Light and Wine (7 page)

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.

My body, however, is far from relaxed. Standing above her, trusting and tranquil and unadorned, save for her tiny pink rosary, my veins fill and the muscles of my spine straighten as hers unwind. With my collar still in her hand, Lacie rolls her shoulders against silk on velvet with her eyes on mine, and I palm myself through black cotton, answering a need that I’ve denied not only all night, but for so long. The relief it brings is almost as strong as the need it feeds.

Hazel eyes glint and open wider as she fills her chest with a shaky breath. Bare insteps and warm calves brush upward along the outsides of my legs, and she gives me the most sincere smile as she sits up.

“Let me?” she asks with soft confidence, tucking hair behind her left ear with one hand as she rests her other on my belt, just above my own. “Please?”

My lips part, but there are no words for the strength and certainty of this longing. It takes my breath and makes swallowing difficult.

Placing my collar next to her on the altar, confession clean love places her same hand over mine, over me, and I don’t hesitate to shift our touch, instinctively helping her palm and fingers curve and press and hold in a way I haven’t in years. Yearning and comfort thrill and ache with euphoria I’ve never known, making it hard to stand as she moves her left hand under mine, too.

Carefully holding and feeling the outline of where I’m sorest and fullest, Lacie slides her touch to encompass all of me. With her eyes on mine, she smiles as my chest tightens and my limbs tense, and as my lips start to follow that shape around a sound I can’t swallow, she returns her fingers to my belt.

I blink and press my lips together, half in pain and missing, wanting gentle affection back where I ache most, and half in acknowledgement for what’s coming. She moves with every bit of slow care I gave thanks with, and I steady my feet for her reverence. Gently cupping her cheek in my right hand, I keep my left over both of hers, grateful for every bend and pull and brush of her fingers as she unbuckles leather from nickel.

Slipping the button and tugging the zipper, little light is bold for one so bare. Her eyes brim with adoration as she slides her hands to my hips and finds belt loops for her fingers to curl around.

Nervousness pulses through me.

This is the first time in my adult life I’ve been undressed by a woman, the first time I’ve been undressed by anyone.

But we’re here now.

We could have been separated by impossibly different circumstances, by miles or lifetimes. God could have challenged our souls to go through anything and find one another any number of ways, but she is she and I am I. The love we’re together in is perfect, and her fervor within it belies her age and size, and carries all of my timidity away with a deep breath, leaving me made of earnest admiration.

With the slightest pull of her fingers, black trousers fall, and I step easily out of black shoes and socks, leaving me in black boxer briefs that cannot begin to hide my body’s soul-deep anticipation. Wide pupils and thin glints of hazel never leave my eyes as she smooths those down my legs, too, whispering, “Love, love, I love you, I love you,” as she goes.