It’s encouraging.
No matter where we go or what happens tomorrow, I’m going to always be to this person what I have always been. I’m her keeper, called and consecrated to care for every need He’s laid within her, with or without my collar.
There’s nothing more natural than this love.
Melting in my arms, Lacie settles as close as she can to me, but her breathing remains ragged and rapid. The skin on her back is overheated under my touch, and I nuzzle a low hum into her chest.
“Lacie, look at me,” I whisper as I stroke, lovingly soothing newborn nerves and calming overwhelmed little synapses. I lift my head and find hazel irises beaming under her lashes, looking just as lost in love as she sounds.
Leaning back just enough, I ease my touch from her with care, trading her drawn out gasp for a gently deep kiss before pulling my undershirt off and away. I gather her to me with both arms, bringing her heartbeat that much closer to mine, and she gives all of her weight to me in the most tender surrender.
With my hands in her hair, across her shoulders, down her spine and pressed against the small of her back, Lacie rocks in the most precious little dips like I’m still within her. I feel her anew, heavenly hot and sweetly swelled, soaking through delicate lace and vocational black as she presses closer, her thighs tensing with want to close while my lap holds her open.
“Stay with me,” I beseech, holding her eyes as she rides need that’s lifting us both closer to purpose with every slide. “Eyes here, love. Stay here with me.”
She nods, and I gather all the breath my chest has room for, keeping her eyes as I return my right hand to soft, soft purity. Kissed-so-pink lips fall open as her hold tightens and lashes like wings flutter for contact restored.
“I’m right here,” I whisper, directing desire heavy lashes up as I move lace aside to give her my touch.
Shuddering as she takes a purposefully slow breath, my fulfillment of the law nods. I can feel her pulse skipping through her veins and the powerful, instinctive rhythm in her hips, but her awareness is static. Her lids clench as I gently circle slick innocence with my same two fingertips, and when her eyes open again, endless black longing dilates precocious hazel to a thin rim.
“Yes, Father,” she intones, but the sounds pass straight from her heart through her lips. As fast as they’re born, her thoughts are burning.
I curve my left hand along her jaw, and she rolls her head into my touch, so relaxed she’s nearly limp as her hips roll toward my right fingers. Under her skirt and between her legs, I press and circle my thumb around her tiniest little ache and place my middle fingertip where she’s struggling to let me in. Her open mouth pleads sweet notes, and I can see her straining to keep her eyes on mine, blinking away earnest impatience as I rub my thumb across her bottom lip.
“Do you know you’re mine, Lacie?” I ask.
Her eyebrows lift in helplessness, and her answer is immediate.
“Yes, Father. Yours.”
Between her legs, I slow my touch, giving heavy pressure with my thumb as I curl my fingertip toward me, pulling her gently, insistently open.
The sound that pours from her is the brightest lamp unto my truest calling.
“Lacie …” I draw her name out and mimic the soft persistence with my touch, guiding her closer to me and further open little by tiny, precious, patient little.
She moans, her brows furrowing as she fights to keep her lashes up. Weakened arms and legs tense around me, and I hear my collar bending with need in her hand.
“Do you know I’m yours?” I ask, cradling the back of her head and circling my right thumb around where she’s smallest and most sensitive once more.
Helpless and desperate as a fire, she’s next to impossible to overcome as she arches to bring me inside, but I keep my touch carefully only barely within and cradle her firmly.
“Tell me, agna Dei,” I whisper, curving just deeper inside God’s sweetest lamb, helping her open with gently purposeful turns. “Do you know I’m yours?”
“Yes,” she pleads. “Yes, yes.”
I groan, my lashes as low as hers as I slip deeper into where she’s softest and smallest, most soaked and most susceptible. Scripture burns through my veins and into conscious thought as she cries out, desperate. Seeking focus and control, I swallow, but the words are already on my lips.
“I cleave myself to you, Lacie.”
Beloved light closes her eyes as she tries to lift and arch again, and I bring her face to mine.
“Unconditionally.” I breathe the word over her lips and kiss her.
“Generously.” I draw slow circles with my thumb.
“Selflessly.” I kiss her deeper.
“Solemnly and sincerely and benevolently.” I press deeper and curve more, guiding swelled and supple warmth further open.
“Forever,” I whisper along her parted lips.
“Forever,” she repeats. It’s not untrue; it’s an echo of my word like my light is a reflection of her light, but it’s automatic. It spills from her tongue before she’s even tasted it.
And this is too important.
We’re here in forgiveness for our rushing, and I want to heed His grace in every way.
“No,” I tell her softly, tilting my head to kiss her jaw as I slow her down like I should have the first time, all those nights ago. Following the slope of blushed skin, over rosary beads, to her ear, I whisper as I hold her still. “No, Lacie.”
Leaning back, she opens her eyes. Confused and glossy and so close to running over, they hold mine as I swallow and bring her ever closer.
“Aeternum,” I say around a breath, securing her to me with my arm as I sink my touch all the way within, still curled and tugging.
Forever.
Shaking through a shallow inhale, I feel the temperature of her skin rise, and her heart thumps a heavy beat right against mine, acknowledging my nearness. It praises our love, communicating with its only touch as understanding dawns inside her eyes with those three syllables.
“Aeternum, Father,” she returns in the prettiest notes.
Forever, she promises, and I know.
She hears me.
This is more than the sacrament of just marriage. No person could put asunder what we share in Him, and death will not part us.
Forever doesn’t mean the rest of our lives.
Forever has no beginning and no end.
“Amen,” I whisper, curling my touch and stroking gladhearted praise along her softest, hottest place.
Unable to be still and without call to, Lacie blushes deeper pink, and a smile I love more than sunlight curves her lips. Slick lashes fall closed as I bring her closer, letting her ride easily now. I brush my free hand through her hair and bend my neck to whisper in her ear.
“You’re mine in the eyes of the church now, little lamb.”
My own smile grows as I speak the words, and she nods, circling her arms around my neck.
“I am,” she whispers.
I press deeper and stroke with purpose.
“You’re mine to love, forever and always,” I whisper along her ear. “In all ways, Lacie.”
She moans into my neck, and the pitch of recognition is so sweet I lift my hips like a reflex, desperate to feel complete.
The lush kisses she presses against my skin draw a low moan from my lips, and she shifts her weight forward, warmth clinging everywhere. Hungry for the sight of sacred surrender, my eyes open and the light that’s always on in the apse is the first thing I see. It pushes darkness away from the altar as love rocks against me, and ever so slowly, I ease my touch from her.
Shivering a fragile sigh, she tightens her arms around my neck. As I bring my right arm under her and curl my left around her back, Lacie buries her face in my chest, and I stand. Over the creak of the pew and the rhythm of my footsteps, I hear her whispering.
Right over my heart, little light glows, and grace pours from her.
My steps are steady and sure as
she floats in my arms. Hardwood and the heat of her whisper hold me up and guide me, eyes closed, to the heart of worship as her Our Father lilts into a soft Glory Be, and I lift my right foot to take the first of seven burgundy carpeted stairs.
With each one, Lacie prays, and my pulse throbs stronger in my chest. With all that I am and have ever been, I feel gratitude, reverence, love and light echo my every step.
The beat between her lips and my skin fills with warmer depth as I walk from the front of the altar to the epistle end of it with no semblance of shame or reservation. I kiss her crown and gather her ever more near as I wait for her prayers to dissolve into calm, entrusted breaths.
“Mea carissima,” I whisper, tilting my face toward hers. “Mea lux,” I say with a smile, brushing my nose along the side of hers as I approach where I intend to lay her down.
My darling. My light.
When she looks up, my next words slip naturally.
“My bride.”
Light brindled irises brighten, and she blinks, nodding.
“Yours.” She glows so shyly desirable around the word, I feel my own cheeks flush as I step forward.
As I set her carefully down on the edge of the altar, the inhale she draws echoes in the small, candlelit ciborium, as if she only just realized where we are. I cup both sides of her face and brush my parted lips to hers, and they tremble under mine. She clings to me, hiding in my shadow, and I know what she’s feeling.
Blessed but unworthy.
Grateful but small.
Lacie’s naturally shy. We both are, but God wants His sweetest flower right here.
He wants her to bloom.
Letting her warm limbs hold fast to me, I lay her back until snow pale skin presses against white altar cloth, laid on rich velvet, spread over marble that’s never witnessed worship this sincere nor supported devotion this deep in all its years.
“Habere ac tenere, Lacie,” I whisper to her breathless lips. “My love, to have and to hold.”
She breathes, relaxing her head back until it rests fully on the altar, deep brown tendrils lying on pure white.
“To guide and to cherish,” I promise. “To raise up and walk within light.”
Her eyes close as she relaxes her spine, giving me all of her trust.
“To love,” I finish, and as my lungs open for a breath, I’m filled with the scent of roses gently pervading the chapel. My love’s eyes stay closed, but I can tell she senses it, too, by her small smile and the slight lift in her brows. The scent of newly opening blooms increases as she relaxes further still, and my pulse beats harder, growing heavier and more insistent with each breath.
Lacie blinks, overwhelmed tears rolling from the corners of her eyes as she whispers into the warm, petal-brightened air.
“I love you,” she says with a small breath. “I love you.”
“I love you,” I whisper, watching the knowing in her eyes grow with understanding and faith. Nudging chestnut brown strands back from her forehead, I brush my thumb across her cheek, and she smiles, breathing better.
“I’m going to love you,” I vow.
Soft hair and softer skin brushes against silk while she nods, sliding her right hand from my shoulder to the pulse she prayed over. As she does, she steadies her left hand on my arm, and I feel my collar still there, still clutched lovingly between her fingers.
The yearning in me borders beyond sore.
I’ve spent my whole life looking for light.
Aching to be in it.
Seeking light of my own.
“Love me,” light made just for me whispers, wrapping around and lifting up, making contact that requires a give in my weight. Leaning over her, I give into one long, arduously slow stroke and take the kiss she offers.
It makes me feel like I could swim in her glow.
I kiss her bottom lip, the corner of her smile, and the tip of her nose. I find her eyes as I lean up and bring her with me, just enough to shift my right hand under her back where two tiny clasps rest under my fingertips.
The slip of the first one draws the softest sound from all that I’ve yearned for. The second makes her hum in earnest.
Dainty satin releases, and I slip it away, leaving her chest bare and her heartbeat unencumbered in its pounding, asking for and declaring love with each squeeze. She presses eagerly up to me, the responsive little tips of her breasts drawing a moan from me that rumbles from lower than my lungs as my lips slip fervently against hers, thankful for every kiss of light her soft tongue shares with mine.
Relaxing my weight onto her by slow degrees, I bring my hand to the center of her throat, giving thanks as I follow the trail of her breath down a smooth line between her breasts, over her sternum, toward the little belly that curves up with each rock against me. I pause my hand there, thanking God for every bite of food that has nourished her body over her short years, every drop of milk and piece of bread, every communion wafer that’s ever left my hands for her tongue. I give thanks for every tiny white flower that ever bloomed into a strawberry destined for her mouth, and every caramel that ever made her hum with pleasure, whether stolen, bought, or gifted.
Drawing down, I kiss her belly, and Lacie hums. I glance up, and I’m beyond thankful for her smile.
As I brush grateful hands up her sides, I take her arms and guide them out. She still clings to my collar, but lets me open her like the blossom she is, and with her heart’s cage so exposed, barely hidden under milk-soft skin, I steady my weight on my left hand above her shoulder. I glide my other from her wrist to her elbow, thankful for every vein, every nerve, every living cell under my fingertips.
Shifting half a step forward, parting pretty legs that hang off the altar’s edge, I place my open palm on tiny pink rosary beads that lie over the muscle I treasure most.
I let my eyes close for a moment.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you, Lord.
The beat under my hand and the red scent in the air double together, and when I lift my lids, all I feel is joy.
Leaning up from altar silk and the most precious pulse, I slide my hands down her sides to the top of her skirt as I stand straight. The slip of my fingertips under the waistband brings her back into an arch, a plea in flesh and bone for love.
I tug, and the sheer white tulle adorning the fulfillment of my faith gives way. As I begin drawing it from her, she curves and lifts to help me, and I brush increasingly more beholden thanks down the sides of bare legs before I let her skirt fall near my feet, and return each of my hands to her ankles.
These feet are the same ones that have carried her through fields of tall grass, jogged across busy streets, and kicked golden sand away from seashells. They’ve run for help, wiggled in sky blue pools, and slipped into shoes beyond counting. They’ve been scarred, split, and scraped through the years, but trustworthy and strong servants of devotion, they’ve healed, and tonight they’ve brought her here. I kiss their naked tops as I slip each little pink boot off and let it fall.
Lifting my eyes, I behold the merciful beauty of this girl, formed in perfect balance and wholly divine perfection. I have never seen her this unclothed before, and years of longing push against need, stinging my eyes as I look.
It’s more than I can discern with my sight alone.
Held only by candlelight and nearly translucent ivory lace, she must feel vulnerable here, but she looks like she was made for soft silk on crushed velvet on hallowed marble. Hints of stained glass night light and the glimmering of votive flames illuminate her skin, burning with the Holy Spirit within her, and there’s warmth in her pupils that assures me she knows how I love her and am going to love her, always.
She smiles, blinking slowly and bending her left knee. The bare sole of her foot brushes my hip and up my side, beckoning my eyes to find her, opening.
Her invitation to His will and with it my worship gives my longing a physical, weighted, and acute tension that no part of me is exempt from. The
deepest centers of my knees tremble to fall and though it feels impossible, I love her more.
Red wine inside and redder roses all around, I feel inebriated on my senses as I slide my hands from her ankles, along the backs of smooth calves. I can’t help letting my fingers linger in the balmy bends of her knees and as I do, she bends each of them further, sliding a little along the altar as she opens more.
Gossamer lace would do nearly nothing to cover her anyway, but the little glow that is love is soaked completely through. Tender inner thighs are softly wet, too, and I can see all of her through sheer light white. Delicate lips are swelled so beautifully she’s barely parted, even though her legs are so open around me. She lifts her hips as I slide my touch higher, and when I reach the highest parts of her thighs, I brush each of my thumbs up, ever-slowly over deeply pink lips, helping her part.
Lacie pulls a tiny breath and rises into my contact, her bottom just leaving silk and velvet. She lets me see this part of herself: nearly naked and unafraid, and so in need, closer than ever before. Her legs open and close gently around me as I look, and I feel the muscles in her calves strain as little toes curl for each slow slide of my thumbs. She trembles inside, under the surface of thin skin, and I am beyond enamored watching her blossom for my touch, but I cover the most sensitive part of my gift with both hands just for a moment.
With an overjoyed heart and a promise to always protect, provide for, adore and venerate this light, I give more thanks.
A sweet, small, and familiar plea fills my ears as little Heaven rocks under my prayer, longing with love for me to be His instrument.
She’s waited so long for this love to bloom.
But not as long as I have.
Curving my fingers, I bring nearly-white lace away from willing hips and slowly down little devoted’s thighs. She exhales as delicate openwork fabric slides down baby-smooth legs, relaxing back onto the altar in bareness that leaves her completely vulnerable and completely safe at the same time.
Light and Wine Page 5
