Delayed

by Nathan Kingsly

  Recovery has been slow, I’d lost my job placement, but with my savings I had another few weeks before I have to worry. I know in this case, it's more important to heal, and, with Emma here, I didn’t feel the urge to rush it. There would be other jobs, and I hadn’t given up on school. I’m ahead of schedule because there's nothing else to do.

  The furniture on my back patio came when she did, bright peacock colors, but comfortable, not that I would admit it.

  "You look at her like she's yours." Mom’s voice comes close over my shoulder, as she squeezes both of them before coming around me to take the seat next to mine.

  "That's because she is."

  "Didn't I teach you that no person can be a possession."

  "She's mine, mom." I give her a quick side glance before watching Emma again. "The same way I'm hers. It's not about possession; she’s not a thing to possess. It’s about ownership."

  "Have you recently read the definition for ownership, possessing is in the--"

  "You should know what I mean. She’s no more a thing to me than I am to myself. However, just as I own my body and the soul inside it, responsible for it, Emma is also mine in the same sense. There's nothing I wouldn't do to keep her.”

  “Are you doing it tonight then?”

  “Doing what?”

  I look over, and she gives me a knowing smile. Don’t know how she’s figured it out, but no reason to hide it from her.

  “Everybody’s here. Even Mavis and her husband drove up from Florida. If I can make it to one knee, tonight will be the night.”

  “Have you asked her mom for permission?”

  “You raised me well enough to know the answer to that.” Emma's mom, Sharell, is nice but a force of nature. I suppose with four boys and a girl, she has to be.

  “Good, not that you need it, but you’ve got my blessing too. She’s what you need, and she’s what you want. I couldn’t be happier with your choice, and anyone that can break down your sister to like them that fast is a saint.”

  I laugh so hard some of the people in the yard look over with curious eyes. I wave them off, and most of them return to what they are doing, but Emma’s gaze never wavers from mine.

  There’s no such thing as being completely ready. You’re never going to feel like you’ve got everything figured out. If you get to a moment where you’re more excited than afraid, that’s when you give in. That’s when you give it your all, play your hand, and say, ‘hell to playing it safe.’

  As if my will demands it, I get up from my seat and walk toward her. Grabbing my side, I hit the ground with a knee, to catch my breath. Emma is there, her fingers urgent on my face so she can look into my eyes. She’s so damn beautiful, and soon I’ll make her mine. My heart is beating its way out of its cage.

  "Oh my God, Liam, are you all right? You're sweating."

  Straightening my back, I grip both of her hands. Her brows scrunch together, making her nose wrinkle.

  “Emma, we’ve been on a wild ride together, with a hell of a lot of turbulence, and we did it without floatation devices or parachutes. We free-fell together, then into one another, and in that fall, I realized I want to do it every day with you. But…” Her eyes are filling with tears, and she's shaking her head. “This time, as we move forward, I’ll be your parachute to slow the impact, and when we hit that ocean, I’ll keep you afloat. I’m sure it won’t be a solitary trip down, but one thing is for sure, I will never let you go. Emma Christine Baker, will you be mine, take my name, wear my ring, and call yourself my wife?”

  It’s silent for too many heartbeats, though admittedly, mine was beating pretty fast, the tears finally spilling over onto her cheeks.

  “So, you’re not hurt?” she asks.

  There is soft laughter around us, and she looks around, her cheeks flushing a pleasant rose color. She takes one of her hands so she can wipe at her tears, her bottom lip between her teeth, telling everyone that knows her that she's nervous.

  “No, just my manly way of getting on my knee,” I smirk at her as she looks down at me again.

  She hits me on the shoulder. “You’re such an ass! I thought you were hurt.”

  “Are we really going to focus on me faking to get you to come over and getting the attention of the yard in one fell swoop?”

  She looks around again, noticing all the eyes. When I squeeze her hand, she looks back, and a smile finally tickles the side of her mouth. When her head starts to nod, I am up on my feet, and she is returning my hug.

  “Say it,” I whisper. “The nod is nice, but I need your sweet mouth to form the words.”

  “Yes.” She pulls back and holds my face in her hands. “I wouldn’t board this life or take that plunge into that ocean with anyone other than you.” She says the second part loud enough for everyone to hear. Our backyard erupts in applause and cat-calls as I kiss my future wife breathless.

  After several more hours, I'm finally alone with her again.

  Her fingertips are soft against my lightly whiskered face before they move to trace the shape of my bottom lip. Her eyes unfocused as I open my lips, and she never loses focus as it disappears inside my mouth. My tongue suggestive of what all I have planned for her. Taking her wrist, I pull it out and nip the tip, and she looks up, grinning.

  What she must see in my face makes her smile disappear. She licks her lips as her eyes dilate.

  "Since you've said yes, I've wanted to show you how much it means to me that you've agreed to be mine."

  "I've been yours. We'll just have rings and a piece of paper to parade around that it's legal."

  "And I'm yours." Dropping her wrist, I turn my hand over, caressing her flushed cheek with the back of my fingers. Following the curve of her jaw, her neck elongating for me, a silent request to keep going. Flipping my hand over, I clasp the front of her neck, squeezing gently. She'd closed her eyes, but now they focus again on mine. Her hands cradle my triceps.

  The way I want her is sharp and cutting. It rips through all my walls and slides past all defenses. There has never been protection for how precise her aim to my heart is. "I want to make love to you. I want to worship my fiancé and future wife."

  Her gaze softens. I've never made love to her or anyone, and I can't think of a better time to try and start. "You won't hear me complain." Her smile is soft.

  I chuckle. "Another thing we can agree on." Moving forward, I tease her lips with soft brief kisses before pulling away once more.

  My hand slides from her neck to a waiting breast, squeezing as she arches into my touch. Her nipple presses through her shirt to tease my palm, her hips push forward on a small gasp.

  Gliding down with both hands over the curve of her hip to slip under her ass, I grip her cheeks hard and pull her on to my dick. Biting my lip, I grind myself into her mound and press even closer into her body.

  She grips my shoulders, fingernails digging in that I can feel it through my shirt. My dick feels like it's going to explode.

  "I want nothing more, but …" She bites her lip and runs her hands over the edges of where she knows my scar sits stark on my skin under my shirt.

  This is the first time we'll be together since South Carolina. We've fooled around the best we could during my recovery, but it's been heavy petting with building make-out sessions as my lungs healed. It's been frustrating at best, but there's no doubt our wait would still be worth it if I have anything to do with it … and I do!

  Releasing her, my hands shake with a combination of nervous and anticipatory energy as I grip my shirt and pull it over my head and toss it to the ground.

  She gasps, and her fingers stop midair. Plucking them, I press them against my chest and guide them down the angry red but smooth healing scars.

  Her eyes search mine. "When did they take the staples out?"

  "A few days ago," I smirk. "Also got the go-ahead to follow through tonight."

  She snatches her hand back, and it goes straight to her hip, her left hand already in position. "You waite
d days? Do you have any idea how long I've waited?" She starts to pace, her hands accusing into the air. "I've had to talk myself out of strapping you to the bed and saying hell to the doctors. And you're telling me ..."

  Rolling my eyes, with sure strides I ignore her flailing arms, throw her over my shoulder, and smack her ass. "Hey!" I ignore her as I twist around and stalk to the bed. "Put me down, Liam!"

  "Woman," I growl at her before flipping her onto the bed. She braces herself, her scowl scrunching up her features. "Ever heard of trying to perfect something with timing." Gesturing to her hand that showcases the symbol of my promise of our life.

  She looks down, wiggling her fingers, the simple diamond glints provided by the light on the nightstand. Her expression is sheepish when she looks back. "The lack of orgasms has made me a tad crazy."

  My mouth curves into a smile. "Then shut up and allow me to get back to trying to bring you to sanity."

  Giggling, she collapses onto the bed, spread-eagle and smiling big. "Not another objection here."

  My fingers flip my button loose. "Don't starfish me; you’ve got to do some of the work after that stunt. Strip."

  The demanding way I say the last word has her catching her breath and her fingers gripping the edge of her shirt. It lands somewhere on the floor. Letting down my zipper, she sits up, her eyes watchful as it slides down, reaching the bottom. Her bra comes away, limp by her feet. My thumbs hook the edges of my jeans, leaning back I thrust my groin as I start to pull them down. My erection starts to make an appearance, and she bites her plump bottom lip. Fuck. I can’t wait until I’m buried inside her.

  Swiftly she stands, there’s no tease in her movement, and she kicks her jeans to the side without ever looking away from me. Pulling my jeans far enough down that only my tip stays hidden, I pause, and her attention flickers away.

  Her beautiful eyes are wild, cheeks flushed, and that hungry look she’s wearing grips my balls—one last thing.

  “Panties …” I look down, smiling.

  “Uhhhh,” she screams as she rips them down in a tirade, and if I wasn’t about to burst, I might have laughed. Letting go of my jeans, they fall to the floor, and I step out of them.

  My hands find her body again, like no time ever passed between us. I groan so loud, in other circumstances, I would have cause to cover my own mouth, but fuck the neighbors. Her face lifts, and our tongues tangle. She still fits in all the ways that I remember and a few I’d thought I’d imagined. My hands follow familiar patterns over her body, and as they flow from one curve to the next, they know, just as I do, that they are home. Her body seems born to have my hands on her.

  We tumble to the bed. My lips move from her mouth and travel down her neck to her shoulder. Skating my lips across the curve of the closest breast, I suck the nipple into my mouth. She tastes as sweet as she always does, honey-sweet, as I swirl my tongue around the tight pink tip. She’s squirming even before I move to the next.

  Trailing kisses down her stomach, I position myself on my knees. My nose is running lightly against her mound before looking up at her. She is panting, looking down, already spreading her legs.

  “Fuck, I’ve missed this. I can’t wait to watch you come undone.”

  She whimpers in response.

  Gripping around one inner thigh, I tug her with one hand until her ass hovers parallel to the ground, and the other reaches up to pluck a nipple between my fingers before fastening my mouth onto her clit. She gasps, one of her fingernails scraping against my scalp before finding purchase in my hair.

  Tugging the swollen bud between my lips, I flutter my tongue as her hips buck into my chin, trying to keep pace not even seconds after first contact.

  “Jesus,” she whines, her other hand gripping her lonely nipple into an even more vicious grip that I’m treating its matching pair. Releasing it, her hand untangles from my hair to replace it.

  Gripping both hips, I don’t take my eyes off of her face as I grind my face into her, sucking her clit with renewed vigor. Back and forth, she moves her hips in perfect synchronization to my face. She’s so close; her thighs are shaking against the force of my hold on her. Her breath comes in pants. Then, her back arches away from the bed, mouth pops open, and a long primal moan escapes from her perfect sinful mouth. Not once do I look away as she unfolds from her orgasm, watching as she slowly comes back to herself. Only when her lips curve into a lazy smile do I stand and hover above her.

  “Better?”

  “We’re getting there.”

  Raising an eyebrow, “Want more, do you?”

  “I’m still waiting for all I can take.” Using that against me, will she?

  “Then scoot that sexy ass further up the bed.”

  Her head tilts up as if only realizing how far down she is. A happy giggle bubbles up as she wiggles up until her head hits just below the pillows against the headboard.

  Crawling up the bed towards her, her legs open to let me in, and they cinch against my ribs as I lean forward. Her hands travel up my chest, finding a resting place on my shoulders.

  My cock is a throbbing, thick, blazing hot iron as I wrap a hand around it. Squeezing painfully, I whisper a silent prayer to whoever is listening that I don’t spill like a minor getting a hold of his first porno.

  My breath rattles in my chest as I glide the head against her slick pussy lips. Her hips twist in anticipation, and I have to bite down on my inner cheek with how tempting she is.

  “Shit,” I hiss, lowering my forehead to hers as the full force of her tight pussy envelopes me.

  She gasps. Even through her haze, she’s looking into my eyes with concern. “You okay?”

  “You feel like goddamn heaven,” I reply before drawing my hips back and thrusting to the hilt again. “I’ve never felt anything as holy as your pussy embracing my cock. It’s a religious Christ-on-a-cracker experience.” She starts to smile, and I place a hand over it. “Don’t ruin this; I’m close to God right now.” She rolls her eyes, and just as her legs tighten around me, her heels dig in, and I fall forward, urging me on.

  With each additional rock of my hips, I release her mouth to have her only spur me on with her noises. Her nails dig painfully into my shoulder, and holy shit, if I don’t wish she’d leave marks. I want to remember this and have lasting proof of it.

  Her thighs tighten against my ribs, and if they haven’t already, her nails make marks through the skin. Her sweet mulling noises taper off to make way for a cry louder than the first.

  “Mother-of-Christ,” I say, passed me biting my lip in defeat as her orgasm clamps down on my erection. Getting a few more thrusts in before my hips jerk, and my body goes rigid as I follow her.

  My breaths are coming out in harsh gusts against the side of her face. Some fly-away strands of her hair coming back to tickle my mouth with every inhale, but I can’t seem to move.

  “So much for making love.”

  “There’s time for that,” I state determinedly. “Practice makes perfect.”

  With effort, I plop onto my back, and it takes us both a few minutes to catch our breath. My body, not used to the burst of activity, is protesting in the worst ways, but I have never done anything so well worth it.

  Emma regains herself before me, and she moves to curl around me. The feel of her skin, her presence, is like a balm to everything that aches, and the next breath seems easier.

  Her fingers skate across the puckering of my healing skin. A lot of my tattoos were broken and fractured apart from their other halves when they tore into my chest.

  “How do you feel about it?” I knew right away what she’s asking. I’ve been avoiding the subject.

  “At first, it was difficult to come to terms with it, but most of my tattoos are badges of pain and inner scars. The one that really matters doesn’t have a scratch on it.”

  “But the one for your dad, it’s the most distorted.” She lifts up on her forearm, her hair tickling my arm that is still gripping her ass. As she runs a fing
er around the edges of it on my chest, she pauses halfway when she catches me shaking my head. “That’s not the most important one?”

  Twisting my left arm, I look down at the most recent one. With us living together, I’m surprised it hasn't come up before, or even at the hospital when I wasn't allowed to take showers alone. She'd sit nearby, picking a tattoo for me to confess about; she’d made it into a game, keeping my mind off things. Yet, somehow we never got to this one. When I peer up to grab her attention, she is already looking. Her eyes scan it; every black line and faded to grey strokes healed in my arm, and I knew it would only be a matter of time before her hand would need to follow.

  “Is this… ”

  “For you,” I confirm.

  “When?” Her hand stays there, gripping my arm, covering it with her warm embrace as she looks over with tears in her eyes.

  “The day after I landed in Georgia.”

  “But …”

  I shrug. “You might have left, but I knew I would never let you go. Even then.”

  One of her hands comes up to cradle my face, her eyes take in my features, and hers soften. The tears leave her lower lid as she leans over to place a soft kiss on my lips. My hand releases her ass to run up her back and grips the back of her neck. A sigh comes away from between her lips as she pulls away.

  “I never let you go either. I’m sorry I delayed the inevitable.”

  “We were in a layover. From now on, we board everything together.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Nathan Kingsly, writes romance. He’s not an expert on the subject, though who is. He doesn’t have a single credential, unless you count several years of state required English classes. He hasn’t won a single writing award, or appeared on anyone's best seller list, unless you count the woman that raised him.

  So, why would you read Mr. Kingsly’s work? He has been in love. He’s had the kind of love that’s all consuming. He also understands what it is to live without it when it’s gone. He writes to have a happy ending, isn’t that why you read?