She stood slowly, swaying to Coltrane’s saxophone as she made her way around the table. The jeans hugged the contours of her body, which remained lithe and sexy. Her T-shirt drifted just above her waistline, revealing her still-toned stomach. She tilted her head, her hair falling just off her shoulder, and ran her fingers along the surface of the table, across the back of my hand, up my arm, across my shoulder. It sent a lightning bolt through me, and I felt my body shudder. She leaned close, her breath warm on my neck. When she kissed me, the moisture of her lips reminded me of my senior prom, a kiss I wished had lasted longer and that we could have repeated many times. Her teeth nibbled the lobe of my ear, and I felt as though I had burst into flames and was melting right there at the table in my home.
“I’ve never forgotten our night,” she whispered.
I pushed back my chair and she slid into my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck. She kissed me gently, her lips barely touching mine. “Do you remember the prom?”
I nodded, eyes closed. I felt like I was floating.
“You told me you loved me,” she said.
Another kiss.
“I’ve always loved you,” I said. “Since the moment I laid eyes on you in the sixth grade.”
“That was lust,” she said, kissing me harder.
“It still is.”
Another kiss. “Dance with me, Sam.”
She pulled me from my chair and pressed her face to my chest, swaying to “The Night Has a Thousand Eyes.” I felt every curve of her body against me, and I couldn’t help but think we were one. My hands found her back beneath her shirt and the warmth of her skin. She moaned gently. Then she tilted up her chin and kissed me again. “Make love to me, Sam.”
She led me by the hand upstairs to the bedroom, where she slowly undressed me.
“Is it still lust?” she whispered.
“Desire,” I said.
Mickie pulled her shirt over her head and undid her bra, letting it fall to the floor. She sashayed her hips and slid off her jeans, then her panties, standing naked before me. I ran my fingers along her shoulders and down her arms and came up along the toned ridges of her stomach, cupping her breasts. She pulled me to her, and I took her nipple in my mouth as she caressed my head. I kissed her shoulders and neck, then kissed her hard on the mouth. I wanted to kiss every inch of her, to tell her I loved her. She took me in her hand, gently stroking me. Slowly, she lay back on the bed. This time there were no voices in my head telling me to stop or warning me that this would be a mistake. Nothing in my life ever felt more right. There was only my unbridled love, and lust—oh yes, my never-wavering lust for Mickie Kennedy.
7
This time, after we made love, Mickie did not flee. She slept with her head on my chest, breathing heavily. I had never watched Mickie sleep, never heard the rhythm of her breathing or considered the way her body flinched and twitched. I pushed aside sleep, refusing to close my eyes, not wanting to miss a single moment with her.
In the morning, I awoke to find Mickie’s side of the bed empty, but before I could become melancholy, I smelled bacon cooking downstairs.
Mickie stood at the stove, the coffee percolating. She handed me the newspaper and a mug. I set both on the counter, then wrapped my arms around Mickie, kissing her. “The world can wait. How about round two?”
She smiled. “Breakfast first. You’ll need your stamina. Besides, there’s an interesting story on the inside page I think you might like.” She retrieved the paper and handed it to me with an impish grin. “I think this is your week to clear your closet of its skeletons.”
“Sister Beatrice?”
Mickie nodded to the paper, then went back to the bacon, though I knew she was keeping an eye on me. I flipped through the paper, scanning the headlines, but it was a name in a caption beneath a photograph that first grabbed my attention.