Feeling hot, hot, hot

April 07, 2015
Fancy a little romance to lighten your mood?

Here's a wee (unedited) excerpt...

“Hello, Apple Man,” Iris said, leaning against the door frame and biting her bottom lip as she smiled at him.

When he passed the money into her hands their skin touched briefly and he felt a jolt of electricity.  She wore a flowery sundress and a string of wooden beads around her neck and he was mesmerized by the shape of her calves as she slipped over to the desk under the window to stick the bills inside the cover of a book that lay there.

He felt shy.  He always did in the beginning of their visits.  Just as he always thought to himself that this was the week he would resist the call of her company. 

It was hopeless.  He was as weak as any man before him and it didn’t matter that he had studied the scriptures and believed the ten commandments really were a compass by which to live ones life - he could not resist.  She was his north star.

She made her way back to where he was still standing in the doorway.  Her dress moved about her knees in it’s own kind of slow dance and he felt a warmth flow over his body as he raised his eyes to her face.

“You’re letting the bugs in, silly,” she said, taking his hands and leading him out onto the porch where she walked backwards to the two-seater swing that hung there on rusty chains.

It groaned when they sat but it held.  The upholstered seat cover was so faded that it was nearly void of colour and the quilt flung over the backrest was torn in several places. Samuel sank into the seat and Iris sat beside him, tucking her legs up underneath herself before she tipped up his chin and kissed him sweetly.

Kissing Iris was like finding himself and losing himself all in the same breath.  She was so small but the moment she was that close she became the whole world.  She was firm against him and he couldn’t help but yield beneath the pressure of her mouth, tasting her, synchronizing the movement of his own mouth, exploring her face and hair with his hands only to pull her harder against himself like he was starving. 

She sighed against him and moved her head back so he could kiss her neck and explore the contours of her throat.

“I’m quite certain I love you, Iris Carver,” he said against her skin before he lost his nerve.

She pulled back from him, her hands on either side of his face as she gazed into his eyes like she was searching his soul, reading him and tracing the arch of his brow, her breaths coming long and deep.

The kiss that followed made him realize he really knew nothing of kissing up until that point and then somehow she was on top of him, one knee on either side, their bodies so closely intertwined that, for the first time, he understood the phrase ‘making love’.

Her dress was pushed up on her legs by the position she was in and somehow his hands were on her thighs and they were so smooth and warm and -

“Iris,” he gasped.

Her lips were on his throat.

“Iris,” he said again, raising his hands back to her face so he could pull her back.  He could see her pulse in her throat and he could feel the way his own was rushing in a hyper, scattered rhythm.  “I can’t,” he said but he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in the curve of her thigh.

Her breath was ragged and she untangled herself from him, pulling the skirt of her dress down and wiping hair from her eyes.  “I’m sorry, Reverend,” she said, wounded, spitting his title like a curse.

“Don’t,” he said, facing her.  “Don’t do that.”

She looked out over the dark yard and could just make out the shape of Paisley’s old truck.  “So what’s the deal, Apple Man? You come every week.  You give me money.  You are kind to me.  Now you tell me you love me but you won’t love me…?” 

He took her hand, tracing lazy circles in her palm, thrilling at the touch of her but fighting an internal battle that shone through his eyes.  He chose his words carefully.  “I don’t give you money for any of this, Iris,” he said.  “I give you money because of my jealousy.  The idea of another man with his hands on you for any reason other than love makes me mad with rage.”

She pulled away from him and walked down the porch steps to stand on the grass in front of the garden, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle like she was trying the hold herself together.

He stayed where he was, studying the curve of her neck and the untidy wisps of her hair and he felt cold without her beside him. “I do love you, Iris,” he said, not raising his voice for the distance but knowing she could hear him over the late night stillness.  “I love you for your strength.  I love you for your brokenness.  I love you for the way I feel when I’m close to you.  I think I’ve loved you since that first moment in the grocery store.  Nothing hurt me more than when you walked away from me.  And you walk away from me again because I won’t do - that…?”

She didn’t turn towards him when she answered. “Paisley loved me and I drove him to his death.” She walked farther into the yard to the rusted truck, and plucked a sprig of mint from the herb garden in the truck bed.  She held it to her nose and let it’s fragrance linger on her senses. “When I take Joseph to the library he looks through fairytale picture books and they’re all the same.  Some poor romantic who sings in the woods gets rescued by a prince who takes her to his castle and gives her pretty gowns and fancy feasts.  That’s not real life.  Paisley brought me here.  There was no castle or fancy meal.  I didn’t even have a wedding dress.  But he was good to me even when I stopped being good to him.” She let the mint linger on her lip so that the taste crept into her mouth.  “You don’t have to rescue me, Apple Man,” she said.  “I’ve already been rescued.” She put the leaves between her teeth and chewed them.

Samuel studied her from behind, feeling helpless and desperate to have her close to him again. “We’re all lost, Iris,” he said.

“But most people have a map,” she replied as she slowly wandered back towards the porch and sat on the step, her bare feet damp from the dew on the grass.

“No they don’t,” he argued, rising from the swing and taking the spot beside her on the step.  He bumped against her playfully with his shoulder.  “Nobody really knows where they’re going.  We’re all just wandering around with our fingers crossed, hoping we’ll meet somebody that will make our lostness a little less lonely.”

He turned towards her and cupped her face in his hands before kissing her very softly on the lips.  “You can’t rush me, Iris.  My head has been trained my whole life to fight against this.”

“Stop fighting,” she pleaded.

“It’s not so simple,” he said.  “There’s my congregation to think about.  There’s a whole town that holds me to a higher standard and if I betray that trust…”

“Love conquers all,” she said quietly.  “That’s what all those fairy tales say.”

“Ha!” he laughed softly.  “If only that were true.”

She leaded towards him and rested her head on his shoulder.  “Just once, I’d love something to be simple,” she said.

He let his cheek rest against her hair, his arm around her small waist as the faint smell of mint hung on the air.  “Me too, Iris,” he said.  “Me too.”

No comments:

Powered by Blogger.