I don’t know when he’d left the bed, but his side was cold. I was cold. Sadness washed over me, an inexplicable wave of loss and grief, and then the memory flooded back. He’d said once, I will always be with you, you’ll always feel me here, no matter what. Was that true?
His body hovered over mine, momentarily, before he settled his weight on me, his hips and stomach pressed me comfortingly into the mattress. His elbows took the weight of his upper body, but his chest flattened my breasts. His face, just above mine, soft, kind, intense gaze, his breath like cigarettes and Listerine, his warmth like the blood that flowed inside my veins.
I knew he was going to kiss me. It was our first time, our first time lying down together, alone together. For me, the first time I’d been looked at in such a way. In his face were hunger, and tenderness, and awe. And more hunger. We’d kissed before, but this was different.
It was worship.
“I adore you,” he said. The touch of his breath was as erotic as his full lips, inches from mine.
“I adore you, too,” I answered.
“I want you. I want to taste you.” He licked his lips, but still didn’t touch me with them. I licked mine, instinctively. When I did, I felt his tongue touch mine, so lightly, and he moaned. I tightened my hold on him. I wrapped my legs around his waist. I felt his fingers in my hair, playing, almost absently.
Foreplay with John was a religion. It began when we got up in the morning. With a sensuous, lingering kiss on my neck as I stood over breakfast preparations, his arms always around me, his breath like summer raising goose flesh over my entire body. It continued with a surprise smack on my ass in passing, or his reaching out to grab my hand as I walked by him, catching my eyes and holding me captive. When we were apart, foreplay was text messages, or a phone call, a silly comment like, I miss your titsor I got hard just now, thinking about you. John understood something about life. He understood that the shittiness of it steals the passion. So he made me laugh. And he reminded me, constantly, that he was close and that I was important.
Did I do the same for him? Had I done enough? Had he felt as loved by me as I had by him?
He finally touched my lip with the two of his, a caress. Then he took me in his mouth, so warm and wet. He sucked on my lips, released, repeated, over and over. Then my upper lip. Then he let me taste his tongue.
That kiss had deepened, and turned into the kind of sex one only has with each partner once. You always try to get back that first time, and John and I came closer to replicating it than I ever had with anyone else. But with him, the pleasure was in the trying. Something else he understood – you never stop reaching for better.
He won’t be back, not this time. He didn’t step out for a smoke. I hadn’t known that the last time he made love to me would be all I would ever have of him.
He’d promised to never leave me here, alone, but he’d done it anyway. And when his soul left this world, my will went with him.