Unfinished (Historical Fiction) (14 page)

More than that, though, she craved him. A tight, polite shell so carefully cultivated by her father and her mother's mores, social graces ingrained in her, served no one in this moment. Yet there it was, suffocating her.

He nodded. “I'm getting warmer.” Smoldering eyes met hers and the heat that radiated through her was unconnected to the fire. Breath quickening, Lilith's hand floated to her collarbone, not to quell a pattering heart but, instead, to calm a flush of lust that screamed within her, willing her to kiss him, to push him back on the ground and take him within her, a compulsion she could see played out in her mind's eye. That the scene was only in her imagination—and not on the carpet under their feet—was thanks to force of will and the gracious training that apparently served her somewhat, after all.

He stood and closed the distance between them with two large steps.

“Lilith.”

He whispered it like a prayer.

And their kiss was the answer.

The room was white. Each blank wall offered freedom and virginity. A new beginning, a blank slate. Lilith could be anyone tonight, anyone including herself. Shocks of excitement and need took the place of fear and doubt. She took James' hand and led him, wordlessly, to her private room.

Cherry furniture filled the latter half of the room, opposite a grand bed with a white duvet. The room was a puzzle, all of the pieces present and fitting properly. The objects did not matter. When she watched him, he became real. As she felt him watching her, she was whole. Nothing had force or meaning except their recognition of each other. The room was cold as her silk shirt slipped from her shoulders. His mouth renewed their connection, a vow they took before they ever met.

James felt his hands shake; why? They were certain of themselves, each other, this night. Atoms wandered in random patterns across time and space. There was no rhyme or reason, no objective formula to explain why or how. Matter was neither created nor destroyed, and yet entropy dictated disintegration. Their atoms, their senses, past choices and present dictates carried them to this place, this time, this
now
.

He slid Lilith's back along the sweet cotton, his hips pressing her into the bed. When his tongue touched hers it was another signal, a way to tell her he was here to teach, that she was there to learn. He strained to skim the roof of her mouth with his tip, and a light hum emerged deep in her throat. Their muscles worked together to dance without feet, his tongue teaching her to devour, hers instructing him to be complete.

Why was he leaving tomorrow?
He groaned at the thought, the sound a chant of despair that turned to love and desire as Lilith reached for him and found him hard and wanting.

The white buttons on his shirt were stubborn, but with minor effort he was soon free. This woman he knew intimately, intellectually, was a physical mystery. Love at first sight, instant passion--there was no such thing. Infatuation and delusion were easy to convince oneself to give up. They were not infatuated. He was not deluded. They did not trip in the rush to bed. Their slow stroll allowed them to appreciate the centuries leading to this moment. Homage was paid to the recombination of atoms, the gratitude that entropy has not yet commenced.

James found that his palm conformed to her ribs, each one a welcome structure encasing her heart. For a few seconds he faded as their blood pumped in synchronous beats. His hands felt each ridge, each wave of skin and sinew, passing over her chest, breastbone, finding flesh and warmth. Three moles jutted from her skin along the slope between ribs and small of back. When he stretched his hand the distance from tip of thumb to tip of small finger trapped one toned buttock. The firm, smooth skin requested a kiss that he granted. As he dotted her backside with his lips he traced her spine with one lazy finger.

Learning her body was a challenge, one that gave him life's work. Yet he had but one night, right here, right now.

Twenty-four years of longing. Lilith had created worlds in her mind, inhabited by men such as him. Fear lingered, even now, in his presence. If the life she built with her imagination came to bear, how could she determine whether it is true? Just as madmen imagine conspiracies and use paranoia to navigate the days, was she using a normal man and conforming him to her ideals?

He rolled over and pulled her to him. Swift hands removed her brassiere, and warm palms cupped her breasts. Fingerprint ridges caught on the aureole and he seemed to be memorizing her body, using his hands to read the Braille of her skin.

Her hands moved along his torso, pausing to touch the navel, where once he was nourished and nurtured, brought into being with her. His breathing changed when her hand reached the demarcation line between public and private. She hovered, in no hurry, allowing the fusing of emotion and caress. It was suddenly so easy to feel the touch, to follow the map, permit the body pleasure.

And the mind, the heart, endeavored to be in love, to yearn for another. The two spheres did not meet. Each felt, but never together. If the two join, that would be where they found
themselves
. As his mouth kissed hers, she enjoyed the tactile presence; her body responded, sensual blood flowed where needed, and she allowed the pleasure. Welcomed it.

Validated
it.

At the same time all was enhanced because she was there, she was fully present, loving him, loving
this
, knowing how she felt
in the moment
.

Their eyes met, blue on brown, and he smiled. He knew.

They pulled away, shirtless and separate, with three feet between the nearest ends of their distinct bodies. His eyes pulled her soul closer than their bodies could join. As a child, she had once asked what God did when too many people were born, and He didn't have enough souls. The reverend had said that faith carries us through questions like that. If Lilith prayed, she would know.

Each breath now is a prayer.

Each breath opens me for more, the air filling and expanding in my body, feeding me, charging through him. Eye contact breeds new images, and I imagine, my eyes and chin on his face. Being together without touching confirms that I am no longer alone. I have never been lonely. He has always been alone, until now.

One hand breaks the distance, and four hands shed the remaining clothes. They are warm flesh and hair, some soft, some coarse. My mind flushes the running thoughts – preoccupations, worries, self-conscious entreaties and inhibitions. All we have between us now is air, pliable and easy to dismiss.

His mouth returns to my breasts for brief kisses and travels down to escape the chilly air. Under covers, he finds the home of future children and uses his tongue to tell me his love. The language is foreign at first, then clear, and finally it becomes my own internal dialogue, a chatter that lifts my hips into his face. A dictionary of knowing.

“Stop!” she moaned, the edge too soon, the eyes too brown, the room a swimming pool of musk and heat and urgency. His hands slid up her ribs and her hand slid down his chest, over his navel, to find her talisman. Touching confirmed the connection but did not deepen it. Only time will do so. But fitting his puzzle piece into her space helped to deliver time to this moment, a layer of consciousness they can only access through release.

Complete
. He filled her and she embraced him with warm, wet flesh designed to encase and envelope, and the hitch of breath in both was part of their mother tongue. They were not meeting for the first time. Instead, they returned to each other, splinters of soul drawn like iron shavings to a magnet. He slid out, then in, eyes boring into hers, love smoothing the skin of his sternum, her breasts lounging against him, fluidity their prayer until both cried out each other's names, then words and sounds that spoke of something timeless, unfinished, yet just beginning.

Chapter Ten

D
EAREST
L
ILITH
,

Leaving you was harder than fishing my way through the trains, steamer, and endless corruption here in Santiago. Even the street kids are more corrupt than the worst Boston boss! I hope you've received my earlier letters. I haven't heard back yet. I am safe in Santiago and will head north to the fields, to crack new mines and lead a crew I've just assembled. Pardon this short letter, my dearest, but time and paper are precious. I'll write in the smallest words possible, but big hands make for a mess on paper (and large words!). I promised you, Lilith, when I left that I would be faithful and true, and by God one day I'll make you mine. Which day that will be remains, sadly, a mystery.

Your eternal love,

James

Dearest James,

I knew that your leaving would be difficult, but I could never have imagined how time would stretch before me in lazy, indolent seconds, each pausing half a lifetime before proceeding. I've only Esther to keep me from going quite mad, and she comes with a price, the ridiculous little Mexican rat dog she dresses like a child. Forgive me – if I do not receive regular letters from you, I shall take up knitting and make the animal a sweater, though a tea cozy would likely fit as well.

What I fear most is that you will fall into harm's way. Promise me you will be careful, Great men with great ambitions meet their fates in chilling ways. Please be slightly less great.

Your love,

Lilith