cock growing large again, and my belly is already full of his baby gravy, but I want more.
"You like it?" I ask, marveling at the fact that James is going to be my first. I've dreamt of this, but never actually imagined it for myself. Why should I get what I want after holding back for so long? But James doesn't seem angry at me for holding back from him for so long, he is patient in ways I don't understand. James came and found me before it was too late, and now we can be together—come what may.
"Your pussy is untouched, so nice and tight. Your pussy was made for my cock, love, you know that, right?”
I smile again, trying to reconcile the way I view myself with the way James sees me now. I spread my legs wider for him, wanting him to take all I have to offer.
"I died and went to heaven, love," he tells me, his hand stroking my slit, and when he touches me, my entire body shivers with anticipation, my heart flutters, and my bottom lifts, as if gravitating toward the place his hand is, wanting him to be closer, wanting him inside me.
"Don't make me wait, James," I say, wrapping my arms around his neck, drawing him to me. My legs wrap around him, and when he inches himself into me, I call out in pleasure. My body is starved for attention, and his body is the only thing to satisfy my cravings. Cravings I didn't even know were mine for the taking.
He pushes in me, and I wince as he fills me up, pressing past the place that has made me a virgin. "Am I hurting you?" he asks, his elbows on either side of me.
I shake my head imperceptibly. "No, it's okay, I don't want you to stop," I moan, meaning it. It hurts, but not in a painful way, in a searing, my body is filled perfectly, never let me go way. A way I need. A way I want.
A way that is ours.
He is in me now, and his lips are on mine. He kisses me as he makes love to me. This man that I've wanted forever has come and claimed me. And we don't know what tomorrow will bring, but that is going to be okay. As he rocks inside of me, my pussy throbs, my clit is exposed and greedy, rubbing against him and taking all the pleasure offered.
My body is alive, and when he thrusts deeper into me, my legs shake, my thighs tremble, and I come. I come against and for him and with him. He comes in me too, filling me with his creamy release, the release made for me. The release we share.
I want it again and again and I want it forever.
I will have it.
But before he even stops rocking against me, before my body steadies itself, soaking up all he gave me, we hear a rustle in the trees. Branches snapping.
We stop moving, hearing the footsteps, the hollers, the calls.
Someone is looking for me.
Several someones are looking for me.
"Cherish, where are you, woman?"
James locks eyes with me. Wordlessly, we move quickly, pulling on pants and buttoning shirts and sliding on shoes, and the people are moving faster through the thicket.
And then they are here, a group of men, my father and husband to be, Luke too, and James’s father. Everyone looks at him, then me, anger on their faces, fear in my heart. But I am dressed and James is dressed and there is nothing to prove.
But that doesn't matter. Not to these men. Men who are motivated by a God I don't understand, a God who has forsaken me and left me more times than I can count.
"What in God's name is going on out here?" my father yells.
George, the man I am meant to marry, moves closer to me as if sniffing the air. He asks the question that would put James in the grave if he chose to be honest.
"You tarnishing my bride to be?" he yells.
James
is steel-faced and jaw clenched and he moves to step in front of me. I will him not to, knowing my father like I do, knowing through the grapevine of women how they are treated by their husbands. The men here put on a good show, some may not even physically hurt their wives, but emotional abuse is real too, and I am terrified of the affliction.
Not just to me, but the way they may hurt James.
But he doesn't care. He only has eyes for me.
He looks at me, his heart raw and mine for the taking. I will take it, now and for always, but I can't bear to see him hurt.
But he loves me. He always has and he tells them that.
"Cherish is the woman I love, the woman I want to marry. You can't come between us."
I love him for his bravery, for his honor, and his commitment.
But as a shovel is raised by the hands of a man I don't even know, and is slammed across the back of James' head, I know he is also a fool.
Because he may love me, but his words will cost him everything.
I was right for never giving in before, I knew what our love would cost him.
His life.
They swing the shovel again, and he falls backward into the shallow creek. His head is bloody, the clear water turning dark as he’s pushed under the current. Once, twice.
I try to run toward him, but I’m dragged away, my screams loud, until I force them to stop. I muffle them with my knuckles, knowing every cry for mercy will result in more pain for my beloved. I turn my head, watching as he is beaten to a pulp.
Watching as the man I love is murdered by my father, my family.
No.
No.
No.
I stop screaming, not knowing how to use my voice once James is gone. I start pulling away from the hold I'm in, bound by my father and George. I fall to the wooded ground, my body desperate to crawl backward, toward him.