In the Land of Milk and Honey

by Nell E S Douglas

  “Are we crazy?” I asked because I felt everything he said.

  “I hope so,” he replied. “I hope so. That’s what it will take. Our names are here because I can get lost here, with you. But a day will come when I need to go. If we can stay us,” he said. “I know you are strong enough for that. But are you mad enough to trust me, on that day?”

  “I would come,” I said.

  “I would not take you to danger,” he iterated.

  We would be running. “I trust you. What if I’d said no?” I asked absent-mindedly and didn’t like what I saw. “It’s a good thing,” I said, recovering, “that could never be true.” taking his face in my hands timidly. He was sickeningly handsome this close. I tried not to let it fluster me. I wanted to be close. I pressed my face against the side of his, my cheekbone on his. I could feel his dark bent eyelashes brush my cheek as he shut his eyes. His arms, which had been resting on the outside of my thighs, unbuttoned my coat for him to insert his arms, encircle my waist, and slide me closer until I was against him.

  I felt him for the first time, beneath me, in the place he would fit. My head rushed. It was the first time I’d had any man beneath me in that spot. I didn’t need personal context to know his was an ambitious venture. He inhaled deeply and I felt movement. His hands slid to my jeans pockets and gripped as he pressed me onto him, hard. He moved a bit for the perfect arrangement though our clothes. He found it. My entire lower body became pudding. His hands ran up my back under my sweater and slipped beneath the band of my bra, then his finger ran back and forth stroking the clasp and satin fabric, and it began to feel like I was sitting on a hammer. He sensed my intimidation as unease.

  “It has been a while,” he explained in apology, lowly into my ear, as if I knew what that would mean.

  “Me, too,” I responded, vaguely. Nineteen years and counting—a few minutes longer, tops. I lifted up an inch or so using my thigh muscles and readjusted, thrillingly, trying to make it look casual. Necessary. He let out a throaty sound. His hands slid back to my bottom and pressed me into it him harder, but this time he rolled me once, rocking me onto him, and it was my turn to release a sound. He released me and slid his hands onto my thighs, rubbing. Cool fingers were through my jeans, but my body was on fire.

  “The night is yours. And so am I. I promise you I have no design on that tonight, but as I’ve expressed, being a gentleman isn’t my strong suit,” he reiterated more strongly, my cheek again resting atop his with pressure now. His eyelashes were against my cheek, which meant they were open. Angled down to where the V in my jeans met the hammer between his, I knew.

  In the bravest moment of my life until that point, I steadied my breathing and rolled my forehead onto his, my eye downcast onto lashes. Do it, I thought with a final conviction. I cupped his beautiful unbelievably archival face by the jawline and pulled his lips onto mine. Soft silk on firm velvet. It was like I’d triggered a windstorm right out of the ground. His muscles sprung. He sat up straighter, but he kept my body swept against his and with no effort had me right back in place. His hand clapped expectantly onto the back of my neck, cupping and pulling me deeper in, our lips moving against each other hungrily our tongues in contest to charm the other. His hands where everywhere. At my rounded backside, pressing so hard onto him I would be a bruise, then inside my shirt. He pulled me higher onto him, in a less perfect fit, but he’d moved on to the next course. He flipped my collar up for privacy, and rolled my sweater above round peaks covered in nude satin. I stayed still. His flat palm brushed across both coaxingly, and my nipples responded even more than they had to the cold. He slid his hands up both straps, and they draped enough in spite of my shirt to reveal a great deal more. His hand went to the breast with my nipple fully exposed. He caressed it upwards, catching my nipple between his flat fingers and rolling with the dexterity of a card dealer. He cupped my other breast, massaging, then lowered his mouth to the one he teased. His mouth hit my chest warm and moist, sucking, licking, and teasing. I grabbed onto the rail behind him to steady myself, raising myself using my thigh muscles to get closer; my eyes shut tight. He switched, and I was lava inside. His hand had been pressed into the small of my back released, and he slowly paid homage to my other breast before raising his head. I opened my eyes expecting a new kiss. But he was transfixed. His fingers rimmed the edged of the satin tucked below them as my breasts perched in each curved cup. Then his hands covered them both and smoothed across the round territory to my neck, his fingers curling around the circumference, tightening for the briefest moment.

  “You have beautiful breasts,” he breathed out. Instinctually I tugged at the waist of my jacket and blushed. It was an unusual feeling to be bared to someone for their eyes to devour.

  His hands moved to my waist and gripped it lightly, but I noticed his elbows extended outwards as he did, restoring the coats opening to original width. Daniel didn’t seem aware he’d done it. “Your skin,” he said, running his hands up the curve of my waist meticulously.

  “It’s cold,” I said, pulling the top of the jacket closed. He blinked, and his eyes refocused on me, mostly returned to himself.

  “Come here,” he said, drawing me close. The prospect downstairs came back to attention in a big way as he drew me close to warm me.

  An out-of-body curiosity slipped. “Have you been with many women?” He pulled me away gently. And began straightening my clothes as they were before.

  “Is that important to you?” he asked, trying to maintain a lighter tone.

  “No, I’m just curious,” I said innocently.

  “I’m not certain,” he said, intelligent. “Most people lose count after a point.”

  “What point is that?” He studied my eyes.

  “Five or so,” he guessed, blasé. Voiced neutrally, but his eyes watched like waiting for the final Tarot card at his reading. He’d chosen the number, and a non-answer, hoping it was inoffensively close to mine.

  I cleared my face. “Yeah. That’s about right,” I smiled. His eyebrow arched down at me.

  “Should I ask yours now?” he inquired. Testing me.

  “A lady never tells,” I answered, but a flush gave away at least part of it.

  His eyes sharpened in a different way. With amusement in his lips and a somewhat serious brow, he slid me along the length of him. I felt dizzy. “When we are done, I want you tell everyone you know. I’ll make you a ball cap. When we cross that line, this body is mine.”

  “Sweet talker,” I teased, my heart unbusy. Falling off the edge into an irretrievable void took no effort. Words came easily. And he kissed me, warm and gentle. In possession of more gears than a rocket. Oh, his number was high. I sighed onto his lips and dropped sweeter kisses onto him. Touch came easier. No clumsy obliging fumbled make-out with the drummer; him, permitted to juvenilely fondle my breast until chafed. Not even the one time in my bedroom when I tested the chemistry with Zack. Hadn’t thought of it since. Daniel had opened Pandora’s box. Without a fretful heart, I unfolded in response to his unfiltered adoring desire for me in totality. I opened his jacket and began unbuttoning his white shirt. I was absolutely nervous, in the best way. I dropped kisses, not touching. I felt more confident not seeing his face, judging if I was making an error or being unclever. Mimicking him, I upturned his collar. Seeing him was exciting. He was strong. He’d lifted a very heavy bench with ease. He was tall but lean. Muscular, vascular. I wondered if this was his regular weight. His build could hold more. Bold shouldered. Long torso matching his limbs. Studying his chest, he took an interest in fitness. Six-packs and pecs like those don’t just happen. I bravely ran my finger along the line above his waistband, tight skin with a thin trail down. I flattened my hand and ran it across his pecs in figure eights, exploring. Then up, between his breast plates and higher. I let my fingers splay on his neck. He leaned back slightly angling, his eyelashes shut. I gave a squeeze, letting my modest nails make just the slightest impression. I leaned in and took a steadying breat
h before planting kisses on his neck.

  “When I’m done, I want you to tell everyone you know,” I said, thankful my voice didn’t shake.

  I kissed down onto his pecks, sliding my bottom down his wide spread legs. I caressed his nipple with a tongue flick, impressing myself when I felt his hand caress my hair.

  “I’ll make you a ball cap….”

  I moved down to his pecs. I kissed him everywhere. Getting to know his container. There was no give in his flesh. I kissed further down until I got to midway to the waistband. I tasted along the sensitive skin there above it. It was cool from the night air, and I felt tiny hairs rise.

  “Because when we do this,” I said, kissing over to the strain in his jeans. My hand graduated to it. I took a big inhale like a shot of tequila—and encircled his erection through the fabric. I stroked him affectionately a few times. “You are mine.”

  He grabbed my wrists and pulled them on either side of his head, sliding me up him. He hooked them behind his neck. I was breathing heavily and so was he. My lips parted.

  “We need for the blessing only a kiss,” he said in discipline, his eyes heavy with desire and his jaw set.

  The “when” in his declaration had come out sounding eventual—my “when” spoke immediacy. He wasn’t searching my eyes, he was scorching them. I didn’t hide the melt but tried with all my might to reassure him it wouldn’t lead to ash. He was prideful, I knew. He’d been humorous about what he felt was the simplicity of our meal, and our lack of accommodations, and I knew he wanted to be chivalrous. His pride wasn’t allowing him to consider the circumstances of the night amenable to the act. But to me, I was all in. It felt right. The night itself was twining us, and this final gap wouldn’t do. I let arms relax in his grip, motionless but not weak.

  “So, what is my new last name?” I asked quietly.

  “Whatever we choose,” he said, bringing my arms at my sides, releasing them. His eyes softened. He slid forward, gripping me at the waist and setting me on the ground in front to him. He took my hands as I stood between his legs, his back leaned forward like a cobra.

  “Hubris is available,” he said flippantly and bent his head. I ran my fingers into his hair slowly. Thick satin fibers that, even in poor lamplight, emitted a tone of something rich. Many wood stains of my father’s work shed came close. Like mahogany. But the waves the light caught shone back a nearly imperceptible fiery glint. Like dark bourbon.

  My voice shook as I spoke because he looked almost angry, “So, I guess,” I paused and rewet my lips. “I guess we’ll both have calls to make in the morning.”

  He leaned his head forward into my fingers then covered my wrist in his hand.

  “That we will,” he said in agreement. He looked up at me, and our eyes connected. “Not here. Come with me.”

  We walked side by side while he was in thought. “Why do you look so magnanimously, luminescently, happy?” he asked, taking me in.

  “I won our first argument,” I said, taking his hand.

  “You still doubt your ability to bend wills,” he said, relaxing.

  “It’s only because you want me to be happy,” I said cheekily.

  “Yes,” he replied. “With me.”

  “You’ve never tried to make someone happy before.”

  “Twice. One received what they wanted for a great deal of time,” he said. “I think the other would be very satisfied had she lived to see this. She would have liked me with you.”

  “My dad will like you, too. As long as you can fell a tree. That’s the short list.”

  “I haven’t tried, but I’m sure I can,” he replied. “I’m not terrible at winning over fathers.”

  “Or mothers. Or sisters. Or bartenders even though you send back their drinks. Or cracked crock pots, minding their business on the curb until you walk by,” I said.

  I pictured us at my father’s house, walking out to the shed.

  He held back a smile. “Is that a bird?”

  I laughed. “I’ll make you dinner in one some time. An uncracked one.” I squeezed his hand and curled my other hand around his bicep, leaning my cheek against his coat.

  “Good Lord, don’t,” he replied softly but amused.

  In his arms was the secret place where I could be all of me. I didn’t know this man—Daniel. I didn’t know where to mail him a letter, if such a place existed, or how he liked his coffee, if he liked coffee at all—but I knew him on the inside. Places where safeguards existed greeted him and levitated aside, and he walked deeper into me like he’d been born with the map of me projected in him.

  It was like walking into destiny.

  He pulled me into an alley, and I laughed, but when he dragged me against him, it was serious. A look was exchanged, reminding me he knew all of it. My heart tripping in my chest with the prospect, his lips touched mine, and I poured it in to him. He had to peel me away, pulling my hand from where it’d bravely wandered. My eyes were lidded on the high, I gave him a half smile and another kiss before I returned my hand there and got to my knees. He moaned and I stretched my mouth to make room for him. He pressed my head closer. It was difficult to do. When I finished he was still hard. I kissed him, he pushed into me so hard we moved to the other side of the alley. His hand moved into my jeans, the other through the opening of my coat yanked up my sweater. He kissed me hungrily and worked his hand inside me. The back of my coat being dragged and snagged against the bricks from the aggression of hand and mouth on my breasts. It was heaven.

  He pulled his hand out and sucked his finger then returned my hand to him. “If we start this now, I could keep you for days. Right here,” he said, sounding different. And I felt his mouth bend skillfully back to my nipple. I opened my eyes, panting.

  I put my hands on either side of his face and tugged him back up to his lips. “I wouldn’t mind,” I said breaking the deep kiss. Then our eyes met with mutual hunger, but he sobered quickly, the high still lingering in his depth but thought weighing heavily on his brow.

  I felt his care when he grabbed my face in hands, bringing me back, and he gave an instruction to us both. “Gabrielle. Not here,” he said, adamantly, searching my eyes.

  “My dorm,” I suggested, breaking through the radiant mist in my mind.

  “No. I have somewhere in mind, however, there is a different option.” He pulled out a package from his pocket. I thought it was a condom, at first. As soon as I recognized it, my hand snatched from his larger one and threw it to the side. Launched it more accurately. It landed in an empty dumpster. He looked at me.

  “I bartered it effectively to use the ballroom piano last night. I could have secured a room with that.”

  “I’d rather sleep in the dumpster,” I said with finality.

  He looked like he actually agreed but was combating an amoral pragmatism. “It would have been a very nice room,” he trailed off, looking at me, eyebrow gently lifted.

  “Is this a problem?” I asked seriously.

  His shoulders straightened, his eyes assessing me. “No,” he replied simply, his tone lower. “It is only currency. Nasty shite, to boot.”

  “Good.”

  He relaxed. “Understand that there isn’t much I wouldn’t do to improve this. It should be right.”

  “It’s right. Don’t you feel it?”

  “Yes,” he said, a mix of emotions behind a stone face. He glanced down the alley both ways and replied, “No more detours. We’re almost there.”

  At a bank of rogue street vendors, he went about selecting a blanket amongst the emblazoned faux Fifth Avenue brands. During the transaction I’d adorned myself with the worst of the wares; a psychedelic scarf, a mottled fur coat of questionable origin and big glasses shaped like hearts.

  “Is it me?” I asked. He smiled.

  Stepping against me, he looked down, pulling the glasses off to see my eyes. “You are yourself already,” he said softly and lifted the scarf to rub the lipstick I’d carefully applied in the mirror of a parked deli
very truck. “Much better. Beautiful,” Then kissed me deeply.

  “Hey! You better buy that.”

  “I’m experiencing a temporary fund shortage,” he stated, oblivious, into the kiss.

  “Run,” I whispered, untwining. He grinned into the kiss. Then we ran. When I lagged too far behind, he lifted me like a dancer still in motion and plopped me down ahead.

  Hand and hand, we slipped back in the alleys. He looked up, seemingly gauging our direction, and pulled me next to him, unwinding the marred scarf, letting it float and tossing the glasses off my head and into a trash pile.

  “I’ll pay him tomorrow,” he said honorably, smoothing my hair, then smiled down at me. It was a sweet thought, anyhow.

  After a while, he said, “Here,” angling us for a turn, and I was surprised to discover us cutting back onto the first street we’d walked on, off the park. We cut across the street straight back to the abandoned house. He pulled me into a shadow cast by the limestone stairs, and we kissed. When the coast was clear, he scooped me up, bounding the stairs in twos and pushed the door open with his back, quickly closing it. He kissed me in the foyer then gently set me on my feet, taking my hand. He led me down a hallway in the pitch dark until we were in a room. The sounds of our footfalls echoing back like sonar, indicating its size. He let go of my hand, and I spun, completely alone in space. With a tearing sound, moonlight came through. I watched him go from window to window, bundling newspaper, more soft light coming through. There were at least a dozen windows. More windows than frames. The bundled news of the world tossed into a corner. He laid a blanket on the floor then stood. A shape of a man in moonlight stood. His legs apart, arms at his sides. I moved, finally knowing he was staring.