Pulled(77)
Author: A.L. Jackson

She dropped my hand and walked toward the fireplace, slowly, running her hand over the back of the large, maroon, leather couch placed comfortably in the middle of the room.

It sat opposite the fire, the gulf between blanketed by a thick, plush, black rug.

She glanced at the banister made of thick wood and wrought iron, protectively guarding the stairs that led to the one bedroom over the kitchen. She turned and took two steps back to wrap her arms around my waist and lay her head on my chest. “Thank you.” She looked up, her eyes glowing, open, drawing me into their depths. I captured her lips and kissed her, unrushed for the first time in a month.

Her hands moved to my neck, pulling me down to her.

Immediately, my hands were at her waist, pulling her up to me, creating instant heat, want, need. I stepped back, slowly unwinding the scarf from her neck and tugging the cap from her head. Her hair was a mess but still so soft as I sank my fingers into it and drew her back to me.

She shivered when my cold hands ran down her throat, exposing her chest. I kissed the soft, pale skin there while my hands loosened the belt of her jacket, pushing it from her shoulders and onto the floor.

“Daniel,” she said softly, her breath sweet as it fanned my face. My mouth became forceful. She instinctively stepped back, her feet moving across the floor.

Her hands dove into my hair as I leaned forward to fumble out of my jacket. I kicked off my shoes as I stepped with her, her body guiding me, leading me. We somehow stumbled up the stairs, Melanie’s mouth becoming urgent as she impatiently tore at my shirt.

The bedroom was a harmonious reflection of the living room. A thick, gray comforter with piles of maroon, black, and gray pil ows covered a king-size bed. Flames flickered from the fireplace, casting orange light across windows set in darkness.

I struggled to hold her close to me and drag the blanket down the bed at the same time, raking my arm along the swel of pil ows and sweeping them to ground. I lifted Melanie and laid her in their place.

I made love to her, soft and slow. The room echoed with whispered words of love and promises of forever. For the briefest moment, her body went rigid before it trembled, and my name silently fel from her lips.

Only then did I fervently give myself over to the pleasure she brought.

I rol ed us to our sides, finding her mouth and kissing her lazily, our movements languid as we relished in the afterglow. The energy that was always present was now lul ed, quieted. With the still ness came a slight chil and I wrapped us up under the covers. Melanie snuggled in closer, her fingers running a constant circuit over my cheek and down my jaw.

“I love you.”

“I love you, so much.” I hugged her close, looking at the clock on the nightstand behind her. It was almost nine-thirty here, but it felt a lot later with the time difference and the full day of travel. “Are you hungry?” In my rush to get her here, I didn’t even think about stopping for dinner.

She shook her head into my chest. “No, too tired.” I kissed her sweetly, tucking the pil ow further under our heads. “Sleep wel , beautiful.” She only nodded as she yawned, blinking a few times through her sleepy smile, her lips pressing to my chest as she settled in for the night.

I was starving, but would happily forgo dinner to stay beside her in this bed.

I smiled into her hair, thinking of how this night marked a new beginning and knowing that every night for the rest of our lives we would fal asleep this very way.

I awoke to the smell of bacon, my stomach growling. I forced my eyes open enough to see the clock that read eight-twenty. I couldn’t believe I’d slept so long. I rol ed from bed, dragging on my pants and running my hands through my hair, trying to tame the disaster that it was.

I crept silently down the stairs, taking a moment to watch Melanie in the kitchen. She was dressed in red flannel pajamas and black fuzzy slippers, her movements lithe as she made her away around the room. It made my soul soar to see her so at ease and doing something she loved so much. I could see the change from that night those months ago when she was so broken—drained. Now, I saw life in her eyes when she looked up at me over her shoulder as I wrapped my arms around her waist.

“Good morning.” I kissed her cheek.

“Mmm.” She brushed her cheek against mine, keeping her attention on the stove as she flipped the omelets in the skil et. “Good morning. Are you hungry?”

“Famished.” I reached over and grabbed a piece of bacon, popping it in my mouth.

“Me too. Could you grab a couple of plates?” She nodded toward a cupboard. I pulled two down and held them out while she transferred the food to our plates. She filled them with ham and cheese omelets, bacon, and toast.

I don’t think I’d ever been hungrier. I set the plates on the table and went to get silverware while Melanie poured us coffee. We settled in next to each other at the little round table and looked out upon the lake.

“This is unbelievable.” She gazed out through the huge windows. They were slightly fogged over from the warmth inside meeting the freezing temperatures outside but not enough to hide the tall pines framing the view that opened up to the crystal blue water that seemed to go on forever. Only the mountains in the distance gave any indication of its end. Snow covered the deck and wooden walkway leading down to a pier. The tree branches hung low and were heavy-laden, the snow layering everything but the frigid, fluid lake.

“I thought you’d love it here.”

I brought the first bite of omelet to my mouth, once again struck with how something so simple could taste so good. I swal owed, taking a sip of coffee. “So, what do you want to do today?”

She paused in thought. “I’d be happy just hanging out here all day if that’s okay with you?” If it was okay with me? I would be satisfied if we never left once in the next eleven days. Nothing sounded better than being holed up in this cabin with Melanie.

“There’s a ham in the fridge, and I thought I’d make that for Christmas dinner tomorrow, and maybe I could make that Italian casserole for dinner tonight? I think I remember you like it…,” she said, her voice trailing off with a mischievous smile and her eyebrows rose. Obviously, she’d noticed. I made sure to order everything needed for it when I made the list for the shopper.

I grinned at being caught. She’d made the same dish at my request on every special occasion she’d ever cooked for us; the two birthdays she’d spent with me, my high school graduation, and twice for Christmas Eve. I couldn’t think of anything more appropriate.