Some Mellifluous Words

Stay a little longer.

[likehoneyandsilk]

Good Graces

A little late to the Thanksgiving game . . . ☺️ Nevertheless, here's something sweet. I am a bit rusty returning to writing, so feedback is appreciated as always. Enjoy! 💛 (18+)

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A serene quiet graced the home. The boisterous laughter and elated chatter had departed with the last of your guests. The lingering scents of cinnamon and firewood enveloped the home in warmth, a pleasant reminder of the meal shared with the most beloved of family and friends.

The lights had been dimmed throughout the house, casting shadows along the walls as you worked silently putting your house to bed. The leftovers had been packed, the pumpkin pie eaten, and the dishes had been loaded into the dishwasher. While Joe cleaned the kitchen counters, you worked across from him, tidying the rustic dinner table.

A few taper candles remained lit, wax dripping down their sides. Glass vases were spread in expanse all over the table, the light casting rainbows along their rims. In them, meticulously picked red and white flowers dipped their stems in water. An assortment of faded red, yellow and orange pumpkins had been placed amongst the decorations. You stacked the untouched china, working feverishly as if the slightest bit of strength may shatter them within your hands.

Too engrossed in your task, you had yet to notice the way your lover had become immune to anything else but you. Joe, in his ever so handsome state, leaned back against the exquisite white granite island counter. The tedious frosted tips of his hair no longer remained, a sign that Summer was long gone, and Winter only neared. His larger frame was adorned in a white cotton and wool shirt, which was now unbuttoned, exposing only his neck and the slightest of his chest.

There had been an ease to Joe tonight. The tempestuous season had taken a toll on him, leaving him awake many nights in bed, wondering where he had gone wrong. As the days grew shorter, so did his courage. The man held every ounce of pride in his craft, but beneath all the pressures and constraints tied to his name, there had arrived a time of epiphany - there was only so much within his control.

What he could control, was focusing on his wife, his newly wed bride whom he had eloped with in a small town during the Summer. His bride. His girl. You. After all the years spent together, all the years passed as you grew with each other, Joe was impatient to pair the engagement ring with a wedding ring.

For Joe, there was an undeniable simplicity with the domesticity of life with you. Beyond the fame and the outlandish lifestyle, he often desired the feel of a normal routine. It was in moments like this where you played house effortlessly.

It was in moments like this Joe seemed to forget all constraints and pressures that arrived with the expectations tied to his name.

You moved seamlessly around the table, tucking chairs with each step. You hands were gentle with the china plates, the stunning diamond on your left hand sparkling underneath even the faintest of light. Joe wallowed in the way your hair enveloped your face, the clip unable to hold the thick perfectly curled jet black hair he adored so much. The powdered blush had faded from your cheeks, your natural rouge creeping from within. The lipstick placed so delicately on your plump lips long gone. It was not until a shaky breath escaped his lips, at the sight of your dress tightening around your breasts with every forceful exhale and bend of your hips did Joe finally catch your attention.

From you spot, you could make out the darkened state of his electric blue eyes. You caught the glimmer of golden on what was exposed of his chest. He had a coy smile on his lips. You wondered if he noticed the way his shirt clung to his biceps when he brought his hand to run through his fair. A dish towel sat idle in the grasp of his free hand, presumptuously from drying his hands after loading the dishes into the dishwasher. His sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows, veins prominent even under the poorly lit kitchen.

As you drew closer he stood straighter. His fingers brushed yours as he grabbed plates from your hand, obeying your silent order as you stretched your neck over to the cabinet above his head. Effortlessly, he placed the dishes in their spot, shutting the cupboard, concealing them away for the next Thanksgiving. Washing your hands at the sink next to him, you reached for the dish towel.

A fatigued haze fell over your chocolate brown eyes. The taste of red wine lingered in your mouth. There was a lull fading across your body, an urge to lay in bed with Joe against you. The clock on the stove signalled midnight.

Catching his eyes again, you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach. His eyes had darkened, the same dark blue that craved you in all ways possible. It was the dark blue that ignited a fire inside you, prepared you for an unfathomable consumption of lust. Catching you by surprise, he tugged on the dish towel, drawing you near. His arms encircled around your frame, hands finding territory on the granite on either side of you, your lower back pressed into the counter. He had you caved in, and you would be a fool to say you did not hope for him to lead the way.

He loosed the clip from your hair, letting it fall freely along your back. His citrus-like and woody scent consumed you. You wondered if he could hear how wildly your heart was beating, as he gazed at you endearingly, forgetting that anything else in the world existed.

"We should get to bed."

You whispered words filled the silence surrounding you. By the crave in your eyes, Joe knew undoubtedly your fatigue held no power against what your heart desired. He could read the shift in your chocolate brown eyes to an intense darkened shade. See the way you unknowingly bit your lip, your breath hitched, the innocent flicker of your gaze to his lips.

"Not yet, we forgot to do something."

It was the first words he had spoken in just under an hour. You felt the gruffness of his voice, the way the words fell effortlessly from his mouth, like velvet against your skin.

Leaning down to your level, your eyes closed as his lips kissed your cheek. He travelled lower, underneath your jaw, along your chin, lingering on your neck. He inhaled your scent. It was an intoxication of vanilla and jasmine. He held himself strongly, his demeanour calm as he spoke against your skin.

"We never said what we were thankful for."

Confusion spread over your body, suddenly replaced with a chill when his cold hand wrapped around your waist. The thin fabric of your cream-coloured dress adorned in dainty red flowers could not withstand the pressure of his touch, the way his large hand fit perfectly along your waist, trailed to your backside and rested at the bottom of you back.

"Your mom led the chain, we all did. Remember?"

His kisses trailed up again. Underneath your jaw, along your jaw, and then your cheek. They hovered dangerously over your right ear. You fingers fumbled with the untouched buttons on his shirt, wondering if you could be as smooth as him in making your crumble against his touch.

"None of that sugarcoated shit babe, I mean one thing your're thankful for. In this room of course."

He pulled your flush against him, your arms wrapping around his waist as your eyes met. His free hand trailed along the side of your thigh, scrunching the fabric of your dress as he rode it higher. With each passing second, your heart fluttered, his touch against your skin like a million butterflies fluttering their wings against it.

Your mouth went dry when his hand curved around your backside, fiddling with the lace garment concealing your most intimate spot. His fingers fiddled with the thin garment, his fingers digging into plush skin.

"Gotta tell me, otherwise we'll be like this all night."

HIs voice was taunting, the smirk lining his lips all too inviting. His arms hooked around you, leaving you dissatisfied with the loss of contact of his fingers to your skin. The hem of your dress fell into place. Lifting you effortlessly, he situated you on the granite counter, the cold seeping through your dress.

Even at this elevation, you gazed up at him, his frame still towering yours. He raised his eyebrows, impatiently waiting for your answer. Brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, he left his fingers linger in your hair, massaging the sweet spot just below you earlobe.

When the answer finally arrived, it was a breathless barely audible whisper. "It's you."

He nodded, his loving gaze taking you in entirely. He spreads your legs, inviting himself in. Instinctively, you tighten your hold around him, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

"And what about you?"

He responds with a boyish shrug, exhaling loudly. His hands dance up your legs, riding your dress higher and higher.

"I can't tell you . . ." He begins, pulling you close. You lips inches apart as your eyes bore into one another. You feel your chest tighten, the anticipation build in your stomach.

"But I can show you."

Ever so even, ever so cool. It is the affirmation in his tone that sends a thrill up your spine.

His lips against yours are like butter, smooth and silky. He meshes against you so well. He is a drug, an all to encompassing drug that you crave so desperately. You feel limp, simply because you become all to consumed by his presence.

Wrapping your arms gingerly around his neck, your fingers dance with the hair at the nape of his neck. You feel his hands travel up your back, along your neck, and then to the back of your head, where they get lost in your hair. You legs tighten around his waist.

You gasp softly, feeling him against you. When his teeth gently dig into your bottom lip, you groan, barely audible but soft and musical.

You pull back first, breathless. "Will I feel it to? What you're thankful for?"

It's the way your voice is so timid, but teasing. It has taken every ounce of you to ask such questions, cheeks burning red as you drop your gaze. Joe knows you inside out, and he cannot help relish at the way he pulls you into ecstasy with the simplest of actions.

“I'd be a failure if you couldn't" Again, it is the mere calmness of his voice that sends you in a frenzy.

This kiss is deeper, it speaks volumes of his love for you. You shudder when he draws his lips back, an intoxication for one another evident in the other's eyes. An airy breath leaves from between your lips as he kisses your neck. It is not until you feel his teeth graze your sensitive skin do you shift, instinctively drawing his hands to your hips to hold you in place. His hair tickles your skin as he kisses lower, your chest rising and falling in rushed paces. His name falls from within you, a whisper so quiet, he almost misses the way you drag his name in uncontainable desire. He breaks the kiss to undo the buttons against your sternum.

Joe is achingly slow when he begins to draw the dress lower. It is the soft kiss, the bite of your lip, and the way his fingers dance along your skin that drive you insane. He locks your gaze with his own, and observes how you decompose before him. His touch travels down your neck, along your collarbone, down your shoulders, and finally hits fabric. The places he has touched are warm and tender. He pulls your dress down slowly exposing more skin. You groan in dissatisfaction when he draws back. An airy chuckle escapes from his lips, a satisfied look plastered across his face.

"I've got you, easy now, huh?" You nod, obeying entirely.

You slide off the counter, arms wrapping around his neck as your body becomes flushed against his. Your lips mold into one, his arms holding you firmly by the waist. His fingers dig into your sides, earning himself a groan from the back of your throat. Before you can comprehend, he lifts you, carrying you with ease towards the couch.

The lamp in the corner casts a golden hue about the room, the smell of fire burning wood still evident in the air. He sits down, your knees embedded in the cushion, your sex resting against his muscular thigh. Your hands cling to his collar, whimpering as he shifts in his spot, the movement of his thigh against your delicate sex sending electrifying sensations up your body.

"I love you." His words are rushed, as if finding the opportunity to remind you before he unravels your before him completely.It is a brief second, but it is soft, as he cups your face, mumbling words of encouragement as you tell him you love him back, your hips still moving rhythmically. He marvels at the innocence etched on your face, the pink tinge to your cheeks, and the way your body begins to shudder. When your head falls back and sweat glistens on your neck, he holds you, keeping you upright, letting you ride out your first high.

The room fills with the faint moan you expel, the sound bouncing off the walls. Your head falls against Joe, finding comfort in his neck as you catch you breath. His hands trails along your back, whispering sweet nothings in your ears.

With the profound intensity of the moment and the uncontainable shifts of your hips, your dress has fallen past your breasts, revealing pink lace adorning. You sit up, watching as Joe becomes awestruck at the site before him. Love bites litter your neck. Your chest rises and falls profoundly. Lips pink and eyes on fire. You're nodding in approval as he silently seeks permission to rid you of your dress entirely.

As he guides you beneath him, you whimper as his hips press into yours. The fabric of his clothes brushes across your skin, and you pull at his shirt, which soon finds a way to the ground. The skin to skin contact embraces you like a blanket. The fabric of his pants is rough against your legs, but just as you're about to undo his belt, he fulfills the distance between you.

His lips devour yours in a hungry kiss before pulling back. He watches you wither against him, cheeks flushed as his lips trail you neck, along your sternum, and all the way to your navel. You whimper, the sound becoming a faint exclamation of his name, as his fingers travel between you thighs, his eyes burning into yours as he gentlly brushes his fingers against lace.

He works you through slowly, whispering endearing terms and guiding you through a pleasurable high. When your legs begin to shake, your nails dig into his shoulders, and the sounds of your moans and whimpers dance off the walls he knows he has you exactly where he wants.

The rise of your hips draws his fingers to the lace concealing you. He exposes you with such fragility, watching you wither before him. You pull at his hair, knees bent as he find solace between your legs. It is the first sensation of his mouth on you that sends you in an undeniable state of euphoria.

And he shows you, makes you feel, just how thankful he is for you.

[likehoneyandsilk]

Sugarplum Fairies and Sultry Nights

A little Christmas treat! Inspired by Hold Me Close, Hold Me Tight. Happy Holidays everyone ✨ - peace and love to you all. ❤️ (18+)

Each passing season burgeoned a new found enchantment in the stillness and frenzy of motherhood. In the early presence of Spring, you woke to helpless wails, the sound somewhat foreign and all too frightening. You would hold your precious little boy close, soothing away his discontent with a faint brush of your finger to his cheek, your heart settling as did his cries. As your weary eyes adjusted to frosted windows and glittering specks of trickling sunlight peeking in by noon, you would become painted in a glistening yellow hue. Sunlight bathed both you and Jora, as you breastfed, perched underneath the window in a rocking chair. You would watch his honey brown eyes wander your face as he embedded the beauty of his mother to mind.

Sleep overnight was scarce, your bundle of joy hungry and seeking the existence of his mother. Fatigue consumed you throughout Spring, Joe's tender touches helping you out of bed, his arms wrapped around your waist as he held your frame while Jora latched to your breast. You relished in the tranquility of Spring nights, your back pressed against your husband's, his long muscular legs cascading around yours, and his lips pressed to your ear, murmuring just how breathtaking of a mother you were.

And with Spring came the doubtful thoughts, all too encompassing fears of failing as a mother. When fatigue consumed you senselessly, limbs fragile and emotions shakeable, your lover held you close. Reminding you of the beauty of the life before you, basking you in the sunlight as Jora slept, guiding your eyes to the blossoming flowers. "You're blossoming," Joe would whisper, rubbing circles at the back of your hand, ushering away hiccuped cries and wiping away fearful tears. "Blossoming into the mother I know you can be."

By Summer, you had fallen into a dazed routine. Jora slept more soundly at night, the feedings less frequent. Instead of wailing cries, you woke to sunlight wafting through the French doors of your master bedroom. Body plush against the California King, scent of rich velvety coffee consuming your senses. The trailing fingers, tracing every stretch mark - a reminder of the golden boy laying in the nearby room - against your naked frame, engulfed in cotton sheets and ears filling with the chirping birds and the everlasting sweet innuendo's passing through your husband's lips.

Your eyes would open to the fleet of butterfly kisses against your cheek, the unhinged tracing of incoherent patterns separating your thighs, hovering touches to the lace concealing the sacred spot between your legs. And when his thick fingers would embed deep into the plush skin of your thighs, your chocolate brown eyes would meet his oceanic blue, a reminder that Summer brought upon a new wake in Joe - devoted entirely to you and your little family. It was the teasing remarks of growing your family, his "little man" needing a "little sister". You'd hush him with a kiss, pressing your body into his, inhabiting yourself against his large frame, fingers dancing in his luscious brown hair.

By Autumn, the outside world became painted in glories of muted orange, yellow, and red. The smell of cinnamon and spice graced every corner of the home, the candles casting ominous shadows of your little family. Nights became longer, mornings barely attainable as your lover would press a kiss to your forehead, pull the covers tightly over your frame, and leave before even a fraction of daylight graced the sky. In Autumn, you woke to the sounds of an alarm clock, limbs quickly moving to grace the honey brown eyes of your baby boy, who waited patiently in his crib, mumbling unintelligible nothings that brought you joy. The lingering woody scents of you Joe's perfume enveloping you and your baby boy in an embrace, a sentiment that he had been in the nursery, savouring any and all precious time with his golden boy this season.

And with Winter came a harsh storm of bitter cold and frozen wrath. Despite Joe's tremendous attempts to rewrite the course of the Bengals' season, he often fell short. Nights became lonesome as you lay in bed alone for hours, his end of the bed empty till his tired frame would enter the doorway, a disapproved and apologetic smile on his face as he recalled yet another missed bedtime, another missed night to hold his son, another missed moment to spend with his wife. But in all chaos that ensued, in all misfortunes that crossed his mind, he would fall to your embrace, wrapping his arms around you, seeking silent solace as you held him, fingers brushing into his hair, residual scents of your floral perfume and Jora's baby powder lulling him to serene.

Despite the limitations of his precious time, Joe would pull from your hold in the early wakes of day, when darkness devoured the sleeping sky, the faint sounds of your waking and hungry baby boy assimilating your jaded senses. It was the gentle mumbles of, "I got him, go back to sleep mamas", that would send you in a haze, the warmth of Joe's hand rubbing the small of your back. And when you did rise, you would follow the white light cascading in through the windows, toes curling against the carpet, and watch from the door of the nursery as Joe held his son, his chest bare, eyes heavy with sleep but filled with endearing love and infatuation. And ever so silently would you stand, heart swelling as his muscular arms held Jora, close to his bare chest, whispering gentle reminders of his love and future promises he swore to uphold.

And so, on this Christmas Eve night, as you stood in Jora's nursery, rocking him back and forth as he slept in your arms, you prayed he dreamt of sugarplum fairies and iridescent lights. You hummed a mindless Christmas tune, the delicacy of the sound drawing his mind and body back into a dreamy state. He was lost in peaceful bliss, snuggled against your breast, lips parted. Adorned in a cozy red onesie his grandmother knit him, the words First Christmas patched waywardly on the back.

The Bengals' had hosted the Browns' for a Christmas Eve special that ended in a spectacular win. Playoff hopes were kept alive yet again, the city an electric buzz of the impeccable Christmas miracle. Before settling Jora for the night, you pranced across the living room with him, his giggles filling the air as you pointed at the television. "There's daddy, baby, look! Daddy won!"

And although he had no clue what foreign words you spoke to him, his giggles proceeded, eyes bright and vibrant as he glanced at his joyous mother and reflections of his father on the big screen. He had taken an immense interest in the Christmas tree in the corner, brightly lit with twinkling yellow lights and ruby red ornaments. Each morning, when his mind was still at ease and the time on the clock slow, Joe held Jora firmly in his hold, watching as his tiny little arms outstretched towards the ruby red balls, grasping them in pure fondness. His babbles would fill the silent morning air, immensely absorbed in the twinkling lights, curious eyes dancing between the tree and his father's. It was next to the same tree, would Joe kiss you, pulling you firmly against him. Kisses this season had been bold and filled with love, a reminder that no matter the length of time spent apart, he yearned for you. And when you would release you, a smirk gracing his pink lips, satisfied with how easily he took your breath away, fingers grazing over the rouge on your flushed cheeks, would he turn to Jora, who often lay in his playpen. "Take care of your mom, alright buddy?"

It was a teasing tone, sealed with a kiss to Jora's cheek, and the profound, "Love you guys", as he would exit from the front door, leaving you standing, picking at the reminders of him throughout the day, from the remnants of his scent, to the last few sips of black coffee in his mug, and persistent sensation of his hands on your body.

Tonight, the front door opened as the clock struck quarter to midnight. You listened for the heavy yet quiet footsteps ascend up the stairs. Jora lay soundly before you in his crib now, unknowing to the arrival of his father. A large frame, a familiar shadow cast along the doorway, pulling your attention from one boy to the other. You smiled softly at the sight of Joe.

A tired yet pristine glow flashed across his face, hair a slightly messy yet undeniably soft from his post game shower. He smelt of locker room shampoo, nose slightly red from the cold outside. A crisp black shirt adorned his body, black jeans covering his thick legs. It took him two large strides to consume your space, hands seamlessly falling at your waist as he leaned towards you. The satin night slip did no justice keeping you warm, but his sudden arrival showered you in a warmth so tender and comforting. His right hand trailed upwards, finding resident in your hair, the ends of his thick digits soothing any lingering doubts in your mind.

"Great game nine." The affirming words, barely audible in your whispered tone crept past your luscious lips, your eyes meeting his with such a timid gaze. His hand dropped from your hair, trailing down your back, teasingly riding the frilly ends of your night slip higher, till he rested his hand on sliver of exposed supple skin of your rear. You blushed, nuzzling your head into his chest. Joe relaxed into your embrace, as your arms snaked around his neck, eyes closing when his lips pressed to your neck.

"Sure as hell needed it." He was quiet, careful not to wake Jora, but his voice was always hoarse and heavy after games, igniting a fire in your stomach that you could not deny. "Jora sleeping okay?"

When Joe pulled back, he did so briefly, stepping behind you as you both faced your baby boy. Carefully, Joe reached for Jora's smaller hand, his finger instantly becoming wrapped in the little hand. Joe relaxed into you, his chin resting along your shoulder, as he gazed at Jora, the slight guilt of missing his bedtime yet again evident across his baby blues. You nodded, silently assuring him. "Just fed him again, went to sleep quick."

Pulling your eyes from Jora, you turned, back pressed against the crib and chest millimetres from your husband. Underneath the yellow lamp light, you could make out the faint bruise along his the underside of his jaw. His eyes bore into yours, a heavy yet mischief smile on his lips. "I'll give you some with him." You tilted your head back to Jora, pressing a chaste kiss to Joe's cheek before fleeing his presence.

And while Joe became lost in Jora, escaped the constraints of the world and in tune with his sleeping baby boy, you washed away the day. The warm water of the shower basked your skin in a delightful cordiality. Standing before the mirror not to long after, bare and open, you gazed at the wonders of motherhood across your body. Fuller breasts, stretch marks across your body, and the undeniable glow of playing mommy. Before you stood a girl who was once so afraid to fail, that over a year ago, stood in the same position, whispering sweet promises to the growing baby in her belly.

And now, feeling heightened in the way you seemed to glimmer, embracing the beauty of motherhood, and in the spirit of Christmas, you flushed red as you dressed yourself in a sultry lingerie set, prepping your skin in a vanilla honey lotion you knew drove your husband senseless. You hoped to take his breath away, just as effortlessly he took yours.

Christmas Eve had long become Christmas Day when Joe returned to your shared bedroom. He found you sitting up in bed, resting your back against the headboard. The room smelt of lavender and honey, room warm as the humid heat that existed only after a shower traveled from the bathroom door. Tired yet intoxicating eyes met his, your chocolate brown orbs almost black in the dim light. He neared slowly, running a hand through his hair, agonizingly slow as if embedding this moment in his mind.

He often thanked his lucky stars he had found you. Not only was your heart and mind pure and full of love, it was the mere beauty that you upheld that often left him at a loss for words. Unequivocally, you made his heart skip a beat, left him speechless, and insensibly craving your attention and tender touches. Your voice, velvety and dulcet, emancipated his senses like no other. Skin rich and brown, your hair jet black and thick. It was unfathomable the way motherhood had only elevated the majestic beauty of your existence to your lover. The stretch marks, the way your breasts were tender and full, a newfound love in your eyes, and the mere intoxication he found himself in the way you cared for Jora.

And tonight, was no different.

You rose from bed slowly, standing firmly on your feet before meeting him halfway. His eyes raked over your body as you stood a few inches from him. face bare of any makeup, but long lashes framing those heavenly eyes. Cheeks rouge from the timidness you upheld, and the found courage to lead whatever you desired for the night. Hair falling along your back, the curls loose, but shining and inevitably soft. You had not bothered to adjust the satin white robe. It fell over your right shoulder, a teasing preview of the dark green lace that adorned your frame. The gold Cartier 9 necklace rested against your chest, a faded love bite peeking from underneath the robe.

"Merry Christmas Joe." The words leaving your lips came out breathless, a shaking reminder of what hovering thoughts crossed his mind seeing you like this. All exhaustion and pain consuming his soul, any sense of fatigue left his body as he neared you. He was gentle, lifting your chin with such ease, forcing your eyes to meet. His appeared restless, his eyes raking over your frame once more, a heartfelt sigh of content and mere infatuation causing his chest to flutter.

You kissed him first, the last picture washing through your mind of his lustful darkening pupils that were no longer oceanic blue. He was careful, easing you into a night of splendour. His lips molded against yours, igniting a thousand sparks in your core as his fingers wrestled with the ties holding your robe. The kiss was slow - steady - and when his tongue met yours, he caught you against him, savouring the tastes of mint toothpaste. He felt his lips curl into a smile against yours, before pulling back, granting you the air he deprived.

He undressed your slowly, wordlessly, his eyes growing larger and softer as he exposed every curvature and imperfection. The dark green lace concealed your most intimate spots, the colour exquisite against your skin. His fingers danced silently over you, tracing the outline of yours breasts, grazing down your stomach, eyes flashing to yours before lingering at the waistband of your panties.

Something as simple as his touch left a fire burning on your skin, an impatient yet endearing desire for him to take you all the way. Before he could proceed, just as his thick fingers nestled their way between your thighs, you pressed yourself against him, arms wrapping around his neck as he kissed you yet again, a chuckle leaving his lips at the way you burned against his touch. His hands rested at the small of your back, and it took a forbearing push to guide you backwards, your head meeting the pillows, his body hovering over yours.

You broke the captivating kiss, a groan escaping your lips at the sensation of him unclasping your bra. Before he could expose your chest entirely, he paused, his silence soon overcome with a desire that flashed over his eyes like no other. His thigh nestled between your legs, creating friction against your clothed lotus, your mind a frenzy as tempestuous warmth crept up your stomach.

For a few seconds, he watched the emotions pass through your eyes. Lust, greed, desire, and most of all impeccable infatuation. An unexplainable love, your hands resting against his face, pulling him close as he guided you through a high.

"You're the most beautiful girl in this world, you know that?"

Unable to speak you flushed, your face burning once again, hips impatiently lifting up, the action creating further friction as you slid up his thigh. His lashes fluttered against your neck, his teeth grazing sensitive skin. His hips pressed against your own. You moaned as the heat rose from you, the delicate fabric of lace concealing you pooling with wetness. His eyes found yours again, hands nestled around your waist as he held you still, commanding all attention on him. You chest rose profusely, lips trembling ever so slightly, hair sprawled underneath you. His finger brushed back a lonesome hair, a softness washing over his features, and for a fraction of a second you swore his eyes became a topaz blue you had never seen in all these years.

"I swear mamas, I keep falling for you. I want you for every Christmas I live to see." His finger brushed a single tear that escaped your right eye, the revelation filled with so much love and thought, your mind a senseless spree of a thousand emotions. His lips parted once more to speak, your hands no enveloping together.

"Merry Christmas baby, I love you so fucking much."

And with that flawless statement, filled with immense gratitude, love, and appreciation, he descended upon you. As his shirt was rid from his frame, he wallowed in your touch, hands brushing across every pane, every bruise. Skin to skin, you relished in the close proximity. And he kissed you with such delicacy, dreamy eyes meeting yours as you filled the air with faint moans, his name whispered endearingly surrounding him.

From your lips, to your neck, down to your chest. And then he freed you, your chest fully exposed, his lips pressing against tender skin. And you swore, you were convinced your head spun as he treated down your stomach, his digits tracing every scar and stretch mark, mumbling endearing terms of your beauty, invading your air and mind. The sheets were grasped within your nimble hands, faint whimpering and helpless trails of his name bouncing off the walls.

And you became one, as your panties were pulled down, achingly slow, and his lips finally on you. As you whiter against him, his arms firm around your hips, he sends you in a euphoric high. And you become one, a beautiful tangled mess, a united front.

And when morning comes, as you lay together as one, lingering scents of sex and sweet nuisances heavy in the air, he wakes you with such tranquility.

It is Christmas morning.

You lay as one, body pressed against body. His shirt covers your frame, cheeks still flush from the antics of last night. Silence consumes you both, his fingers tracing constellations on your hip. You desire nothing more but to sink further into the mattress, savouring the attendance of your lover.

"Jora's gonna wake soon, why don't we get up before he does?"

Joe's morning voice is captivating, pulling you from sleep as you adjust your eyes to the growing white light of freshly fallen snow outside the French doors captivating the room. The clock reads a time far to early to fathom wakefulness, but you oblige when his arm snake around your frame, pulling you from slumber and into the bathroom.

Steam surrounds you, as he fills the tub with lavender salts. You sit perched on the vanity, watching him work in silence. His sweatpants hang low on his waist, the muscles of his back flexing with each movement. He is a delicious sight, a captivating need, and a impeccable dream. And when he approaches you, consuming your space with his presence, you fall at his grace as he undresses you, guiding you into the bath. You inhale as warm water envelopes you in comfort, easing against him as he sits behind you, holding you close.

It is not to long before you settle in the kitchen. An cheeky oversized Christmas sweater covers your frame. Your face is enveloped by your hair, eyes an ignited rich brown. It is a dull yet pleasant Christmas thus far. Soft chatter about the game from the night before flows between you and you lover, the occasional claims excitement of opening gifts once Jora is awake and fed. Joe stands across from you dressed in an grey hoodie, masking him in a snug embrace. And you watch the way he speaks, eyes animated, browns furrowed when he speaks of discontented woes, and it takes a subtle pull on the waistband of his pants, before he arrives before you, legs spread as you jump onto the counter.

The taste of peppermint mocha is divine in your mouth, the waft of his black coffee pulling your from a drizzle of fatigue that settles in your bone. You smile as he succumbs to you, dropping his head lower, while at your height you gaze up at him endearingly. "I love you nine." You smile, chuckling as he kisses your jaw, teeth grazing a love bite from before. "I love you too, I love you alot."

And you kiss, slowly and softly, basking in each others comfort. Till a sound erupts from the baby monitor. Joe pulls you from your spot, hand engulfing yours as he leads you to the nursery.

And so, this Christmas morning, you sit underneath the lit tree. Naked limbs outstretched, surrounded by Joe's longer ones. His hands wrapped around your waist, lips brushing over your ear. Jora in your lap, as he smiles up in awe at the tree above him, belly full of milk.

"This is all I could ask for." Joe announces, pressing a kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering there as Jora lets out a squeal of delight. You smile, laughing softly, feeling Joe's nose against your hair, as his lips press another kiss to the side of your head. His fingers tickle the bottom of Jora's foot, who appears all the more elated.

"Maybe next year, we'll be here again. With a little sister for your little man." You turn your head abruptly, meeting an eager Joe, a smirk across his lips and those blue eyes once again filled with admiration. He kisses you sweetly, his fingers now underneath your sweater, mindlessly toying with your soft skin. And when your foreheads rest against each other, the peace of this Christmas so tender, the hazy passion of becoming one from the hours prior, he does nothing but fall intoxicated your presence, finding solace in the comfort of his wife and baby.

"I sure hope so mamas, I sure hope so."

[likehoneyandsilk]

Hold Me Close, Hold Me Tight

Hello there loves! Wanted to share one more little piece given it has been a while. Thank you again for the ongoing support and love to each and everyone of you. Lots of love and positive energy to you all! 💖

. . .

Jora sleeps soundly in your arms. His left cheek pressed against your breast. Those soft pink lips curled into the most petite smile. His belly full of milk. You watch him in his slumber, your little bubba perhaps dreaming of all elated pleasures in life. Tucked in his orange sleepsuit, cocooned within his cashmere blankie. A smile remains on your lips, heavy eyes in awe of this tiny human being that's kept you and your husband somewhat coherent during these last few withering weeks.

He sleeps in oblivion, in the sanctuary of his cordial nursery adorned with cartoon animals. Glowing stars across the ceiling his father placed precisely. The yellow hue of a tall lamp in the corner paints your golden boy gold. Breaking your gaze from Jora, your eyes traverse to the large window capturing Cincinnati beyond the suburbs you reside in. From this angle, you can see the twinkling orange lights of Paycor Stadium. The place was filled with exhilarating energy earlier today and quickly depleted as the Bengals fell to another loss.

The cinder block of disquiet settles on your chest, familiar to the one while you watched your husband frantically run a massage gun along his right calf. You recall the tears brimming your eyes as you recognized the sentiments pass across his face.

Frustration. Vexation. Annoyance. And defeat. Every failed throw. Each hit. Every missed opportunity. All of it raged inside his head. Too far to console his mind. Too far to hush the noises in his head. Far too many hours before he'd finally be home. You felt helpless sitting in front of the television, gripping Jora's teddy with all your power.

Your breath hitches, toes curling against the plush carpet as an icy feeling ripples through your veins. Darkness devours your vision as you shut your eyes. As if feeling his mother's abrupt change in aura, Jora moves within your arms. Your eyes fall open, the hasty motherly instinct forcing you to push aside your trepidations to tend to your sweet baby boy. He settles immediately at your velvety voice, tranquil and faint, but enough to calm his mind and lull him back to sleep. And before you know it, as the darkness outside wraps around the house, warmth from the carpet creeps into your toes, you rest your head back just for a mere second as drowsiness swallows you.

While you fade away, all you can think about is Joe.

It is just past 8:00 p.m. when the front door shuts gently. From the entryway, Joe can see the trail of yellow light peering from Jora's nursery from the story above. He drops his bag on the floor and clumsily removes his shoes before placing his keys in the nearby dish. With defying ease, he maneuvers the spaces within the main floor. He checks all the locks and windows, shutting stray lights off as he moves. Upon finishing, Joe lingers in front of the medicine cabinet for a painkiller. His body, battered and bruised, aches. He wishes for nothing more but your embrace and Jora's soft skin pressed to his cheek. Suddenly, amidst the failure and vexed calf, Joe realizes he's missed Jora's bedtime again.

His large hands run through his shorter hair, pulling at the ends as he sighs. He feels like he's sinking. Estranged because of his limited time with his four-month-old. A messy beginning of a season. And the unwavering desire to support his wife as you navigate through motherhood. Rolling his head a few times and stretching out his arms, he slides the black Nike hoodie from the nearby couch over his head. His phone buzzes and he curses under his breath, setting a mental reminder to shut it off after this. A link to his post game conference stands out amongst the blue bubble. With one tap, Joe's ears fill with the sound of his own voice and his eyes witness the tired state he fought past to get out of Paycor as soon as possible.

Impatiently dismissing the rest of the visual of what he did hours ago, Joe throws his phone onto the loveseat nearby, making his way up to stairs towards the nursery. Soft and steady, halting after every few steps to give himself a break while holding back a frustrated groan. It feels like Mount Everest when he's made it to the top. As he rests his head against the wall outside Jora's partly open door, he takes a deep breath, counting to ten in hopes of alleviating his mind. It doesn't do much, but his heart settles at the sight before him.

Jora sleeps peacefully within his mother's embrace, the sling keeping him in place. He's quiet and safe, head tilted towards you, his tiny little hand grasping a strand of hair. And then there's you. Joe's serenity. His respite. His everything.

He's quiet as he approaches you. His long strides imperceptible. The sound of your breathing, steady rise and fall of your chest comforts his mind. Joe debates placing Jora in his crib and carrying you to bed, but his heart fights back as his eyes fall to Jora, innocently asking his father to hold him in his sleep.

Joe runs the back of his hand endearingly over your cheek. It's pink, sand warm against his touch. The lamp light trickles over your skin, draping over you in gold. Your hair has its evient shine, the curls loose. Goosebumps litter your skin against your forearms. Your eyebrows crease slightly, those big brown eyes opening as sleep flees your body. You shudder, the realization that you're merely in your white satin night slip, the fabric doing nothing to keep you warm. As your vision adjusts and you resolve back to your senses, your space fills with the familiar scent of eucalyptus shampoo.

"Hey, mama." His voice is soft, almost inaudible and you crane your neck, meeting those blue-grey eyes. His presence transmits a wave of warmth up your spine, calming some tension as he leans down, wrapping his fingers within your long dark strands and kissing you with such delicacy you feel yourself melting.

"Hi," you whisper, skimming the word past his lips that hold no desire to separate from you. Carefully, you hand Jora into his protective arms, advancing to stretch your rigid limbs.

"Hey buddy, dadda's home." You beam, your heart welling as Joe's stiff body unwinds ever so slightly, a small smile appearing on his lips, which you presume was last seen hours ago.

Joe holds Jora with such fragility as a relieved sigh vacates his body. His eyes soften at his sleeping son, mumbling apology after apology for missing his bedtime. Squeezing Joe's bicep in return as a measure of reassurance. You refrain from intervening more, knowing very well that Joe had called you post-game, frustration and gloom apparent in his voice as he lumbered towards his conference. He'd wanted nothing more than to come home to his family. Against his wishes, duty called, and you persuaded him with the utmost motivation, watching a few minutes later as he remained poised and courteous, despite the longing for home in his eyes. Jora leans into his father as Joe presses his lips to his forehead with tenderness. You brush your hand across Joe's arm as he tells Jora he loves him. And you leave them be, letting your husband relish in the tranquility of your baby.

Forty-five minutes later, you hear his footsteps proceed down the stairs. The diffuser in the corner of the living room carries a faint hum. It fills the air with lemon, juniper berry, and black spruce. A cotton blanket rests over your bare limbs, your upper body secluded within a silk robe, the ties hanging loose. Much to your dismay, you feel fatigue, rebelling sleep as you wait. Your fingers skim over the unread pages of the novel in your hand, and you tuck it away as Joe enters your peripheral vision. You rise, patting the space your head occupied, long hair falling over your shoulder now exposed as the robe slips off your smooth skin. His silhouette creates pictures on the wall against the dim lights encapsulating your bodies in a homely glow.

Joe drops to the couch with a muffled groan, his body immersing into the cushion as he closes his eyes. You carefully adjust yourself next to him, cautious not to worsen any more bruises that already hurt. You examine his face, distant and near all at once. His eyes closed, long lashes falling against his cheeks. His jaw clenches in torment.

In hopes to ease the frenzy running in his head, your fingers dance over his cheek, as if freeing the tensity. He takes a cavernous breath, opening his eyes as he wills himself to surrender to your touch, turning to face you, and suddenly everything is serene. All the discomfort. All his affliction, Every inch of frustration yields as he gazes at his muse.

The familiar look of profound worry etches in your equally tired eyes. Joe wishes to replace that look with the cheerful, vibrant glow he knows well. You purse your lips as you lean into him, muttering words of endearment he hardly registers.

"Talk to me nine, let me inside."

It appears more like a plea than a command, a reminder that Joe, regardless of his strengths and intelligence, needs a portal to pour his woes into. Somebody to hold him. Love him. Remind him of all the rationale when all else feels frantic. You pull the blanket onto his long legs, resting your head against his chest so gently you barely hear the thumping of his heart. His arm cascades around your waistline, fingers trifling with the lacey ends of your night slip. His lips press to the top of your head, inhaling your fragrance, lingers of Jora's scent, decompressing further against the couch because he knows it's just you and him now. With Jora sleeping above, the white noise from his room filtering in over the baby monitor.

He's safe and sound.

He's home.

You blink a few times, nuzzling your nose into the crook of his neck. As he gathers his thoughts you pepper kisses on his neck, light and airy, letting your breath fan over his skin. And you wait, patiently wait, until he's ready.

Finally he speaks.

"The whole world feels like it's watching me screw up. Every decision feels rushed. I feel different, lost if anything, thoroughly confused". You gulp, drawing stars along his free hand that rests in his lap, giving him space to think and resume. It's a sign you're ready waiting for more, so he opens his mouth to speak again.

"All that money". He pauses, letting out an airy laugh that looms over your head mockingly. His fingers linger on your skin, pulling the flimsy lace above the tattoo on your hip. You nod, the tickling sensation of your hair underneath his chin bringing his head lower, lips grazing over your hair smelling like coconut.

"The contract feels like it's hanging over my head. And why shouldn't it?" His voice is stern, fury articulated at himself as he scoffs in aggravation. You feel his muscles tense against your body. "I should be playing like a fucking perfectionist. But instead…"

The sentence remains incomplete as a shaky breath leaves his lips. It's silent for the next little while. You process your thoughts, doodling imaginary stars on his palm that rests wide open. He seeks words to describe the reflections in his brain, tracing the lines of the tattoo on you hip he has engraved in his brain. The hum of the diffuser persists, the dim lights encompassing you within your safe space. You shift against him, an uneasy flush of regret washing over you as he groans at your impulsive movement.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to." Joe shakes his head vigorously, presenting you with a boyish smile. "S'alright, don't worry." He holds your face in his hands, rubbing your cheeks with the pads of his thumb before leaning in for a kiss. It is firm, not soft like before, and within the ripples that surge through your body, you know it bears all the emotions he cannot fathom words for. He hoists your legs from under you, grunting as he lays you flat on the couch before towering over you. Before you can oppose, call claim to the bruises and his calf, he parts his lips from yours, resting his forehead against yours in submission knowing very well the concern running through your head. You lock eyes for a split second, carefully searching for any sign of relief in his. Your hands intertwine briefly, until Joe falls next to you, the blanket long forgotten as it descends to the ground.

Your cheeks burn under his touch as he rests his palm against it. You draw in a quivering breath, bringing a delicate hand underneath his clothing, and connect with his skin. Trailing over every pane and defined muscle as if to obliterate all the reminders of today.

"Nothing makes much sense right now." You nod, fighting back tears as your husband pours his heart to you. "Nothing makes sense but you and Jora."

Your eyes close as his fingers dance in your hair. You digest and taste every word, every act of affection. You permit him control where he can.

"I need to think through what I need to do next. The cost of my body and sanity, I can't. . . " His words trail off into a whisper, as he envisions the inevitable decisions he must make as the sun ascends tomorrow. Sacrifice out of a selfish desire to prove his worth, or take one for himself, his team, and most significantly, his family. All while listening to his body.

Joe's hand feverishly draws you close, tugging at your robe. His large palms, calloused from today, find residence against your honey-like skin, beneath the fabric separating your bare body from his loving lips.

"You don't have to know now what you want to do. What you need to do". Your fingers dance idly in his hair, thumbs rubbing away the tension in his temples.

He listens intently to your words, eyes following every so often to your lips. "That said, Jora and I will never judge you for your job. You're an amazing father and husband. You do the most when you can only do so much."

And before you can speak any further, you find the words stuck in your throat as you hold back a hopeless cry. "And Joe, I wish you could see how much grace you give others. If only you could do the same for your own sake." You draw back your hand from him, wiping away the sole tear obscuring your vision.

Something seems to click in him then. In all of the years you've spent in similar positions, one anchoring the other back to the ground, it's always a few words laced with love, depth, and admiration that seem to bring all distress to tranquillity.

The remotest of space closes between you as your lips near, your lashes fluttering against his skin while his hands work their way down your body. The robe slips off your skin, the warmth replaced by all the heat Joe radiates. He hovers above while your arms wrap around his torso. You inhale his scent, feeling those silky strands tickle your neck as he dips toward you, holding you as if you'll perish away.

"Some losses, mistakes, and sloppy plays don't define your worth. It's how you come back from these moments like you have numerous times before." Hushed whispers from lips as your body shudders. Your eyes close in splendor, the warmth bubbling through you riveting at his proximity. His teeth graze over the delicacy of your neck, drawing an impatient sigh from within you, sending chills down his spine because for once today he feels in control.

"I believe in you nine". Your voice is like velvet, dripping with sweetness and sincerity. A well-fought whimper escapes from within you, as he gently presses his teeth against your skin. You feel the expected warmth ripple in your core, the eruption of a million butterflies fluttering uncontrollably inside you. Drawing back his head from your neck, he holds his gaze with yours, easing ever so gracefully into your touch as you guide his lips closer to you, letting his weight drop with caution against you. His clothes are warm and soft against any of your bare skin, seeping through the silk.

Joe mutters against your skin as he slowly works his lips and hands down your body, stopping at your sternum as you resist the urge to raise your hips off the couch. His body needs rest, much deserved rest. And you know he's relying on his left leg to make his rounds on you. Your knees bend impulsively as his large hands ride up your legs, travelling underneath the slip. You gulp as he nears you again, breath fanning over your face, the remnants of mint sending you in a haze. "Joe . . . " His name comes out flushed, a plea to ease himself and leave it be. "Thank you." Two words, simple yet effective. A notion that says you've gotten past the barrier in his head.

Unable to speak, you nod while cupping his cheek. He leans into your caress. "I don't know what I would do without you."

"I love you." You release a relieved sigh, all the pent-up uncertainty soothing out of you as Joe places one final kiss following his words on your jaw. His hips press into yours and for a brief second, as you release a lovely whimper, you think he'll take you all the way despite your worries. But you both know it ends here. You'll hold each other tonight. Heal one another with embrace.

"I love you nine." You whisper when you've found solace within his arms, the straps of your dress lowered as he presses one faint kiss to your shoulder. "I love you so much." He relishes in your affirmation, enveloping you against him. Shielding you from the fears he holds beyond. Protecting you, protecting Jora from all that may disturb the peace hanging over your heads right now.

And when your breathing settles, the pink tinge calms on your face, and your eyes fight more sleep, because you haven't debriefed the game or asked about his calf. Yet Joe finds the last little peace he needs to rest tonight. As sleep consumes you, his fingers drafting spirals over the skin on your back, with your hair hanging loose, Skin littered with the reminders of him, Joe smiles.

It's all clear now. It's always clear with you.

[likehoneyandsilk]

Ease My Mind

Seldom did Joe lose his serene and composed demeanor. At least not outwardly. It periodically became easier to notice the shift, the sway in his everyday presence. As July rolled in, when the weeks passed in a haze, hot summer heat idle in the air, you observed as your lover lumbered through another day without a vocal complaint. It was the soft sighs, slouching shoulders, tender muscles, and tired eyes repeatedly finding salvage between your arms. Within your grasp, lips pressed against your chest and silky strands brushing underneath your chin, was where he felt most at peace, the voices in his head muted.

It was uncanny, you thought, sitting at the edge of the tub as Joe leaned back, body immersed in an ice bath. Uncanny that a season like Summer symbolizing warmth and positivity became such a dreadful time for him. The pressure he placed on himself tormented, gravely demeaning. It was times like this when the expectations from himself and the public, the desire to perform beyond optimal perfection, settled deep into his soul, rattling his bones, and forcing him past even his own lengthy limits. He was never unrestrained from his job. Instead, he was entirely devoted and enthroned till his very last game. Till the final call, the end of an era belonging to Cincinnati’s golden boy.

When February ended, and March peeked into your lives, it was bliss. You gave Joe grace for a few weeks to wrap his mind around another completed season and permit him time to heal and redeem his emotions. By late February he’d recomposed, football aside, and you both played house. From hometown trips, aimless drives, mid-day chatter, and the ever-so-thrilling nights in bed. The following months leading up to this moment, when the kisses and embraces became more compassionate, the moments held fragile, and the memories of another off-season taunting.

And today as you sat before him, watching dawn grace his face golden yellow, concealing those electric blue eyes, you could not help but feel a twinge of guilt. Off-season despite its bliss, signified more acknowledged time apart. It was easier during the season to work, share meals, take evenings in, lazy mornings in bed on off days, spend your weekends cheering him on, road trips, and fancy team dinners. Any moment together was treasured, the routine ironically steady. But now you pondered if a phone call to the hospital would suffice the turmoils in your stomach. A harmless sick day, an opportunity to play hooky, a chance to pull Joe away from his mind. Your feet moved before the gears in your brain, and within seconds you managed to escape the tiring but rewarding 12 hours ahead, to instead look after your lover.

Upon returning to the bathroom, you met with those captivating blue eyes. Joe smiled at you softly, eyes glancing over your frame. His voice barely audible as he muttered a “Hey you”. Some mornings were brief. He’d catch your lips in a rush, pulling the hem of an oversized shirt covering your body closer precipitously. His hands would find your waist, consuming your senses in just a few seconds, till you’d split, forced to conquer your days. He missed the feel of you against him, the hours spent keeping each other warm, and his ears sought the medley you’d spill from within, only made for him. But his muscles were sore, his legs throbbing, and when he had you alone he selfishly craved your nursing. Familiar hands massaging every aching spot, lips pressing pleasant kisses to sections of pain, and those loving eyes he prayed to call his forever laced with concern before he’d dismiss your mind, venture to revoke the fear in your voice, drive away all worry and pull you into sleep with him, holding you close as if to persuade you he was well.

And as you lay next to him, watching him drift away, observing the crease between his brows resolve and his chest rise and fall with tiresome depth, you knew he was attempting to convince himself.

This morning, however, he noted the relaxation in your stride. His gaze observed as you sat near him, pulling your long hair back before those angelic eyes inched closer, and you pressed your lips to his dearly. The water shifted, barely jumping at the contact of his cold and wet hand against the warm skin of your neck until another held you in place, securing your bare legs, thick fingers pressing into your skin. He groaned as your part, a lazy smile on your lips. The hem of your shirt was wet, water trickling down your neck. Joe’s profound chest was littered with droplets, shimmering against the ray of dawn. You placed your forehead against his, closing your eyes as the feel of his hands crept closer to your bottom. He muttered incoherent remarks at the first feel of thin lace. Before he could pull you in, you spoke.

“What time is practice?” your voice was sweet, almost hushed. His head fell back, a desolate sigh leaving his lips. The room fell quiet again. You placed your lips against his neck, painting a pathway of gentle kisses to his jaw. “Around noon.” His fingers tugged the thin material covering your body, distressed hands longing to have his way. Pulling away, you nodded, your eyes wandering to the large window behind you. The sun was barely up, and Joe had finished an early morning workout already. “Well then,” You faced him again, reaching for a towel on the vanity, holding it out for him. “Better get you some breakfast.”

The house was beginning to glow as the sun inched steadily above the horizon. The white walls became yellow, the hardwood floors shining. The aroma of coffee engulfed Joe’s senses as he made his way down the stairs toward the kitchen. He found you assembling freshly toasted frozen waffles on a plate, dousing them with savory syrup. Before he could protest or retreat from anything outside of his strict diet, you spoke.

“Not today Burrow, one sugary breakfast won’t hurt you.” You motioned to the coffee cups as you lead him to the balcony, nudging the large French doors open with your foot, setting the plates before both of you on the table, as you relaxed into the patio couch. Joe took a hearty bite of a waffle, mouth overcome with sweetness and delight. But nothing matched the pacifying look in your eyes when he turned to face you. “Told you,” you whispered, a smile lurking on your lips. You both ate in silence for a moment, watching the day come alive before you. Finally, Joe spoke aloud, his arm circling your waist.

“Don’t you have work today?” He asked, confusion spreading over his face. He toyed with the hem of your shirt, tips of his fingers daring to graze skin. “No, I called in,” you declared simply, watching as the furrow between his eyebrows became apparent. “I want to spend the day with you.” You added, extending your leg over him, placing your weight on his large thighs. Your hands ran up his neck, as you bent towards him, lips barely apart. “I want to look after you today.” You whispered, exploring his eyes for a sign of solace. “Y/N you didn’t have to …”

Joe admired your drive and passion for your profession. He was in awe of your selfless nature to look after others day and night. During the season you put aside your career some weeks to help him focus, support him and be present with him. And he despised pulling you away from what you loved and did best. “I know, trust me I know, but I want to calm down whatever it is going on in here.” Your voice was an analgesic, and your fingers recovery as they ran through his hair, stroking his scalp. He fell loose before you, allowing you to take authority as you kissed him. His body settled beneath your touch. Your hands ran up his arms which had grown over the last few weeks, along his torso which was more firm. And as your chest pressed against his, your hair falling to frame his face, the taste of syrup and coffee filling his mouth, he guided you underneath him. His calloused restless hands found residence beneath your shirt, feeling the panes of your back as Joe released his weight gently onto you. Your hips pushed against his, a gasp escaping your lips when those blue eyes flashed before you, the larger man practically crawling down your body.

Despite the yearning, regardless of the butterflies in your stomach, you withdrew, mumbling a breathless “Wait”, the tips of your digits pushing into his broad shoulders. “Not yet,” you whimpered, sighing. You swiped the sole curl on his forehead aside as he fell next to you, face nestled into your neck. “Not yet.” You whispered, feeling his lashes flutter against you, the silent consolation when he found your skin underneath fabric again, legs entangling with yours. The pleasure he desired was not a remedy for easing his mind. And while you held him, grazing your fingers through his hair, you observed as his body rose and fell steadily. And as the day awoke, Joe slept within your arms, and you didn’t dare wake him till just before noon.

The sun was fully awake as you stood on the sidelines of Paycor Stadium. The sky above you a vivacious blue, not a cloud in sight. You watched Joe run drills with the team. Those long muscular legs were quick and fast. Daring blue eyes hyper-focused. And every throw was meticulous, as the football spun seamlessly into the hands of his receivers. His orange jersey brought out the tan in his skin which glistened underneath the heat.

As the whistle blew for a water break, Joe permit himself to look at you. When you followed him to the car this morning, any dread of practice seeped through him when you declared you would join. And now, as you stood a few steps away, engaged in polite conversation with the training staff, Joe pulled his ears from the banter amongst his teammates, tuning their voices out, and found serenity at the sight of you.

It was a challenge not to fixate on you during drills, knowing in the back of his mind, from the corner of his eyes that the pretty girl in the blue sundress with tiny daisies was his girl. The sun gleamed down on your rich skin, hair loose, blowing slightly with the soft breeze. White cheeky heart-shaped sunglasses rested atop your head. Your cheeks were rosy from the heat and that pretty smile on your pink lips filled him with warmth greater than the scorching heat as you listened intently to your speaker. Far too mesmerized, Joe barely heard the whistle blow near him. It wasn’t until Coach Taylor yelled his name demanding his attention, followed by the snicker of his teammates as they glanced back at their quarterback’s weakness did he ultimately draw his eyes from you, but not until catching sight of a reassuring smile you sent his way.

In another two hours, you had sought shade in the tunnel watching as practice concluded. As the men made their way off the green grass, some stopping to embrace you, you watched Coach Taylor pull Joe aside. At first, his broad shoulders seemed to tighten, those fine lips pursed, but then as the words left the Coach’s mouth you watched him ease back into comfort. The pair approached you then, anticipation bubbled as a glistening Joe headed straight for you. “Joe is excused from media obligations today Y/N.” You smiled at Coach Taylor as he sent you a wink, bidding you both well.

Your chest rose and fell prominently as Joe stood before you. Your fingers intertwined with his as your backside depressed against the firm wall. “I don’t know what you did, but thank you.” The skin of his cheeks and forehead was sunkissed, the redness evident, and his baby blue eyes more luminous outside. The hair atop his head was messy, which he pushed back with his hand. With weary eyes Joe scanned near and far, before resting a hand over your head, bending down to press a grateful kiss to your lips. His right knee lightly pushed against your thigh, the edge of your little sun dress lifting dangerously higher. Your mind felt foggy, swamped with the fragrances of sweat, grass, and remnants of his cologne. Your arms wrapped around his neck, trying to reach his height as you stood on your toes, practically falling into him. And you didn’t pull back, not until a stream of whistles emerged from nearby. Joe laughed as he walked back into the locker room, turning to find your cheeks blushed, pulling the sunglasses over your eyes.

The house was silent, except for the sounds of soft breaths, the pages of your novel turning as your eyes skimmed over words, and the scratch of Joe’s pen against paper. The sun was beginning to descend below the horizon, the sky outside a canvas of cotton candy pink. The sound of Joe’s heartbeat filled your ears, as you lay your head on his chest, meshed into the couch. Much to your dismay, Joe was distracted with an article on his play. The writer critiqued his form, speed, and resilience. You listened as his heart quickened, frustration evident as he shifted uncomfortably against you. He obsessively underlined phrases and lines, reading over and over what this foreign man claimed he needed to improve. Unable to take it anymore you shifted, your weight no longer pulling into him and he forced his eyes away, a sudden panic as you stood up. Your novel fell in your spot on the couch, unfazed as you lost your page. “Put it away, please, for your sanity just put it away.” Joe watched as the familiar fear clouded your eyes. 

There were only so many times he could play dumb.

Circling your hand around his, you gestured for him to join you. Trailing behind you like a lost puppy, he watched your fingers skim as you flipped light switches, the house becoming dark as did the sky, a sleek dark blue. Reaching the bathroom, you pressed your palms into Joe’s chest, pushing him back towards the vanity. He watched as you filled the tub with warm water, the steam rising. You made your way effortlessly through the bathroom depositing rose and lavender Epsom salts into the water. Finally, when the tub was full, the waft of rose and lavender swallowing him, you came closer, your dainty fingers falling to his gray cotton shorts. Your fingers danced through the strings, loosening them as your hands slid up higher, pulling the black shirt over his head. Your eyes never met his, but he kept his on you, watching as the concern laced your features, tears threatening to spill.

“I want you to get in.” your voice was hushed, sending a shiver down his spine as he nodded, forcing his hands away from your waist as you turned without a glimpse. The door shut behind you, and you lingered, holding your breath till you heard the water shift, his relieved sigh loud as you imagined him descending into the water. After a few minutes of solitude, you knocked, peaking your head into the bathroom, catching Joe in utopia, head back, eyes closed as the warmth around soothed every muscle, each nerve, and delighted his skin. Quietly you sat next to him, your hips in alignment with his head. 

His eyes opened at the first feel of your touch and closed almost immediately. Loving hands massaged his shoulder, your palms outlining the pane of his collarbone, gracing his back, watching as he tensed and eased back into you. Dipping your hands into the water, you brought them back up, running your fingers through his scalp, washing away the scents reminding you of locker room shampoo. You worked quietly, shifting to press your hands into any exposed skin, bringing his arms to rest against your bare thighs as you relieved each knot, every tense form.

His eyes opened as his head fell against your stomach, his large hands closing around yours resting on his bare chest. The silence was comfort. The night had become cool, the floor beneath your feet icey. “What is it that’s on your mind?” He shifted against you, a sigh following a long pause. “What if I’m not good enough? What if I let everyone down again?” You purse your lips at these words, scouring for the right things to say as your head dipped lower in gloom. “You’re always going to think you need to do better. And whether you see it or not, you are better, every year. A trophy doesn’t prove your worth.” You hovered your hand underneath his chin, pulling his head back as you grazed your lips over his. He kissed you feverishly. “You just have to remind yourself you are getting better. It isn’t fair to not love and appreciate yourself the way you do others.” His features softened, eyes fading into realization. 

As he fell back into you, your hold tighter, you whispered into his ear, pressing your lips against it as if to seal the deal. “You play the game for a living, but you can’t live to play. There will always be someone to tell you that you aren’t better, but if you choose to listen and drive yourself into suffering when instead you can use it to build yourself soundly, I can only speculate how your mind would ease.” For a few more minutes you held him, listening to the sound of his breathing as his eyes stared out into the darkness, your words shifting in his brain.

And as you started the shower, pressing a loving kiss to his lips, you left the bathroom, retreating back to settle your own mind.

When you entered the bedroom again he sat against the headboard, long legs hanging off the bed, feet planted firmly on the ground, and a sober look on his face. Wordless, he reached for you, drawing you near, your legs draping over his thick-toned thighs, skin unveiled as his shorts rose higher. “You’re right Y/N.” The two simple words lingered between you, the concern in your eyes overcome with endearment. You pressed your lips into the crook of his neck, cheek resting on his shoulder as your arms wrapped around him. You breathed in the smells of rose and lavender, your brain fuzzy and stomach filling with butterflies. His fingers danced in your hair, an arm draped across your waist holding you close. “Lean back Joe.” he groaned ever so softly as you pulled away, in search of what it is you needed. 

He watched through heavy lustful eyes as you rummaged through the drawers, smiling as you pulled a pain relief oil from one. “Tell me where it hurts.” The room was dim, and as your bodies made shadows on the walls, the glow warm, your eyes glistening before him, Joe obeyed, guiding your hand to his left thigh. Sitting before him on your knees, settled between his outstretched legs, he gulped as you raised his shorts higher, heat rushing to your cheeks as the oil you rubbed between your palms met his thigh, fidgeting underneath your tedious hands. Slowly you made your way through every painful location, and as you pulled the his shirt over his head, your own eyes heavy, you beckoned to switch spots, settling behind him, drawing circles into the panes of his back, up his spine and down his biceps. And with every ease of pain, every delicate touch of love, he fell deeper in love if possible.

He listened as the water ran in the shower, waiting for you as the effects of the oil seeped into his muscles. For the first time in days he felt free. For the first time in days he didn’t dread tomorrow. And as you opened the door, eyes catching his, you made you way back to him hesitantly, afraid to inflict more pain. “There you go, that’s better.” You chuckled at his teasing remarks, cheeks crimson as your core met his thigh, his hands pulling the lace robe off your body, revealing white lace in the most intimate of spots.

“Thank you for today, and everyday,” he whispered, bringing you down with him, rolling over to face you as you fell beneath him. You nodded, knowing slowly but surely Joe understood. Your fingers traced the brim of his nose, the outline of his lips before digging your fingers into the hem of his shorts. You shuddered as his hands inched higher up your thighs, his lips trailing from your lips, down your neck, and descending below your sternum.

You sunk further in bed, engulfed by the sheets as his hands got lost in your hair, trailed down your warm arms and cupped your cheeks as his teeth grazed your bottom lip. “I wish I could make you forget it all” you whispered, words dripping with sympathy. He nodded against you, “I know …, I know …”. Your heart fluttered as his hips pressed against yours, skin meeting skin as your bodies entangled. Cupping his face within your hands you halted him, watching those desperate eyes hold your gaze intently. “You’re more than enough nine”. You watched the calm wash over his face, pictured the wave of relief running through his mind. And you kissed him, drawing him from his woes, pulling him into another world, reminding him just how much you loved him. 

[likehoneyandsilk]

Hold Me Close, Hold Me Tight

Hello there loves! Wanted to share one more little piece given it has been a while. Thank you again for the ongoing support and love to each and everyone of you. Lots of love and positive energy to you all! 💖

. . .

Jora sleeps soundly in your arms. His left cheek pressed against your breast. Those soft pink lips curled into the most petite smile. His belly full of milk. You watch him in his slumber, your little bubba perhaps dreaming of all elated pleasures in life. Tucked in his orange sleepsuit, cocooned within his cashmere blankie. A smile remains on your lips, heavy eyes in awe of this tiny human being that's kept you and your husband somewhat coherent during these last few withering weeks.

He sleeps in oblivion, in the sanctuary of his cordial nursery adorned with cartoon animals. Glowing stars across the ceiling his father placed precisely. The yellow hue of a tall lamp in the corner paints your golden boy gold. Breaking your gaze from Jora, your eyes traverse to the large window capturing Cincinnati beyond the suburbs you reside in. From this angle, you can see the twinkling orange lights of Paycor Stadium. The place was filled with exhilarating energy earlier today and quickly depleted as the Bengals fell to another loss.

The cinder block of disquiet settles on your chest, familiar to the one while you watched your husband frantically run a massage gun along his right calf. You recall the tears brimming your eyes as you recognized the sentiments pass across his face.

Frustration. Vexation. Annoyance. And defeat. Every failed throw. Each hit. Every missed opportunity. All of it raged inside his head. Too far to console his mind. Too far to hush the noises in his head. Far too many hours before he'd finally be home. You felt helpless sitting in front of the television, gripping Jora's teddy with all your power.

Your breath hitches, toes curling against the plush carpet as an icy feeling ripples through your veins. Darkness devours your vision as you shut your eyes. As if feeling his mother's abrupt change in aura, Jora moves within your arms. Your eyes fall open, the hasty motherly instinct forcing you to push aside your trepidations to tend to your sweet baby boy. He settles immediately at your velvety voice, tranquil and faint, but enough to calm his mind and lull him back to sleep. And before you know it, as the darkness outside wraps around the house, warmth from the carpet creeps into your toes, you rest your head back just for a mere second as drowsiness swallows you.

While you fade away, all you can think about is Joe.

It is just past 8:00 p.m. when the front door shuts gently. From the entryway, Joe can see the trail of yellow light peering from Jora's nursery from the story above. He drops his bag on the floor and clumsily removes his shoes before placing his keys in the nearby dish. With defying ease, he maneuvers the spaces within the main floor. He checks all the locks and windows, shutting stray lights off as he moves. Upon finishing, Joe lingers in front of the medicine cabinet for a painkiller. His body, battered and bruised, aches. He wishes for nothing more but your embrace and Jora's soft skin pressed to his cheek. Suddenly, amidst the failure and vexed calf, Joe realizes he's missed Jora's bedtime again.

His large hands run through his shorter hair, pulling at the ends as he sighs. He feels like he's sinking. Estranged because of his limited time with his four-month-old. A messy beginning of a season. And the unwavering desire to support his wife as you navigate through motherhood. Rolling his head a few times and stretching out his arms, he slides the black Nike hoodie from the nearby couch over his head. His phone buzzes and he curses under his breath, setting a mental reminder to shut it off after this. A link to his post game conference stands out amongst the blue bubble. With one tap, Joe's ears fill with the sound of his own voice and his eyes witness the tired state he fought past to get out of Paycor as soon as possible.

Impatiently dismissing the rest of the visual of what he did hours ago, Joe throws his phone onto the loveseat nearby, making his way up to stairs towards the nursery. Soft and steady, halting after every few steps to give himself a break while holding back a frustrated groan. It feels like Mount Everest when he's made it to the top. As he rests his head against the wall outside Jora's partly open door, he takes a deep breath, counting to ten in hopes of alleviating his mind. It doesn't do much, but his heart settles at the sight before him.

Jora sleeps peacefully within his mother's embrace, the sling keeping him in place. He's quiet and safe, head tilted towards you, his tiny little hand grasping a strand of hair. And then there's you. Joe's serenity. His respite. His everything.

He's quiet as he approaches you. His long strides imperceptible. The sound of your breathing, steady rise and fall of your chest comforts his mind. Joe debates placing Jora in his crib and carrying you to bed, but his heart fights back as his eyes fall to Jora, innocently asking his father to hold him in his sleep.

Joe runs the back of his hand endearingly over your cheek. It's pink, sand warm against his touch. The lamp light trickles over your skin, draping over you in gold. Your hair has its evient shine, the curls loose. Goosebumps litter your skin against your forearms. Your eyebrows crease slightly, those big brown eyes opening as sleep flees your body. You shudder, the realization that you're merely in your white satin night slip, the fabric doing nothing to keep you warm. As your vision adjusts and you resolve back to your senses, your space fills with the familiar scent of eucalyptus shampoo.

"Hey, mama." His voice is soft, almost inaudible and you crane your neck, meeting those blue-grey eyes. His presence transmits a wave of warmth up your spine, calming some tension as he leans down, wrapping his fingers within your long dark strands and kissing you with such delicacy you feel yourself melting.

"Hi," you whisper, skimming the word past his lips that hold no desire to separate from you. Carefully, you hand Jora into his protective arms, advancing to stretch your rigid limbs.

"Hey buddy, dadda's home." You beam, your heart welling as Joe's stiff body unwinds ever so slightly, a small smile appearing on his lips, which you presume was last seen hours ago.

Joe holds Jora with such fragility as a relieved sigh vacates his body. His eyes soften at his sleeping son, mumbling apology after apology for missing his bedtime. Squeezing Joe's bicep in return as a measure of reassurance. You refrain from intervening more, knowing very well that Joe had called you post-game, frustration and gloom apparent in his voice as he lumbered towards his conference. He'd wanted nothing more than to come home to his family. Against his wishes, duty called, and you persuaded him with the utmost motivation, watching a few minutes later as he remained poised and courteous, despite the longing for home in his eyes. Jora leans into his father as Joe presses his lips to his forehead with tenderness. You brush your hand across Joe's arm as he tells Jora he loves him. And you leave them be, letting your husband relish in the tranquility of your baby.

Forty-five minutes later, you hear his footsteps proceed down the stairs. The diffuser in the corner of the living room carries a faint hum. It fills the air with lemon, juniper berry, and black spruce. A cotton blanket rests over your bare limbs, your upper body secluded within a silk robe, the ties hanging loose. Much to your dismay, you feel fatigue, rebelling sleep as you wait. Your fingers skim over the unread pages of the novel in your hand, and you tuck it away as Joe enters your peripheral vision. You rise, patting the space your head occupied, long hair falling over your shoulder now exposed as the robe slips off your smooth skin. His silhouette creates pictures on the wall against the dim lights encapsulating your bodies in a homely glow.

Joe drops to the couch with a muffled groan, his body immersing into the cushion as he closes his eyes. You carefully adjust yourself next to him, cautious not to worsen any more bruises that already hurt. You examine his face, distant and near all at once. His eyes closed, long lashes falling against his cheeks. His jaw clenches in torment.

In hopes to ease the frenzy running in his head, your fingers dance over his cheek, as if freeing the tensity. He takes a cavernous breath, opening his eyes as he wills himself to surrender to your touch, turning to face you, and suddenly everything is serene. All the discomfort. All his affliction, Every inch of frustration yields as he gazes at his muse.

The familiar look of profound worry etches in your equally tired eyes. Joe wishes to replace that look with the cheerful, vibrant glow he knows well. You purse your lips as you lean into him, muttering words of endearment he hardly registers.

"Talk to me nine, let me inside."

It appears more like a plea than a command, a reminder that Joe, regardless of his strengths and intelligence, needs a portal to pour his woes into. Somebody to hold him. Love him. Remind him of all the rationale when all else feels frantic. You pull the blanket onto his long legs, resting your head against his chest so gently you barely hear the thumping of his heart. His arm cascades around your waistline, fingers trifling with the lacey ends of your night slip. His lips press to the top of your head, inhaling your fragrance, lingers of Jora's scent, decompressing further against the couch because he knows it's just you and him now. With Jora sleeping above, the white noise from his room filtering in over the baby monitor.

He's safe and sound.

He's home.

You blink a few times, nuzzling your nose into the crook of his neck. As he gathers his thoughts you pepper kisses on his neck, light and airy, letting your breath fan over his skin. And you wait, patiently wait, until he's ready.

Finally he speaks.

"The whole world feels like it's watching me screw up. Every decision feels rushed. I feel different, lost if anything, thoroughly confused". You gulp, drawing stars along his free hand that rests in his lap, giving him space to think and resume. It's a sign you're ready waiting for more, so he opens his mouth to speak again.

"All that money". He pauses, letting out an airy laugh that looms over your head mockingly. His fingers linger on your skin, pulling the flimsy lace above the tattoo on your hip. You nod, the tickling sensation of your hair underneath his chin bringing his head lower, lips grazing over your hair smelling like coconut.

"The contract feels like it's hanging over my head. And why shouldn't it?" His voice is stern, fury articulated at himself as he scoffs in aggravation. You feel his muscles tense against your body. "I should be playing like a fucking perfectionist. But instead…"

The sentence remains incomplete as a shaky breath leaves his lips. It's silent for the next little while. You process your thoughts, doodling imaginary stars on his palm that rests wide open. He seeks words to describe the reflections in his brain, tracing the lines of the tattoo on you hip he has engraved in his brain. The hum of the diffuser persists, the dim lights encompassing you within your safe space. You shift against him, an uneasy flush of regret washing over you as he groans at your impulsive movement.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to." Joe shakes his head vigorously, presenting you with a boyish smile. "S'alright, don't worry." He holds your face in his hands, rubbing your cheeks with the pads of his thumb before leaning in for a kiss. It is firm, not soft like before, and within the ripples that surge through your body, you know it bears all the emotions he cannot fathom words for. He hoists your legs from under you, grunting as he lays you flat on the couch before towering over you. Before you can oppose, call claim to the bruises and his calf, he parts his lips from yours, resting his forehead against yours in submission knowing very well the concern running through your head. You lock eyes for a split second, carefully searching for any sign of relief in his. Your hands intertwine briefly, until Joe falls next to you, the blanket long forgotten as it descends to the ground.

Your cheeks burn under his touch as he rests his palm against it. You draw in a quivering breath, bringing a delicate hand underneath his clothing, and connect with his skin. Trailing over every pane and defined muscle as if to obliterate all the reminders of today.

"Nothing makes much sense right now." You nod, fighting back tears as your husband pours his heart to you. "Nothing makes sense but you and Jora."

Your eyes close as his fingers dance in your hair. You digest and taste every word, every act of affection. You permit him control where he can.

"I need to think through what I need to do next. The cost of my body and sanity, I can't. . . " His words trail off into a whisper, as he envisions the inevitable decisions he must make as the sun ascends tomorrow. Sacrifice out of a selfish desire to prove his worth, or take one for himself, his team, and most significantly, his family. All while listening to his body.

Joe's hand feverishly draws you close, tugging at your robe. His large palms, calloused from today, find residence against your honey-like skin, beneath the fabric separating your bare body from his loving lips.

"You don't have to know now what you want to do. What you need to do". Your fingers dance idly in his hair, thumbs rubbing away the tension in his temples.

He listens intently to your words, eyes following every so often to your lips. "That said, Jora and I will never judge you for your job. You're an amazing father and husband. You do the most when you can only do so much."

And before you can speak any further, you find the words stuck in your throat as you hold back a hopeless cry. "And Joe, I wish you could see how much grace you give others. If only you could do the same for your own sake." You draw back your hand from him, wiping away the sole tear obscuring your vision.

Something seems to click in him then. In all of the years you've spent in similar positions, one anchoring the other back to the ground, it's always a few words laced with love, depth, and admiration that seem to bring all distress to tranquillity.

The remotest of space closes between you as your lips near, your lashes fluttering against his skin while his hands work their way down your body. The robe slips off your skin, the warmth replaced by all the heat Joe radiates. He hovers above while your arms wrap around his torso. You inhale his scent, feeling those silky strands tickle your neck as he dips toward you, holding you as if you'll perish away.

"Some losses, mistakes, and sloppy plays don't define your worth. It's how you come back from these moments like you have numerous times before." Hushed whispers from lips as your body shudders. Your eyes close in splendor, the warmth bubbling through you riveting at his proximity. His teeth graze over the delicacy of your neck, drawing an impatient sigh from within you, sending chills down his spine because for once today he feels in control.

"I believe in you nine". Your voice is like velvet, dripping with sweetness and sincerity. A well-fought whimper escapes from within you, as he gently presses his teeth against your skin. You feel the expected warmth ripple in your core, the eruption of a million butterflies fluttering uncontrollably inside you. Drawing back his head from your neck, he holds his gaze with yours, easing ever so gracefully into your touch as you guide his lips closer to you, letting his weight drop with caution against you. His clothes are warm and soft against any of your bare skin, seeping through the silk.

Joe mutters against your skin as he slowly works his lips and hands down your body, stopping at your sternum as you resist the urge to raise your hips off the couch. His body needs rest, much deserved rest. And you know he's relying on his left leg to make his rounds on you. Your knees bend impulsively as his large hands ride up your legs, travelling underneath the slip. You gulp as he nears you again, breath fanning over your face, the remnants of mint sending you in a haze. "Joe . . . " His name comes out flushed, a plea to ease himself and leave it be. "Thank you." Two words, simple yet effective. A notion that says you've gotten past the barrier in his head.

Unable to speak, you nod while cupping his cheek. He leans into your caress. "I don't know what I would do without you."

"I love you." You release a relieved sigh, all the pent-up uncertainty soothing out of you as Joe places one final kiss following his words on your jaw. His hips press into yours and for a brief second, as you release a lovely whimper, you think he'll take you all the way despite your worries. But you both know it ends here. You'll hold each other tonight. Heal one another with embrace.

"I love you nine." You whisper when you've found solace within his arms, the straps of your dress lowered as he presses one faint kiss to your shoulder. "I love you so much." He relishes in your affirmation, enveloping you against him. Shielding you from the fears he holds beyond. Protecting you, protecting Jora from all that may disturb the peace hanging over your heads right now.

And when your breathing settles, the pink tinge calms on your face, and your eyes fight more sleep, because you haven't debriefed the game or asked about his calf. Yet Joe finds the last little peace he needs to rest tonight. As sleep consumes you, his fingers drafting spirals over the skin on your back, with your hair hanging loose, Skin littered with the reminders of him, Joe smiles.

It's all clear now. It's always clear with you.

[likehoneyandsilk]

Sugarplum Fairies and Sultry Nights

A little Christmas treat! Inspired by Hold Me Close, Hold Me Tight. Happy Holidays everyone ✨ - peace and love to you all. ❤️ (18+)

Each passing season burgeoned a new found enchantment in the stillness and frenzy of motherhood. In the early presence of Spring, you woke to helpless wails, the sound somewhat foreign and all too frightening. You would hold your precious little boy close, soothing away his discontent with a faint brush of your finger to his cheek, your heart settling as did his cries. As your weary eyes adjusted to frosted windows and glittering specks of trickling sunlight peeking in by noon, you would become painted in a glistening yellow hue. Sunlight bathed both you and Jora, as you breastfed, perched underneath the window in a rocking chair. You would watch his honey brown eyes wander your face as he embedded the beauty of his mother to mind.

Sleep overnight was scarce, your bundle of joy hungry and seeking the existence of his mother. Fatigue consumed you throughout Spring, Joe's tender touches helping you out of bed, his arms wrapped around your waist as he held your frame while Jora latched to your breast. You relished in the tranquility of Spring nights, your back pressed against your husband's, his long muscular legs cascading around yours, and his lips pressed to your ear, murmuring just how breathtaking of a mother you were.

And with Spring came the doubtful thoughts, all too encompassing fears of failing as a mother. When fatigue consumed you senselessly, limbs fragile and emotions shakeable, your lover held you close. Reminding you of the beauty of the life before you, basking you in the sunlight as Jora slept, guiding your eyes to the blossoming flowers. "You're blossoming," Joe would whisper, rubbing circles at the back of your hand, ushering away hiccuped cries and wiping away fearful tears. "Blossoming into the mother I know you can be."

By Summer, you had fallen into a dazed routine. Jora slept more soundly at night, the feedings less frequent. Instead of wailing cries, you woke to sunlight wafting through the French doors of your master bedroom. Body plush against the California King, scent of rich velvety coffee consuming your senses. The trailing fingers, tracing every stretch mark - a reminder of the golden boy laying in the nearby room - against your naked frame, engulfed in cotton sheets and ears filling with the chirping birds and the everlasting sweet innuendo's passing through your husband's lips.

Your eyes would open to the fleet of butterfly kisses against your cheek, the unhinged tracing of incoherent patterns separating your thighs, hovering touches to the lace concealing the sacred spot between your legs. And when his thick fingers would embed deep into the plush skin of your thighs, your chocolate brown eyes would meet his oceanic blue, a reminder that Summer brought upon a new wake in Joe - devoted entirely to you and your little family. It was the teasing remarks of growing your family, his "little man" needing a "little sister". You'd hush him with a kiss, pressing your body into his, inhabiting yourself against his large frame, fingers dancing in his luscious brown hair.

By Autumn, the outside world became painted in glories of muted orange, yellow, and red. The smell of cinnamon and spice graced every corner of the home, the candles casting ominous shadows of your little family. Nights became longer, mornings barely attainable as your lover would press a kiss to your forehead, pull the covers tightly over your frame, and leave before even a fraction of daylight graced the sky. In Autumn, you woke to the sounds of an alarm clock, limbs quickly moving to grace the honey brown eyes of your baby boy, who waited patiently in his crib, mumbling unintelligible nothings that brought you joy. The lingering woody scents of you Joe's perfume enveloping you and your baby boy in an embrace, a sentiment that he had been in the nursery, savouring any and all precious time with his golden boy this season.

And with Winter came a harsh storm of bitter cold and frozen wrath. Despite Joe's tremendous attempts to rewrite the course of the Bengals' season, he often fell short. Nights became lonesome as you lay in bed alone for hours, his end of the bed empty till his tired frame would enter the doorway, a disapproved and apologetic smile on his face as he recalled yet another missed bedtime, another missed night to hold his son, another missed moment to spend with his wife. But in all chaos that ensued, in all misfortunes that crossed his mind, he would fall to your embrace, wrapping his arms around you, seeking silent solace as you held him, fingers brushing into his hair, residual scents of your floral perfume and Jora's baby powder lulling him to serene.

Despite the limitations of his precious time, Joe would pull from your hold in the early wakes of day, when darkness devoured the sleeping sky, the faint sounds of your waking and hungry baby boy assimilating your jaded senses. It was the gentle mumbles of, "I got him, go back to sleep mamas", that would send you in a haze, the warmth of Joe's hand rubbing the small of your back. And when you did rise, you would follow the white light cascading in through the windows, toes curling against the carpet, and watch from the door of the nursery as Joe held his son, his chest bare, eyes heavy with sleep but filled with endearing love and infatuation. And ever so silently would you stand, heart swelling as his muscular arms held Jora, close to his bare chest, whispering gentle reminders of his love and future promises he swore to uphold.

And so, on this Christmas Eve night, as you stood in Jora's nursery, rocking him back and forth as he slept in your arms, you prayed he dreamt of sugarplum fairies and iridescent lights. You hummed a mindless Christmas tune, the delicacy of the sound drawing his mind and body back into a dreamy state. He was lost in peaceful bliss, snuggled against your breast, lips parted. Adorned in a cozy red onesie his grandmother knit him, the words First Christmas patched waywardly on the back.

The Bengals' had hosted the Browns' for a Christmas Eve special that ended in a spectacular win. Playoff hopes were kept alive yet again, the city an electric buzz of the impeccable Christmas miracle. Before settling Jora for the night, you pranced across the living room with him, his giggles filling the air as you pointed at the television. "There's daddy, baby, look! Daddy won!"

And although he had no clue what foreign words you spoke to him, his giggles proceeded, eyes bright and vibrant as he glanced at his joyous mother and reflections of his father on the big screen. He had taken an immense interest in the Christmas tree in the corner, brightly lit with twinkling yellow lights and ruby red ornaments. Each morning, when his mind was still at ease and the time on the clock slow, Joe held Jora firmly in his hold, watching as his tiny little arms outstretched towards the ruby red balls, grasping them in pure fondness. His babbles would fill the silent morning air, immensely absorbed in the twinkling lights, curious eyes dancing between the tree and his father's. It was next to the same tree, would Joe kiss you, pulling you firmly against him. Kisses this season had been bold and filled with love, a reminder that no matter the length of time spent apart, he yearned for you. And when you would release you, a smirk gracing his pink lips, satisfied with how easily he took your breath away, fingers grazing over the rouge on your flushed cheeks, would he turn to Jora, who often lay in his playpen. "Take care of your mom, alright buddy?"

It was a teasing tone, sealed with a kiss to Jora's cheek, and the profound, "Love you guys", as he would exit from the front door, leaving you standing, picking at the reminders of him throughout the day, from the remnants of his scent, to the last few sips of black coffee in his mug, and persistent sensation of his hands on your body.

Tonight, the front door opened as the clock struck quarter to midnight. You listened for the heavy yet quiet footsteps ascend up the stairs. Jora lay soundly before you in his crib now, unknowing to the arrival of his father. A large frame, a familiar shadow cast along the doorway, pulling your attention from one boy to the other. You smiled softly at the sight of Joe.

A tired yet pristine glow flashed across his face, hair a slightly messy yet undeniably soft from his post game shower. He smelt of locker room shampoo, nose slightly red from the cold outside. A crisp black shirt adorned his body, black jeans covering his thick legs. It took him two large strides to consume your space, hands seamlessly falling at your waist as he leaned towards you. The satin night slip did no justice keeping you warm, but his sudden arrival showered you in a warmth so tender and comforting. His right hand trailed upwards, finding resident in your hair, the ends of his thick digits soothing any lingering doubts in your mind.

"Great game nine." The affirming words, barely audible in your whispered tone crept past your luscious lips, your eyes meeting his with such a timid gaze. His hand dropped from your hair, trailing down your back, teasingly riding the frilly ends of your night slip higher, till he rested his hand on sliver of exposed supple skin of your rear. You blushed, nuzzling your head into his chest. Joe relaxed into your embrace, as your arms snaked around his neck, eyes closing when his lips pressed to your neck.

"Sure as hell needed it." He was quiet, careful not to wake Jora, but his voice was always hoarse and heavy after games, igniting a fire in your stomach that you could not deny. "Jora sleeping okay?"

When Joe pulled back, he did so briefly, stepping behind you as you both faced your baby boy. Carefully, Joe reached for Jora's smaller hand, his finger instantly becoming wrapped in the little hand. Joe relaxed into you, his chin resting along your shoulder, as he gazed at Jora, the slight guilt of missing his bedtime yet again evident across his baby blues. You nodded, silently assuring him. "Just fed him again, went to sleep quick."

Pulling your eyes from Jora, you turned, back pressed against the crib and chest millimetres from your husband. Underneath the yellow lamp light, you could make out the faint bruise along his the underside of his jaw. His eyes bore into yours, a heavy yet mischief smile on his lips. "I'll give you some with him." You tilted your head back to Jora, pressing a chaste kiss to Joe's cheek before fleeing his presence.

And while Joe became lost in Jora, escaped the constraints of the world and in tune with his sleeping baby boy, you washed away the day. The warm water of the shower basked your skin in a delightful cordiality. Standing before the mirror not to long after, bare and open, you gazed at the wonders of motherhood across your body. Fuller breasts, stretch marks across your body, and the undeniable glow of playing mommy. Before you stood a girl who was once so afraid to fail, that over a year ago, stood in the same position, whispering sweet promises to the growing baby in her belly.

And now, feeling heightened in the way you seemed to glimmer, embracing the beauty of motherhood, and in the spirit of Christmas, you flushed red as you dressed yourself in a sultry lingerie set, prepping your skin in a vanilla honey lotion you knew drove your husband senseless. You hoped to take his breath away, just as effortlessly he took yours.

Christmas Eve had long become Christmas Day when Joe returned to your shared bedroom. He found you sitting up in bed, resting your back against the headboard. The room smelt of lavender and honey, room warm as the humid heat that existed only after a shower traveled from the bathroom door. Tired yet intoxicating eyes met his, your chocolate brown orbs almost black in the dim light. He neared slowly, running a hand through his hair, agonizingly slow as if embedding this moment in his mind.

He often thanked his lucky stars he had found you. Not only was your heart and mind pure and full of love, it was the mere beauty that you upheld that often left him at a loss for words. Unequivocally, you made his heart skip a beat, left him speechless, and insensibly craving your attention and tender touches. Your voice, velvety and dulcet, emancipated his senses like no other. Skin rich and brown, your hair jet black and thick. It was unfathomable the way motherhood had only elevated the majestic beauty of your existence to your lover. The stretch marks, the way your breasts were tender and full, a newfound love in your eyes, and the mere intoxication he found himself in the way you cared for Jora.

And tonight, was no different.

You rose from bed slowly, standing firmly on your feet before meeting him halfway. His eyes raked over your body as you stood a few inches from him. face bare of any makeup, but long lashes framing those heavenly eyes. Cheeks rouge from the timidness you upheld, and the found courage to lead whatever you desired for the night. Hair falling along your back, the curls loose, but shining and inevitably soft. You had not bothered to adjust the satin white robe. It fell over your right shoulder, a teasing preview of the dark green lace that adorned your frame. The gold Cartier 9 necklace rested against your chest, a faded love bite peeking from underneath the robe.

"Merry Christmas Joe." The words leaving your lips came out breathless, a shaking reminder of what hovering thoughts crossed his mind seeing you like this. All exhaustion and pain consuming his soul, any sense of fatigue left his body as he neared you. He was gentle, lifting your chin with such ease, forcing your eyes to meet. His appeared restless, his eyes raking over your frame once more, a heartfelt sigh of content and mere infatuation causing his chest to flutter.

You kissed him first, the last picture washing through your mind of his lustful darkening pupils that were no longer oceanic blue. He was careful, easing you into a night of splendour. His lips molded against yours, igniting a thousand sparks in your core as his fingers wrestled with the ties holding your robe. The kiss was slow - steady - and when his tongue met yours, he caught you against him, savouring the tastes of mint toothpaste. He felt his lips curl into a smile against yours, before pulling back, granting you the air he deprived.

He undressed your slowly, wordlessly, his eyes growing larger and softer as he exposed every curvature and imperfection. The dark green lace concealed your most intimate spots, the colour exquisite against your skin. His fingers danced silently over you, tracing the outline of yours breasts, grazing down your stomach, eyes flashing to yours before lingering at the waistband of your panties.

Something as simple as his touch left a fire burning on your skin, an impatient yet endearing desire for him to take you all the way. Before he could proceed, just as his thick fingers nestled their way between your thighs, you pressed yourself against him, arms wrapping around his neck as he kissed you yet again, a chuckle leaving his lips at the way you burned against his touch. His hands rested at the small of your back, and it took a forbearing push to guide you backwards, your head meeting the pillows, his body hovering over yours.

You broke the captivating kiss, a groan escaping your lips at the sensation of him unclasping your bra. Before he could expose your chest entirely, he paused, his silence soon overcome with a desire that flashed over his eyes like no other. His thigh nestled between your legs, creating friction against your clothed lotus, your mind a frenzy as tempestuous warmth crept up your stomach.

For a few seconds, he watched the emotions pass through your eyes. Lust, greed, desire, and most of all impeccable infatuation. An unexplainable love, your hands resting against his face, pulling him close as he guided you through a high.

"You're the most beautiful girl in this world, you know that?"

Unable to speak you flushed, your face burning once again, hips impatiently lifting up, the action creating further friction as you slid up his thigh. His lashes fluttered against your neck, his teeth grazing sensitive skin. His hips pressed against your own. You moaned as the heat rose from you, the delicate fabric of lace concealing you pooling with wetness. His eyes found yours again, hands nestled around your waist as he held you still, commanding all attention on him. You chest rose profusely, lips trembling ever so slightly, hair sprawled underneath you. His finger brushed back a lonesome hair, a softness washing over his features, and for a fraction of a second you swore his eyes became a topaz blue you had never seen in all these years.

"I swear mamas, I keep falling for you. I want you for every Christmas I live to see." His finger brushed a single tear that escaped your right eye, the revelation filled with so much love and thought, your mind a senseless spree of a thousand emotions. His lips parted once more to speak, your hands no enveloping together.

"Merry Christmas baby, I love you so fucking much."

And with that flawless statement, filled with immense gratitude, love, and appreciation, he descended upon you. As his shirt was rid from his frame, he wallowed in your touch, hands brushing across every pane, every bruise. Skin to skin, you relished in the close proximity. And he kissed you with such delicacy, dreamy eyes meeting yours as you filled the air with faint moans, his name whispered endearingly surrounding him.

From your lips, to your neck, down to your chest. And then he freed you, your chest fully exposed, his lips pressing against tender skin. And you swore, you were convinced your head spun as he treated down your stomach, his digits tracing every scar and stretch mark, mumbling endearing terms of your beauty, invading your air and mind. The sheets were grasped within your nimble hands, faint whimpering and helpless trails of his name bouncing off the walls.

And you became one, as your panties were pulled down, achingly slow, and his lips finally on you. As you whiter against him, his arms firm around your hips, he sends you in a euphoric high. And you become one, a beautiful tangled mess, a united front.

And when morning comes, as you lay together as one, lingering scents of sex and sweet nuisances heavy in the air, he wakes you with such tranquility.

It is Christmas morning.

You lay as one, body pressed against body. His shirt covers your frame, cheeks still flush from the antics of last night. Silence consumes you both, his fingers tracing constellations on your hip. You desire nothing more but to sink further into the mattress, savouring the attendance of your lover.

"Jora's gonna wake soon, why don't we get up before he does?"

Joe's morning voice is captivating, pulling you from sleep as you adjust your eyes to the growing white light of freshly fallen snow outside the French doors captivating the room. The clock reads a time far to early to fathom wakefulness, but you oblige when his arm snake around your frame, pulling you from slumber and into the bathroom.

Steam surrounds you, as he fills the tub with lavender salts. You sit perched on the vanity, watching him work in silence. His sweatpants hang low on his waist, the muscles of his back flexing with each movement. He is a delicious sight, a captivating need, and a impeccable dream. And when he approaches you, consuming your space with his presence, you fall at his grace as he undresses you, guiding you into the bath. You inhale as warm water envelopes you in comfort, easing against him as he sits behind you, holding you close.

It is not to long before you settle in the kitchen. An cheeky oversized Christmas sweater covers your frame. Your face is enveloped by your hair, eyes an ignited rich brown. It is a dull yet pleasant Christmas thus far. Soft chatter about the game from the night before flows between you and you lover, the occasional claims excitement of opening gifts once Jora is awake and fed. Joe stands across from you dressed in an grey hoodie, masking him in a snug embrace. And you watch the way he speaks, eyes animated, browns furrowed when he speaks of discontented woes, and it takes a subtle pull on the waistband of his pants, before he arrives before you, legs spread as you jump onto the counter.

The taste of peppermint mocha is divine in your mouth, the waft of his black coffee pulling your from a drizzle of fatigue that settles in your bone. You smile as he succumbs to you, dropping his head lower, while at your height you gaze up at him endearingly. "I love you nine." You smile, chuckling as he kisses your jaw, teeth grazing a love bite from before. "I love you too, I love you alot."

And you kiss, slowly and softly, basking in each others comfort. Till a sound erupts from the baby monitor. Joe pulls you from your spot, hand engulfing yours as he leads you to the nursery.

And so, this Christmas morning, you sit underneath the lit tree. Naked limbs outstretched, surrounded by Joe's longer ones. His hands wrapped around your waist, lips brushing over your ear. Jora in your lap, as he smiles up in awe at the tree above him, belly full of milk.

"This is all I could ask for." Joe announces, pressing a kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering there as Jora lets out a squeal of delight. You smile, laughing softly, feeling Joe's nose against your hair, as his lips press another kiss to the side of your head. His fingers tickle the bottom of Jora's foot, who appears all the more elated.

"Maybe next year, we'll be here again. With a little sister for your little man." You turn your head abruptly, meeting an eager Joe, a smirk across his lips and those blue eyes once again filled with admiration. He kisses you sweetly, his fingers now underneath your sweater, mindlessly toying with your soft skin. And when your foreheads rest against each other, the peace of this Christmas so tender, the hazy passion of becoming one from the hours prior, he does nothing but fall intoxicated your presence, finding solace in the comfort of his wife and baby.

"I sure hope so mamas, I sure hope so."

[likehoneyandsilk]

Good Graces

A little late to the Thanksgiving game . . . ☺️ Nevertheless, here's something sweet. I am a bit rusty returning to writing, so feedback is appreciated as always. Enjoy! 💛 (18+)

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A serene quiet graced the home. The boisterous laughter and elated chatter had departed with the last of your guests. The lingering scents of cinnamon and firewood enveloped the home in warmth, a pleasant reminder of the meal shared with the most beloved of family and friends.

The lights had been dimmed throughout the house, casting shadows along the walls as you worked silently putting your house to bed. The leftovers had been packed, the pumpkin pie eaten, and the dishes had been loaded into the dishwasher. While Joe cleaned the kitchen counters, you worked across from him, tidying the rustic dinner table.

A few taper candles remained lit, wax dripping down their sides. Glass vases were spread in expanse all over the table, the light casting rainbows along their rims. In them, meticulously picked red and white flowers dipped their stems in water. An assortment of faded red, yellow and orange pumpkins had been placed amongst the decorations. You stacked the untouched china, working feverishly as if the slightest bit of strength may shatter them within your hands.

Too engrossed in your task, you had yet to notice the way your lover had become immune to anything else but you. Joe, in his ever so handsome state, leaned back against the exquisite white granite island counter. The tedious frosted tips of his hair no longer remained, a sign that Summer was long gone, and Winter only neared. His larger frame was adorned in a white cotton and wool shirt, which was now unbuttoned, exposing only his neck and the slightest of his chest.

There had been an ease to Joe tonight. The tempestuous season had taken a toll on him, leaving him awake many nights in bed, wondering where he had gone wrong. As the days grew shorter, so did his courage. The man held every ounce of pride in his craft, but beneath all the pressures and constraints tied to his name, there had arrived a time of epiphany - there was only so much within his control.

What he could control, was focusing on his wife, his newly wed bride whom he had eloped with in a small town during the Summer. His bride. His girl. You. After all the years spent together, all the years passed as you grew with each other, Joe was impatient to pair the engagement ring with a wedding ring.

For Joe, there was an undeniable simplicity with the domesticity of life with you. Beyond the fame and the outlandish lifestyle, he often desired the feel of a normal routine. It was in moments like this where you played house effortlessly.

It was in moments like this Joe seemed to forget all constraints and pressures that arrived with the expectations tied to his name.

You moved seamlessly around the table, tucking chairs with each step. You hands were gentle with the china plates, the stunning diamond on your left hand sparkling underneath even the faintest of light. Joe wallowed in the way your hair enveloped your face, the clip unable to hold the thick perfectly curled jet black hair he adored so much. The powdered blush had faded from your cheeks, your natural rouge creeping from within. The lipstick placed so delicately on your plump lips long gone. It was not until a shaky breath escaped his lips, at the sight of your dress tightening around your breasts with every forceful exhale and bend of your hips did Joe finally catch your attention.

From you spot, you could make out the darkened state of his electric blue eyes. You caught the glimmer of golden on what was exposed of his chest. He had a coy smile on his lips. You wondered if he noticed the way his shirt clung to his biceps when he brought his hand to run through his fair. A dish towel sat idle in the grasp of his free hand, presumptuously from drying his hands after loading the dishes into the dishwasher. His sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows, veins prominent even under the poorly lit kitchen.

As you drew closer he stood straighter. His fingers brushed yours as he grabbed plates from your hand, obeying your silent order as you stretched your neck over to the cabinet above his head. Effortlessly, he placed the dishes in their spot, shutting the cupboard, concealing them away for the next Thanksgiving. Washing your hands at the sink next to him, you reached for the dish towel.

A fatigued haze fell over your chocolate brown eyes. The taste of red wine lingered in your mouth. There was a lull fading across your body, an urge to lay in bed with Joe against you. The clock on the stove signalled midnight.

Catching his eyes again, you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach. His eyes had darkened, the same dark blue that craved you in all ways possible. It was the dark blue that ignited a fire inside you, prepared you for an unfathomable consumption of lust. Catching you by surprise, he tugged on the dish towel, drawing you near. His arms encircled around your frame, hands finding territory on the granite on either side of you, your lower back pressed into the counter. He had you caved in, and you would be a fool to say you did not hope for him to lead the way.

He loosed the clip from your hair, letting it fall freely along your back. His citrus-like and woody scent consumed you. You wondered if he could hear how wildly your heart was beating, as he gazed at you endearingly, forgetting that anything else in the world existed.

"We should get to bed."

You whispered words filled the silence surrounding you. By the crave in your eyes, Joe knew undoubtedly your fatigue held no power against what your heart desired. He could read the shift in your chocolate brown eyes to an intense darkened shade. See the way you unknowingly bit your lip, your breath hitched, the innocent flicker of your gaze to his lips.

"Not yet, we forgot to do something."

It was the first words he had spoken in just under an hour. You felt the gruffness of his voice, the way the words fell effortlessly from his mouth, like velvet against your skin.

Leaning down to your level, your eyes closed as his lips kissed your cheek. He travelled lower, underneath your jaw, along your chin, lingering on your neck. He inhaled your scent. It was an intoxication of vanilla and jasmine. He held himself strongly, his demeanour calm as he spoke against your skin.

"We never said what we were thankful for."

Confusion spread over your body, suddenly replaced with a chill when his cold hand wrapped around your waist. The thin fabric of your cream-coloured dress adorned in dainty red flowers could not withstand the pressure of his touch, the way his large hand fit perfectly along your waist, trailed to your backside and rested at the bottom of you back.

"Your mom led the chain, we all did. Remember?"

His kisses trailed up again. Underneath your jaw, along your jaw, and then your cheek. They hovered dangerously over your right ear. You fingers fumbled with the untouched buttons on his shirt, wondering if you could be as smooth as him in making your crumble against his touch.

"None of that sugarcoated shit babe, I mean one thing your're thankful for. In this room of course."

He pulled your flush against him, your arms wrapping around his waist as your eyes met. His free hand trailed along the side of your thigh, scrunching the fabric of your dress as he rode it higher. With each passing second, your heart fluttered, his touch against your skin like a million butterflies fluttering their wings against it.

Your mouth went dry when his hand curved around your backside, fiddling with the lace garment concealing your most intimate spot. His fingers fiddled with the thin garment, his fingers digging into plush skin.

"Gotta tell me, otherwise we'll be like this all night."

HIs voice was taunting, the smirk lining his lips all too inviting. His arms hooked around you, leaving you dissatisfied with the loss of contact of his fingers to your skin. The hem of your dress fell into place. Lifting you effortlessly, he situated you on the granite counter, the cold seeping through your dress.

Even at this elevation, you gazed up at him, his frame still towering yours. He raised his eyebrows, impatiently waiting for your answer. Brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, he left his fingers linger in your hair, massaging the sweet spot just below you earlobe.

When the answer finally arrived, it was a breathless barely audible whisper. "It's you."

He nodded, his loving gaze taking you in entirely. He spreads your legs, inviting himself in. Instinctively, you tighten your hold around him, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

"And what about you?"

He responds with a boyish shrug, exhaling loudly. His hands dance up your legs, riding your dress higher and higher.

"I can't tell you . . ." He begins, pulling you close. You lips inches apart as your eyes bore into one another. You feel your chest tighten, the anticipation build in your stomach.

"But I can show you."

Ever so even, ever so cool. It is the affirmation in his tone that sends a thrill up your spine.

His lips against yours are like butter, smooth and silky. He meshes against you so well. He is a drug, an all to encompassing drug that you crave so desperately. You feel limp, simply because you become all to consumed by his presence.

Wrapping your arms gingerly around his neck, your fingers dance with the hair at the nape of his neck. You feel his hands travel up your back, along your neck, and then to the back of your head, where they get lost in your hair. You legs tighten around his waist.

You gasp softly, feeling him against you. When his teeth gently dig into your bottom lip, you groan, barely audible but soft and musical.

You pull back first, breathless. "Will I feel it to? What you're thankful for?"

It's the way your voice is so timid, but teasing. It has taken every ounce of you to ask such questions, cheeks burning red as you drop your gaze. Joe knows you inside out, and he cannot help relish at the way he pulls you into ecstasy with the simplest of actions.

“I'd be a failure if I couldn't" Again, it is the mere calmness of his voice that sends you in a frenzy.

This kiss is deeper, it speaks volumes of his love for you. You shudder when he draws his lips back, an intoxication for one another evident in the other's eyes. An airy breath leaves from between your lips as he kisses your neck. It is not until you feel his teeth graze your sensitive skin do you shift, instinctively drawing his hands to your hips to hold you in place. His hair tickles your skin as he kisses lower, your chest rising and falling in rushed paces. His name falls from within you, a whisper so quiet, he almost misses the way you drag his name in uncontainable desire. He breaks the kiss to undo the buttons against your sternum.

Joe is achingly slow when he begins to draw the dress lower. It is the soft kiss, the bite of your lip, and the way his fingers dance along your skin that drive you insane. He locks your gaze with his own, and observes how you decompose before him. His touch travels down your neck, along your collarbone, down your shoulders, and finally hits fabric. The places he has touched are warm and tender. He pulls your dress down slowly exposing more skin. You groan in dissatisfaction when he draws back. An airy chuckle escapes from his lips, a satisfied look plastered across his face.

"I've got you, easy now, huh?" You nod, obeying entirely.

You slide off the counter, arms wrapping around his neck as your body becomes flushed against his. Your lips mold into one, his arms holding you firmly by the waist. His fingers dig into your sides, earning himself a groan from the back of your throat. Before you can comprehend, he lifts you, carrying you with ease towards the couch.

The lamp in the corner casts a golden hue about the room, the smell of fire burning wood still evident in the air. He sits down, your knees embedded in the cushion, your sex resting against his muscular thigh. Your hands cling to his collar, whimpering as he shifts in his spot, the movement of his thigh against your delicate sex sending electrifying sensations up your body.

"I love you." His words are rushed, as if finding the opportunity to remind you before he unravels your before him completely.It is a brief second, but it is soft, as he cups your face, mumbling words of encouragement as you tell him you love him back, your hips still moving rhythmically. He marvels at the innocence etched on your face, the pink tinge to your cheeks, and the way your body begins to shudder. When your head falls back and sweat glistens on your neck, he holds you, keeping you upright, letting you ride out your first high.

The room fills with the faint moan you expel, the sound bouncing off the walls. Your head falls against Joe, finding comfort in his neck as you catch you breath. His hands trails along your back, whispering sweet nothings in your ears.

With the profound intensity of the moment and the uncontainable shifts of your hips, your dress has fallen past your breasts, revealing pink lace adorning. You sit up, watching as Joe becomes awestruck at the site before him. Love bites litter your neck. Your chest rises and falls profoundly. Lips pink and eyes on fire. You're nodding in approval as he silently seeks permission to rid you of your dress entirely.

As he guides you beneath him, you whimper as his hips press into yours. The fabric of his clothes brushes across your skin, and you pull at his shirt, which soon finds a way to the ground. The skin to skin contact embraces you like a blanket. The fabric of his pants is rough against your legs, but just as you're about to undo his belt, he fulfills the distance between you.

His lips devour yours in a hungry kiss before pulling back. He watches you wither against him, cheeks flushed as his lips trail you neck, along your sternum, and all the way to your navel. You whimper, the sound becoming a faint exclamation of his name, as his fingers travel between you thighs, his eyes burning into yours as he gentlly brushes his fingers against lace.

He works you through slowly, whispering endearing terms and guiding you through a pleasurable high. When your legs begin to shake, your nails dig into his shoulders, and the sounds of your moans and whimpers dance off the walls he knows he has you exactly where he wants.

The rise of your hips draws his fingers to the lace concealing you. He exposes you with such fragility, watching you wither before him. You pull at his hair, knees bent as he find solace between your legs. It is the first sensation of his mouth on you that sends you in an undeniable state of euphoria.

And he shows you, makes you feel, just how thankful he is for you.

[likehoneyandsilk]

Hold Me Close, Hold Me Tight

Hello there loves! Wanted to share one more little piece given it has been a while. Thank you again for the ongoing support and love to each and everyone of you. Lots of love and positive energy to you all! 💖

. . .

Jora sleeps soundly in your arms. His left cheek pressed against your breast. Those soft pink lips curled into the most petite smile. His belly full of milk. You watch him in his slumber, your little bubba perhaps dreaming of all elated pleasures in life. Tucked in his orange sleepsuit, cocooned within his cashmere blankie. A smile remains on your lips, heavy eyes in awe of this tiny human being that's kept you and your husband somewhat coherent during these last few withering weeks.

He sleeps in oblivion, in the sanctuary of his cordial nursery adorned with cartoon animals. Glowing stars across the ceiling his father placed precisely. The yellow hue of a tall lamp in the corner paints your golden boy gold. Breaking your gaze from Jora, your eyes traverse to the large window capturing Cincinnati beyond the suburbs you reside in. From this angle, you can see the twinkling orange lights of Paycor Stadium. The place was filled with exhilarating energy earlier today and quickly depleted as the Bengals fell to another loss.

The cinder block of disquiet settles on your chest, familiar to the one while you watched your husband frantically run a massage gun along his right calf. You recall the tears brimming your eyes as you recognized the sentiments pass across his face.

Frustration. Vexation. Annoyance. And defeat. Every failed throw. Each hit. Every missed opportunity. All of it raged inside his head. Too far to console his mind. Too far to hush the noises in his head. Far too many hours before he'd finally be home. You felt helpless sitting in front of the television, gripping Jora's teddy with all your power.

Your breath hitches, toes curling against the plush carpet as an icy feeling ripples through your veins. Darkness devours your vision as you shut your eyes. As if feeling his mother's abrupt change in aura, Jora moves within your arms. Your eyes fall open, the hasty motherly instinct forcing you to push aside your trepidations to tend to your sweet baby boy. He settles immediately at your velvety voice, tranquil and faint, but enough to calm his mind and lull him back to sleep. And before you know it, as the darkness outside wraps around the house, warmth from the carpet creeps into your toes, you rest your head back just for a mere second as drowsiness swallows you.

While you fade away, all you can think about is Joe.

It is just past 8:00 p.m. when the front door shuts gently. From the entryway, Joe can see the trail of yellow light peering from Jora's nursery from the story above. He drops his bag on the floor and clumsily removes his shoes before placing his keys in the nearby dish. With defying ease, he maneuvers the spaces within the main floor. He checks all the locks and windows, shutting stray lights off as he moves. Upon finishing, Joe lingers in front of the medicine cabinet for a painkiller. His body, battered and bruised, aches. He wishes for nothing more but your embrace and Jora's soft skin pressed to his cheek. Suddenly, amidst the failure and vexed calf, Joe realizes he's missed Jora's bedtime again.

His large hands run through his shorter hair, pulling at the ends as he sighs. He feels like he's sinking. Estranged because of his limited time with his four-month-old. A messy beginning of a season. And the unwavering desire to support his wife as you navigate through motherhood. Rolling his head a few times and stretching out his arms, he slides the black Nike hoodie from the nearby couch over his head. His phone buzzes and he curses under his breath, setting a mental reminder to shut it off after this. A link to his post game conference stands out amongst the blue bubble. With one tap, Joe's ears fill with the sound of his own voice and his eyes witness the tired state he fought past to get out of Paycor as soon as possible.

Impatiently dismissing the rest of the visual of what he did hours ago, Joe throws his phone onto the loveseat nearby, making his way up to stairs towards the nursery. Soft and steady, halting after every few steps to give himself a break while holding back a frustrated groan. It feels like Mount Everest when he's made it to the top. As he rests his head against the wall outside Jora's partly open door, he takes a deep breath, counting to ten in hopes of alleviating his mind. It doesn't do much, but his heart settles at the sight before him.

Jora sleeps peacefully within his mother's embrace, the sling keeping him in place. He's quiet and safe, head tilted towards you, his tiny little hand grasping a strand of hair. And then there's you. Joe's serenity. His respite. His everything.

He's quiet as he approaches you. His long strides imperceptible. The sound of your breathing, steady rise and fall of your chest comforts his mind. Joe debates placing Jora in his crib and carrying you to bed, but his heart fights back as his eyes fall to Jora, innocently asking his father to hold him in his sleep.

Joe runs the back of his hand endearingly over your cheek. It's pink, sand warm against his touch. The lamp light trickles over your skin, draping over you in gold. Your hair has its evient shine, the curls loose. Goosebumps litter your skin against your forearms. Your eyebrows crease slightly, those big brown eyes opening as sleep flees your body. You shudder, the realization that you're merely in your white satin night slip, the fabric doing nothing to keep you warm. As your vision adjusts and you resolve back to your senses, your space fills with the familiar scent of eucalyptus shampoo.

"Hey, mama." His voice is soft, almost inaudible and you crane your neck, meeting those blue-grey eyes. His presence transmits a wave of warmth up your spine, calming some tension as he leans down, wrapping his fingers within your long dark strands and kissing you with such delicacy you feel yourself melting.

"Hi," you whisper, skimming the word past his lips that hold no desire to separate from you. Carefully, you hand Jora into his protective arms, advancing to stretch your rigid limbs.

"Hey buddy, dadda's home." You beam, your heart welling as Joe's stiff body unwinds ever so slightly, a small smile appearing on his lips, which you presume was last seen hours ago.

Joe holds Jora with such fragility as a relieved sigh vacates his body. His eyes soften at his sleeping son, mumbling apology after apology for missing his bedtime. Squeezing Joe's bicep in return as a measure of reassurance. You refrain from intervening more, knowing very well that Joe had called you post-game, frustration and gloom apparent in his voice as he lumbered towards his conference. He'd wanted nothing more than to come home to his family. Against his wishes, duty called, and you persuaded him with the utmost motivation, watching a few minutes later as he remained poised and courteous, despite the longing for home in his eyes. Jora leans into his father as Joe presses his lips to his forehead with tenderness. You brush your hand across Joe's arm as he tells Jora he loves him. And you leave them be, letting your husband relish in the tranquility of your baby.

Forty-five minutes later, you hear his footsteps proceed down the stairs. The diffuser in the corner of the living room carries a faint hum. It fills the air with lemon, juniper berry, and black spruce. A cotton blanket rests over your bare limbs, your upper body secluded within a silk robe, the ties hanging loose. Much to your dismay, you feel fatigue, rebelling sleep as you wait. Your fingers skim over the unread pages of the novel in your hand, and you tuck it away as Joe enters your peripheral vision. You rise, patting the space your head occupied, long hair falling over your shoulder now exposed as the robe slips off your smooth skin. His silhouette creates pictures on the wall against the dim lights encapsulating your bodies in a homely glow.

Joe drops to the couch with a muffled groan, his body immersing into the cushion as he closes his eyes. You carefully adjust yourself next to him, cautious not to worsen any more bruises that already hurt. You examine his face, distant and near all at once. His eyes closed, long lashes falling against his cheeks. His jaw clenches in torment.

In hopes to ease the frenzy running in his head, your fingers dance over his cheek, as if freeing the tensity. He takes a cavernous breath, opening his eyes as he wills himself to surrender to your touch, turning to face you, and suddenly everything is serene. All the discomfort. All his affliction, Every inch of frustration yields as he gazes at his muse.

The familiar look of profound worry etches in your equally tired eyes. Joe wishes to replace that look with the cheerful, vibrant glow he knows well. You purse your lips as you lean into him, muttering words of endearment he hardly registers.

"Talk to me nine, let me inside."

It appears more like a plea than a command, a reminder that Joe, regardless of his strengths and intelligence, needs a portal to pour his woes into. Somebody to hold him. Love him. Remind him of all the rationale when all else feels frantic. You pull the blanket onto his long legs, resting your head against his chest so gently you barely hear the thumping of his heart. His arm cascades around your waistline, fingers trifling with the lacey ends of your night slip. His lips press to the top of your head, inhaling your fragrance, lingers of Jora's scent, decompressing further against the couch because he knows it's just you and him now. With Jora sleeping above, the white noise from his room filtering in over the baby monitor.

He's safe and sound.

He's home.

You blink a few times, nuzzling your nose into the crook of his neck. As he gathers his thoughts you pepper kisses on his neck, light and airy, letting your breath fan over his skin. And you wait, patiently wait, until he's ready.

Finally he speaks.

"The whole world feels like it's watching me screw up. Every decision feels rushed. I feel different, lost if anything, thoroughly confused". You gulp, drawing stars along his free hand that rests in his lap, giving him space to think and resume. It's a sign you're ready waiting for more, so he opens his mouth to speak again.

"All that money". He pauses, letting out an airy laugh that looms over your head mockingly. His fingers linger on your skin, pulling the flimsy lace above the tattoo on your hip. You nod, the tickling sensation of your hair underneath his chin bringing his head lower, lips grazing over your hair smelling like coconut.

"The contract feels like it's hanging over my head. And why shouldn't it?" His voice is stern, fury articulated at himself as he scoffs in aggravation. You feel his muscles tense against your body. "I should be playing like a fucking perfectionist. But instead…"

The sentence remains incomplete as a shaky breath leaves his lips. It's silent for the next little while. You process your thoughts, doodling imaginary stars on his palm that rests wide open. He seeks words to describe the reflections in his brain, tracing the lines of the tattoo on you hip he has engraved in his brain. The hum of the diffuser persists, the dim lights encompassing you within your safe space. You shift against him, an uneasy flush of regret washing over you as he groans at your impulsive movement.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to." Joe shakes his head vigorously, presenting you with a boyish smile. "S'alright, don't worry." He holds your face in his hands, rubbing your cheeks with the pads of his thumb before leaning in for a kiss. It is firm, not soft like before, and within the ripples that surge through your body, you know it bears all the emotions he cannot fathom words for. He hoists your legs from under you, grunting as he lays you flat on the couch before towering over you. Before you can oppose, call claim to the bruises and his calf, he parts his lips from yours, resting his forehead against yours in submission knowing very well the concern running through your head. You lock eyes for a split second, carefully searching for any sign of relief in his. Your hands intertwine briefly, until Joe falls next to you, the blanket long forgotten as it descends to the ground.

Your cheeks burn under his touch as he rests his palm against it. You draw in a quivering breath, bringing a delicate hand underneath his clothing, and connect with his skin. Trailing over every pane and defined muscle as if to obliterate all the reminders of today.

"Nothing makes much sense right now." You nod, fighting back tears as your husband pours his heart to you. "Nothing makes sense but you and Jora."

Your eyes close as his fingers dance in your hair. You digest and taste every word, every act of affection. You permit him control where he can.

"I need to think through what I need to do next. The cost of my body and sanity, I can't. . . " His words trail off into a whisper, as he envisions the inevitable decisions he must make as the sun ascends tomorrow. Sacrifice out of a selfish desire to prove his worth, or take one for himself, his team, and most significantly, his family. All while listening to his body.

Joe's hand feverishly draws you close, tugging at your robe. His large palms, calloused from today, find residence against your honey-like skin, beneath the fabric separating your bare body from his loving lips.

"You don't have to know now what you want to do. What you need to do". Your fingers dance idly in his hair, thumbs rubbing away the tension in his temples.

He listens intently to your words, eyes following every so often to your lips. "That said, Jora and I will never judge you for your job. You're an amazing father and husband. You do the most when you can only do so much."

And before you can speak any further, you find the words stuck in your throat as you hold back a hopeless cry. "And Joe, I wish you could see how much grace you give others. If only you could do the same for your own sake." You draw back your hand from him, wiping away the sole tear obscuring your vision.

Something seems to click in him then. In all of the years you've spent in similar positions, one anchoring the other back to the ground, it's always a few words laced with love, depth, and admiration that seem to bring all distress to tranquillity.

The remotest of space closes between you as your lips near, your lashes fluttering against his skin while his hands work their way down your body. The robe slips off your skin, the warmth replaced by all the heat Joe radiates. He hovers above while your arms wrap around his torso. You inhale his scent, feeling those silky strands tickle your neck as he dips toward you, holding you as if you'll perish away.

"Some losses, mistakes, and sloppy plays don't define your worth. It's how you come back from these moments like you have numerous times before." Hushed whispers from lips as your body shudders. Your eyes close in splendor, the warmth bubbling through you riveting at his proximity. His teeth graze over the delicacy of your neck, drawing an impatient sigh from within you, sending chills down his spine because for once today he feels in control.

"I believe in you nine". Your voice is like velvet, dripping with sweetness and sincerity. A well-fought whimper escapes from within you, as he gently presses his teeth against your skin. You feel the expected warmth ripple in your core, the eruption of a million butterflies fluttering uncontrollably inside you. Drawing back his head from your neck, he holds his gaze with yours, easing ever so gracefully into your touch as you guide his lips closer to you, letting his weight drop with caution against you. His clothes are warm and soft against any of your bare skin, seeping through the silk.

Joe mutters against your skin as he slowly works his lips and hands down your body, stopping at your sternum as you resist the urge to raise your hips off the couch. His body needs rest, much deserved rest. And you know he's relying on his left leg to make his rounds on you. Your knees bend impulsively as his large hands ride up your legs, travelling underneath the slip. You gulp as he nears you again, breath fanning over your face, the remnants of mint sending you in a haze. "Joe . . . " His name comes out flushed, a plea to ease himself and leave it be. "Thank you." Two words, simple yet effective. A notion that says you've gotten past the barrier in his head.

Unable to speak, you nod while cupping his cheek. He leans into your caress. "I don't know what I would do without you."

"I love you." You release a relieved sigh, all the pent-up uncertainty soothing out of you as Joe places one final kiss following his words on your jaw. His hips press into yours and for a brief second, as you release a lovely whimper, you think he'll take you all the way despite your worries. But you both know it ends here. You'll hold each other tonight. Heal one another with embrace.

"I love you nine." You whisper when you've found solace within his arms, the straps of your dress lowered as he presses one faint kiss to your shoulder. "I love you so much." He relishes in your affirmation, enveloping you against him. Shielding you from the fears he holds beyond. Protecting you, protecting Jora from all that may disturb the peace hanging over your heads right now.

And when your breathing settles, the pink tinge calms on your face, and your eyes fight more sleep, because you haven't debriefed the game or asked about his cald. Yet Joe finds the last little peace he needs to rest tonight. As sleep consumes you, his fingers drafting spirals over the skin on your back, with your hair hanging loose, Skin littered with the reminders of him, Joe smiles.

It's all clear now. It's always clear with you.

[somemellifluouswords]

Give this a read pls 🥹

[likehoneyandsilk]

Hold Me Close, Hold Me Tight

Hello there loves! Wanted to share one more little piece given it has been a while. Thank you again for the ongoing support and love to each and everyone of you. Lots of love and positive energy to you all! 💖

. . .

Jora sleeps soundly in your arms. His left cheek pressed against your breast. Those soft pink lips curled into the most petite smile. His belly full of milk. You watch him in his slumber, your little bubba perhaps dreaming of all elated pleasures in life. Tucked in his orange sleepsuit, cocooned within his cashmere blankie. A smile remains on your lips, heavy eyes in awe of this tiny human being that's kept you and your husband somewhat coherent during these last few withering weeks.

He sleeps in oblivion, in the sanctuary of his cordial nursery adorned with cartoon animals. Glowing stars across the ceiling his father placed precisely. The yellow hue of a tall lamp in the corner paints your golden boy gold. Breaking your gaze from Jora, your eyes traverse to the large window capturing Cincinnati beyond the suburbs you reside in. From this angle, you can see the twinkling orange lights of Paycor Stadium. The place was filled with exhilarating energy earlier today and quickly depleted as the Bengals fell to another loss.

The cinder block of disquiet settles on your chest, familiar to the one while you watched your husband frantically run a massage gun along his right calf. You recall the tears brimming your eyes as you recognized the sentiments pass across his face.

Frustration. Vexation. Annoyance. And defeat. Every failed throw. Each hit. Every missed opportunity. All of it raged inside his head. Too far to console his mind. Too far to hush the noises in his head. Far too many hours before he'd finally be home. You felt helpless sitting in front of the television, gripping Jora's teddy with all your power.

Your breath hitches, toes curling against the plush carpet as an icy feeling ripples through your veins. Darkness devours your vision as you shut your eyes. As if feeling his mother's abrupt change in aura, Jora moves within your arms. Your eyes fall open, the hasty motherly instinct forcing you to push aside your trepidations to tend to your sweet baby boy. He settles immediately at your velvety voice, tranquil and faint, but enough to calm his mind and lull him back to sleep. And before you know it, as the darkness outside wraps around the house, warmth from the carpet creeps into your toes, you rest your head back just for a mere second as drowsiness swallows you.

While you fade away, all you can think about is Joe.

It is just past 8:00 p.m. when the front door shuts gently. From the entryway, Joe can see the trail of yellow light peering from Jora's nursery from the story above. He drops his bag on the floor and clumsily removes his shoes before placing his keys in the nearby dish. With defying ease, he maneuvers the spaces within the main floor. He checks all the locks and windows, shutting stray lights off as he moves. Upon finishing, Joe lingers in front of the medicine cabinet for a painkiller. His body, battered and bruised, aches. He wishes for nothing more but your embrace and Jora's soft skin pressed to his cheek. Suddenly, amidst the failure and vexed calf, Joe realizes he's missed Jora's bedtime again.

His large hands run through his shorter hair, pulling at the ends as he sighs. He feels like he's sinking. Estranged because of his limited time with his four-month-old. A messy beginning of a season. And the unwavering desire to support his wife as you navigate through motherhood. Rolling his head a few times and stretching out his arms, he slides the black Nike hoodie from the nearby couch over his head. His phone buzzes and he curses under his breath, setting a mental reminder to shut it off after this. A link to his post game conference stands out amongst the blue bubble. With one tap, Joe's ears fill with the sound of his own voice and his eyes witness the tired state he fought past to get out of Paycor as soon as possible.

Impatiently dismissing the rest of the visual of what he did hours ago, Joe throws his phone onto the loveseat nearby, making his way up to stairs towards the nursery. Soft and steady, halting after every few steps to give himself a break while holding back a frustrated groan. It feels like Mount Everest when he's made it to the top. As he rests his head against the wall outside Jora's partly open door, he takes a deep breath, counting to ten in hopes of alleviating his mind. It doesn't do much, but his heart settles at the sight before him.

Jora sleeps peacefully within his mother's embrace, the sling keeping him in place. He's quiet and safe, head tilted towards you, his tiny little hand grasping a strand of hair. And then there's you. Joe's serenity. His respite. His everything.

He's quiet as he approaches you. His long strides imperceptible. The sound of your breathing, steady rise and fall of your chest comforts his mind. Joe debates placing Jora in his crib and carrying you to bed, but his heart fights back as his eyes fall to Jora, innocently asking his father to hold him in his sleep.

Joe runs the back of his hand endearingly over your cheek. It's pink, sand warm against his touch. The lamp light trickles over your skin, draping over you in gold. Your hair has its evient shine, the curls loose. Goosebumps litter your skin against your forearms. Your eyebrows crease slightly, those big brown eyes opening as sleep flees your body. You shudder, the realization that you're merely in your white satin night slip, the fabric doing nothing to keep you warm. As your vision adjusts and you resolve back to your senses, your space fills with the familiar scent of eucalyptus shampoo.

"Hey, mama." His voice is soft, almost inaudible and you crane your neck, meeting those blue-grey eyes. His presence transmits a wave of warmth up your spine, calming some tension as he leans down, wrapping his fingers within your long dark strands and kissing you with such delicacy you feel yourself melting.

"Hi," you whisper, skimming the word past his lips that hold no desire to separate from you. Carefully, you hand Jora into his protective arms, advancing to stretch your rigid limbs.

"Hey buddy, dadda's home." You beam, your heart welling as Joe's stiff body unwinds ever so slightly, a small smile appearing on his lips, which you presume was last seen hours ago.

Joe holds Jora with such fragility as a relieved sigh vacates his body. His eyes soften at his sleeping son, mumbling apology after apology for missing his bedtime. Squeezing Joe's bicep in return as a measure of reassurance. You refrain from intervening more, knowing very well that Joe had called you post-game, frustration and gloom apparent in his voice as he lumbered towards his conference. He'd wanted nothing more than to come home to his family. Against his wishes, duty called, and you persuaded him with the utmost motivation, watching a few minutes later as he remained poised and courteous, despite the longing for home in his eyes. Jora leans into his father as Joe presses his lips to his forehead with tenderness. You brush your hand across Joe's arm as he tells Jora he loves him. And you leave them be, letting your husband relish in the tranquility of your baby.

Forty-five minutes later, you hear his footsteps proceed down the stairs. The diffuser in the corner of the living room carries a faint hum. It fills the air with lemon, juniper berry, and black spruce. A cotton blanket rests over your bare limbs, your upper body secluded within a silk robe, the ties hanging loose. Much to your dismay, you feel fatigue, rebelling sleep as you wait. Your fingers skim over the unread pages of the novel in your hand, and you tuck it away as Joe enters your peripheral vision. You rise, patting the space your head occupied, long hair falling over your shoulder now exposed as the robe slips off your smooth skin. His silhouette creates pictures on the wall against the dim lights encapsulating your bodies in a homely glow.

Joe drops to the couch with a muffled groan, his body immersing into the cushion as he closes his eyes. You carefully adjust yourself next to him, cautious not to worsen any more bruises that already hurt. You examine his face, distant and near all at once. His eyes closed, long lashes falling against his cheeks. His jaw clenches in torment.

In hopes to ease the frenzy running in his head, your fingers dance over his cheek, as if freeing the tensity. He takes a cavernous breath, opening his eyes as he wills himself to surrender to your touch, turning to face you, and suddenly everything is serene. All the discomfort. All his affliction, Every inch of frustration yields as he gazes at his muse.

The familiar look of profound worry etches in your equally tired eyes. Joe wishes to replace that look with the cheerful, vibrant glow he knows well. You purse your lips as you lean into him, muttering words of endearment he hardly registers.

"Talk to me nine, let me inside."

It appears more like a plea than a command, a reminder that Joe, regardless of his strengths and intelligence, needs a portal to pour his woes into. Somebody to hold him. Love him. Remind him of all the rationale when all else feels frantic. You pull the blanket onto his long legs, resting your head against his chest so gently you barely hear the thumping of his heart. His arm cascades around your waistline, fingers trifling with the lacey ends of your night slip. His lips press to the top of your head, inhaling your fragrance, lingers of Jora's scent, decompressing further against the couch because he knows it's just you and him now. With Jora sleeping above, the white noise from his room filtering in over the baby monitor.

He's safe and sound.

He's home.

You blink a few times, nuzzling your nose into the crook of his neck. As he gathers his thoughts you pepper kisses on his neck, light and airy, letting your breath fan over his skin. And you wait, patiently wait, until he's ready.

Finally he speaks.

"The whole world feels like it's watching me screw up. Every decision feels rushed. I feel different, lost if anything, thoroughly confused". You gulp, drawing stars along his free hand that rests in his lap, giving him space to think and resume. It's a sign you're ready waiting for more, so he opens his mouth to speak again.

"All that money". He pauses, letting out an airy laugh that looms over your head mockingly. His fingers linger on your skin, pulling the flimsy lace above the tattoo on your hip. You nod, the tickling sensation of your hair underneath his chin bringing his head lower, lips grazing over your hair smelling like coconut.

"The contract feels like it's hanging over my head. And why shouldn't it?" His voice is stern, fury articulated at himself as he scoffs in aggravation. You feel his muscles tense against your body. "I should be playing like a fucking perfectionist. But instead…"

The sentence remains incomplete as a shaky breath leaves his lips. It's silent for the next little while. You process your thoughts, doodling imaginary stars on his palm that rests wide open. He seeks words to describe the reflections in his brain, tracing the lines of the tattoo on you hip he has engraved in his brain. The hum of the diffuser persists, the dim lights encompassing you within your safe space. You shift against him, an uneasy flush of regret washing over you as he groans at your impulsive movement.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to." Joe shakes his head vigorously, presenting you with a boyish smile. "S'alright, don't worry." He holds your face in his hands, rubbing your cheeks with the pads of his thumb before leaning in for a kiss. It is firm, not soft like before, and within the ripples that surge through your body, you know it bears all the emotions he cannot fathom words for. He hoists your legs from under you, grunting as he lays you flat on the couch before towering over you. Before you can oppose, call claim to the bruises and his calf, he parts his lips from yours, resting his forehead against yours in submission knowing very well the concern running through your head. You lock eyes for a split second, carefully searching for any sign of relief in his. Your hands intertwine briefly, until Joe falls next to you, the blanket long forgotten as it descends to the ground.

Your cheeks burn under his touch as he rests his palm against it. You draw in a quivering breath, bringing a delicate hand underneath his clothing, and connect with his skin. Trailing over every pane and defined muscle as if to obliterate all the reminders of today.

"Nothing makes much sense right now." You nod, fighting back tears as your husband pours his heart to you. "Nothing makes sense but you and Jora."

Your eyes close as his fingers dance in your hair. You digest and taste every word, every act of affection. You permit him control where he can.

"I need to think through what I need to do next. The cost of my body and sanity, I can't. . . " His words trail off into a whisper, as he envisions the inevitable decisions he must make as the sun ascends tomorrow. Sacrifice out of a selfish desire to prove his worth, or take one for himself, his team, and most significantly, his family. All while listening to his body.

Joe's hand feverishly draws you close, tugging at your robe. His large palms, calloused from today, find residence against your honey-like skin, beneath the fabric separating your bare body from his loving lips.

"You don't have to know now what you want to do. What you need to do". Your fingers dance idly in his hair, thumbs rubbing away the tension in his temples.

He listens intently to your words, eyes following every so often to your lips. "That said, Jora and I will never judge you for your job. You're an amazing father and husband. You do the most when you can only do so much."

And before you can speak any further, you find the words stuck in your throat as you hold back a hopeless cry. "And Joe, I wish you could see how much grace you give others. If only you could do the same for your own sake." You draw back your hand from him, wiping away the sole tear obscuring your vision.

Something seems to click in him then. In all of the years you've spent in similar positions, one anchoring the other back to the ground, it's always a few words laced with love, depth, and admiration that seem to bring all distress to tranquillity.

The remotest of space closes between you as your lips near, your lashes fluttering against his skin while his hands work their way down your body. The robe slips off your skin, the warmth replaced by all the heat Joe radiates. He hovers above while your arms wrap around his torso. You inhale his scent, feeling those silky strands tickle your neck as he dips toward you, holding you as if you'll perish away.

"Some losses, mistakes, and sloppy plays don't define your worth. It's how you come back from these moments like you have numerous times before." Hushed whispers from lips as your body shudders. Your eyes close in splendor, the warmth bubbling through you riveting at his proximity. His teeth graze over the delicacy of your neck, drawing an impatient sigh from within you, sending chills down his spine because for once today he feels in control.

"I believe in you nine". Your voice is like velvet, dripping with sweetness and sincerity. A well-fought whimper escapes from within you, as he gently presses his teeth against your skin. You feel the expected warmth ripple in your core, the eruption of a million butterflies fluttering uncontrollably inside you. Drawing back his head from your neck, he holds his gaze with yours, easing ever so gracefully into your touch as you guide his lips closer to you, letting his weight drop with caution against you. His clothes are warm and soft against any of your bare skin, seeping through the silk.

Joe mutters against your skin as he slowly works his lips and hands down your body, stopping at your sternum as you resist the urge to raise your hips off the couch. His body needs rest, much deserved rest. And you know he's relying on his left leg to make his rounds on you. Your knees bend impulsively as his large hands ride up your legs, travelling underneath the slip. You gulp as he nears you again, breath fanning over your face, the remnants of mint sending you in a haze. "Joe . . . " His name comes out flushed, a plea to ease himself and leave it be. "Thank you." Two words, simple yet effective. A notion that says you've gotten past the barrier in his head.

Unable to speak, you nod while cupping his cheek. He leans into your caress. "I don't know what I would do without you."

"I love you." You release a relieved sigh, all the pent-up uncertainty soothing out of you as Joe places one final kiss following his words on your jaw. His hips press into yours and for a brief second, as you release a lovely whimper, you think he'll take you all the way despite your worries. But you both know it ends here. You'll hold each other tonight. Heal one another with embrace.

"I love you nine." You whisper when you've found solace within his arms, the straps of your dress lowered as he presses one faint kiss to your shoulder. "I love you so much." He relishes in your affirmation, enveloping you against him. Shielding you from the fears he holds beyond. Protecting you, protecting Jora from all that may disturb the peace hanging over your heads right now.

And when your breathing settles, the pink tinge calms on your face, and your eyes fight more sleep, because you haven't debriefed the game or asked about his cald. Yet Joe finds the last little peace he needs to rest tonight. As sleep consumes you, his fingers drafting spirals over the skin on your back, with your hair hanging loose, Skin littered with the reminders of him, Joe smiles.

It's all clear now. It's always clear with you.

[likehoneyandsilk]

Stay

Graceful fingers danced across the strings of the harp. Aaliyah observed with curiosity as the harpist’s body descended into her craft. Shoulders rigid but hands-free. Long legs firmly encircled the instrument. Her eyes shut from the dimly lit restaurant draping her in gold. She had tuned out the entire world.  

Aaliyah’s dark brown eyes fixated on the harp, listening for every sound as the strings moved in patterns she did not comprehend. As her shoulders relaxed and her finger withdrew from the brim of her glass, the harpist stood up and took a bow. The dining hall burst into a roar of applause.

“Aaliyah?“

Suddenly, Aaliyah was back in the world. “Sorry Dash.” Aaliyah shook her head in shame, feeling idiotic for casting her focus on something other than the man who had arranged for an extraordinary meal. Aaliyah’s eyes found Dash’s own brown ones across the small table. He smiled reassuringly, reaching across to place a cordial hand over hers. She hesitated. 

His touch was unfamiliar. Aaliyah only truly knew one touch. Inscribed deep into her soul. It did not belong to this polite but foreign man before her. Dash withdrew, clearing his throat and bringing the glass of red wine to his lips. Grave silence fell between them as Aaliyah fidgeted with her cutlery.

She had been distracted the moment they stepped foot into the restaurant.“I’m starting to think you were never really interested in me.”

Oh gosh. Be soft, Aaliyah. He isn’t at fault. Dash observed the dazzling woman sitting across from him. Out of place. Back into the scene of harmless dates far too soon. Aaliyah paused, sipping on her wine for a few seconds attempting to collect her thoughts. However, there were not many. Her heart had been heavy for the past few months. This was her first date since the turmoil breakup. Her first date where the other man was not the one she had known to be her lover of six years.

Before Aaliyah could speak, she was stopped by Dash’s raised hand ushering the waiter over. “The cheque please.” Dash’s tone was solid yet kind. The young waiter looked between the two seated at his table, awkward and confused at their hasty departure. Aaliyah was parched. Her eyes located themselves on the bottle of wine before them, not even a quarter empty. She drew the glass towards her mouth again, swallowing a large amount of bitterness. The waiter nodded abruptly. “Of course sir, of course.” Aaliyah averted her gaze watching the boy disappear behind Dash. He became a lost figure within the exhibition of people smiling and laughing. Their eyes and mouths moved jovially, exchanging pleasantries with one another accompanied by divine meals and the most exquisite wine.

“Dash, listen I …” Aaliyah’s words were cut short as the waiter emerged with their cheque. She reached for it abruptly. It’s the least I can do, she thought to herself. “No Aaliyah, please, let me.” Without a glance at the cheque, Dash retrieved a few bills, crisp and smooth, handing them to the young boy. “Thanks for your service, keep the tip.” The waiter thanked Dash before giving Aaliyah a gentle bow. “Dash I am so sorry.” she mustered sheepishly, her cheeks burning from embarrassment.

The remorse in Aaliyah’s tone was evident, her features rueful. It saddened her to watch Dash smile with a shake of his head. His hand brushed through his long dark hair, styled neatly. “Let’s talk outside.” Aaliyah pulled her coat around her.

Autumn nights in Cincinnati were always frigid. After leaving the doors of the warm restaurant, Aaliyah shuddered as the cold sank into her bare legs. The stars above them were bright, like specks of glitter littering the dark sky. Dash kept a hand at the small of her back, leading her towards the valet. The two men seemed to wear the identical expression of shock as their waiter. They both acknowledged Dash and Aaliyah with a nod, before parting for their respective vehicles. It had not been very long since they had arrived. A few sips of red wine were the only thing of consumption. The engine must still be warm.

Aaliyah pulled her coat tighter, hugging her purse against her stomach. Dash leaned against the wall giving her his full attention as he had all along. “I feel horrible.” Aaliyah was a broken record that was repeating the same sentence in paraphrases.

Dash studied her face for a few seconds. Taking in those big brown eyes, dark lashes, and those plump lips. “I know Aaliyah, but it isn’t easy to see past how distant you seem. I know it was only the first date, but it isn’t time.” Gosh, Dash, you’re perfect.

Perhaps it was the way Dash knew exactly what to say. Or that despite having gone on the shortest date of his life with a woman as distasteful as Aaliyah, he sympathized and saw through her. “You owe it to yourself, and all the other men to figure it out. Whatever that is, whoever he is.” Aaliyah felt the tears at the brim of her eyes, turning her head away from this man who accepted her without question. “You are absolutely wonderful Dash. I’m sorry for wasting your time tonight. You didn’t deserve this.”

Their cars appear before them and Aaliyah walked with Dash to his. In the sleek black BMW, she caught sight of them. She felt the tension in the air, tearing herself away from Dash as he reached into the backseat of his car. “For what it’s worth,” he stated, offering a bouquet of ruby red roses.

Aaliyah chuckled. “Dash,” she whispered, reaching for the bouquet. “Thank you.” Dash nodded with his easy smile. “Take care, Aaliyah.”

And Aaliyah watched as he drove away, farther and farther. And she wondered when she would feel ready. If there ever was a time known as ready for her?

…

This is ridiculous. This is shameful. It’s low. In every attempt to talk herself out of what she was about to get herself into, Aaliyah failed to succeed.

The front porch light was on. All the blinds shut. From her seat, Aaliyah could make out that the lights were on in the kitchen and living room. She wondered if the key taped underneath the doormat in the left upper corner was still there. It always had been.

Stop Aaliyah, stop!

Don’t do this. Please don’t do this.

Her mind said to turn back. Go back to your sad empty apartment. Take off the dress, wipe the makeup, and fall into your bed. Think about him as you try to sleep instead. But her heart propelled her further.

Without another thought, she parted her car, slamming the door behind her. She walked straight to the door. Past the dead hydrangeas Aaliyah remembered planting early Spring. The red, orange, and yellow leaves crunched beneath her heels. She felt dizzy on her way up the steps. A trembling finger pushed against the doorbell. The all-too-familiar sound tugged at her heartstrings. Her legs felt feeble. Her vision was blurry. She was gripping the roses against her chest. Their musky scent was intoxicating. I can’t do this.

And then he appeared. 

“Aaliyah?” The sound of his voice laced with confusion hung heavy between them. It was as if a ghost appeared. He was unable to believe she was here. Aaliyah was frozen trying to comprehend that the man before her was right before her. If she reached out her hand, she could run it down the material of his white shirt. Aaliyah could pull at it, force him to her. And she could hold him. Cry into him. Beg him to love her. Plead him to kiss her once again.

Make her feel all the things he had for six years.

“Aaliyah.” Her name rolled off his tongue like an addictive drug. It came out whispered this time. As if she would drift away. As if the sound of his voice, one she had tried to forget, would pull her into insanity. “What are you doing here?”

What am I doing here? What am I doing here Joe?

“I … I don’t know … I …” her speech felt weak. Aaliyah’s chest was heavy as if pulling her down to the ground. The air around her was hot. With all her strength, she tore her eyes away from his piercing blue ones, dropping her gaze to the ground to compose herself.

Joe hesitated and with a shaking hand softly enveloped his fingers around her wrist. The sudden contact was enough for Aaliyah to feel the void within her fill. She wondered if he could feel her radial pulse pounding against his digits. The gentle tug of her arm towards the door forced her eyes into his again.

It was effortless for Joe to get lost in them. Big and brown. Surrounded by long lashes. Tonight they gleamed like stars underneath the porch light. Glossy and timid. His features softened. Aaliyah felt the well-known solace of his cool and calm persona. He shifted on his feet, leading her through the door.

What are you doing Aaliyah!? What are we doing!?

The release of her wrist happened all too soon. She placed the bouquet of roses on the ottoman she had selected when they first moved in. Her coat slid from her arms, exposing herself as vulnerable yet brave. She unclasped her heels, pushing them aside. It was as if she was making herself at home.

She could hear his trembling breath as she came clear into vision. Joe ran his eyes from the top of her head to her toes. Aaliyah’s jet-black hair had grown longer since he last saw her. It was curled and surrounded her back and shoulders. Her lips were painted a mixture of red and pink. The silk black dress hugged every curve of her body. A body he knew on the back of his hand. Every dip, every curve, every soft spot, and every insecurity. It was Aaliyah, his achingly stunning Aaliyah. 

Their eyes met again. Those heavenly lips parted but sealed shut. Joe gestured for her to follow him up. It was odd to Aaliyah how one could live in a home for years, only to become a stranger within its walls. Every part of this house was hers. From the art, the furniture, and each appliance.

They had built this home together. And then she was gone. And it had become only his.

Aaliyah gulped upon entering the kitchen. Everything was the same. It was as she had left it. She remained at the doorway. Joe watched from behind the kitchen island as her eyes roamed the space before her. He observed the change in her demeanor. She was scared. He knew her inside out. He knew the look of panic in her eyes. The realization that perhaps she was not ready for what she had come for. The epiphany that she had no clue how to go about this.

Joe feared Aaliyah would turn and run. And that he would not be able to stop her. He pictured chasing after her. Pulling her into him. Holding onto her for dear life and letting her release herself against him in any which way. Any opportunity to tell her he loved her. That he hadn’t stopped thinking about her. Tell her the minute she walked out, the moment the front door slammed, that in that second everything once something had become absolutely nothing.

But to his relief, Aaliyah came closer. She stood on the opposite end. She permitted herself to properly look at him. Him. It’s him. Tall, broad, and handsome like always. It was obvious he was bigger, more built in the span of a few months. His hair was the perfect length, not too short or long. It appeared soft and silky underneath the lighting. His jaw was more defined, lined with the tiniest of scruff and a scar to the left. Likely from a game. His eyes were soft. Skin tinted golden. Patiently waiting for her to say something. Joe leaned slightly over the counter, his knuckles white from gripping the ends.

“I’m sorry I came.” Joe felt a chill down his spine. That voice. Her voice so timid and sweet. Her voice like honey. A voice with the power to soothe him and drive him wild. “To be honest …” her thoughts fell short as she let out a shaking breath. She hesitated, searching her head for the words. 

In silence, Joe watched her as she made her way to the wine cellar off the left kitchen wall. Her fingers danced over labels, settling for a bottle of red wine. As she neared, Joe studied her frame. Her dress was divine. The fabric falling over her effortlessly. Her fingers long and slender, nails painted a glossy red. The tattoo of a daisy she had gotten drunk in college on full display between the curves of her breasts. Joe sighed heavily, averting his gaze. Aaliyah proceeded to the cabinet with the wine glasses. She had organized this home. She knew where anything and everything was kept.

Filling two glasses halfway, she slid one across the counter. Joe observed her lips fold around the brim, the red liquid diving into her mouth. He watched the movement of her neck, which was bare. His heart twisted at the missing “9” necklace. With some liquid courage, and the slightest of adrenaline, Aaliyah’s eyes once again encountered his.

“I went on a date tonight. First one since.” Aaliyah paused, flailing her fingers between them, scoffing before she said bitterly, “I couldn’t even sit through it.” Joe shifted uneasily. Lips pressed into a firm line as his eyes darkened with jealousy. Any man would be honored to know the woman before him. Radiant, loving, and sincere. The mere thought of another man holding her, kissing her, and touching her in ways only he had made him distraught. She was no longer his. He had no right.

“How was it?” His tone was flat. He didn’t want to know. But he did. She chuckled dryly jerking her head back and forth. Joe took a long sip of wine, pursing his lips at the sharp taste. With only a few drops of liquid remaining, Joe moved to pour it down the drain, watching the dark red swirl before it vanished completely. Aaliyah watched the muscles of his back tense underneath his shirt. 

“I couldn’t sit through it. I didn’t want to.” And then they relaxed.

“And why is that?” His tone was firm, jealousy probing. Aaliyah felt her breath hitch. She wanted to flee. But Joe was taking slow yet purposeful steps in her direction and she couldn’t move. “Talk to me, Aaliyah. What brings you here?”

Joe now stood inches from her. His large hands rested against the granite countertop. From this proximity, Aaliyah could see clearly how gorgeous he was. “He took me to a nice restaurant. Bought me flowers. Purchased the best wine. But …” Aaliyah felt the tears pooling in her eyes. Joe became blurry before her as a single tear fell down her cheek.

“It’s okay A, it’s alright.” Joe’s voice was like butter. Soft and smooth, sending ripples of warmth through her body. Aaliyah was tense, as Joe carefully pulled her against him. Her arms felt weak, limping at her sides. The familiarity of his arms around her made Aaliyah’s stomach tingle. One hand was placed against the curvature of her back while the other became lost in her hair. They remained that way for a few minutes, a single tear falling from Joe’s eyes when Aaliyah’s arms wrapped around his torso. This feels wrong yet right, she thought.

Aaliyah was not naive. She understood this would end in one of two ways. It wasn’t fair to either of them for her to just walk back in a moment of heartbreak. He deserved better.

“Please don’t go.” Aaliyah’s body tightened against him in response to his words. I don’t want to, she thought. But the words just didn’t seem to come out. She felt him shuffle, directing her against the island. Her breath hitched in her throat when he released her. Her heart felt like it was about to explode from her chest when their eyes met again. “Baby please don’t go.” He whispered, pressing his forehead against hers.

He was so close. Their lashes barely touched, his breath warm against her lips. His jaw clenched as she brought her hand nervously against the right side of his face, tracing his scar. His large hands placed themselves firmly on the countertop as if trapping her. Aaliyah felt her throat constrict, and her chest tighten. Joe watched as the dark lips before him moved, brown eyes staring right through his soul.

“How do you give someone six years of your life and pretend that they don’t exist anymore?” The words fell from those lips dripping with curiosity.

Aaliyah wanted to reach for Joe when he pulled back, propelling himself off the counter, and straightening back to his normal level. She saw a flare of something in his eyes. The confusion, pain, and potential resentment brushed passed in a wave as his eyes appeared  two shades darker. He shook his head in disbelief, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t.”

His voice was loud. Assured. Powerful. Not to scare Aaliyah, but a reminder that she was responsible for his pain as he was for hers. “I didn’t, because not a day goes by where I don’t think of you. Not a morning passes when I wake up to realize the spot next to me in bed is empty. The door was always within your reach.”

The key.

“The moment you left, the moment I let you leave, everything changed.” What started as confidence now became a cry for help. A pleading of words that he had suppressed far too long. His biceps flexed as he pulled at the ends of his hair. 

“Nothing feels right. You’re embedded everywhere in this house. Every inch and corner is a reminder of you. Every time I come home I wonder if you’ll be here.”

Aaliyah stood motionless. Digesting all his words. Every change in his tone. She did not bother to ask why he hadn’t sought her. She understood him far too well. They had practically grown together. Aaliyah knew that once Joe felt someone was better off without him, he wouldn’t dare intrude.

Even if it destroyed him.

The silence was heavy. Aaliyah fiddled with the rings on her fingers, pulling at the elastic band around her wrist. Joe winced as the band slapped back and forth against her skin. She’d picked up the anxiety relief mechanism after they parted ways. When nights were long and days a drag. When all she could do was wallow in heartbreak. He watched Aaliyah now, examining the damage they had done. Cheeks red from the impact of his words. But her eyes said everything. She was sorry. She was afraid. She had felt lost without him too.

“All I’ve thought about is you, Joe.” He gulped. The muscles in his biceps relaxed. A wave of relief washed across his face. Aaliyah willed herself forward. With weary steps, she came closer and closer. His fingers slipped between hers. His thumb rubbed atop the spot of her hand that always seemed to calm her. She couldn’t play this game she’d begun of back and forth the minute she had arrived at the door. They didn’t deserve to spend whatever time they’d have in this moment treading on thin ice.

The exhale leaving Aaliyah’s body felt promising. Her lungs felt lighter. Despite her heart beating profusely against her chest, regardless of her dry mouth, she felt safe as she always had with him. “Joe.” She whispered, craning her neck upwards. She released her fingers from his hold, moving them to his muscular arms. He shuddered at her touch, the tips of her fingers running up and down his arms. Aaliyah had the effect of turning “Joe Cool” into a mess of a lustful  man desiring nothing but her. His eyes closed waiting for her to speak. Aliyah watched her effect on him. She grazed over those arms, playing him like a harp. “Dammit Aaliya, say something.” HIs voice was husky, lingering in the air as Aaliyah clenched her legs together.

“I keep searching for some sense of relief. I keep waiting for things to feel right.” Her voice was like liquor. Pulling him right back in and he couldn’t resist. He had no wish to.

“I still love you, Joe.” His eyes opened then. Aaliyah’s eyes had darkened, her expression was sincere but reluctant of what he might say. They both knew something wrong had happened to cause the drift. They both knew that at some point they’d become outsiders to one another. Barely speaking. Scarcely touching. They knew there was a reason she had walked out the door that night when everything went to shambles.

But why did it hurt so bad? If this wasn’t meant to be, why couldn’t they move on? "Right person wrong time.” It was the phrase they heard from numerous people. Skeptical of what may happen next, Aaliyah watched as Joe leaned towards her. Her arms curled around his neck. He dipped his head near her, quivering at the feeling of her fingers in his hair. For the first time in months, he felt at peace. His arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her with ease. Aaliyah pressed herself to him, her chest against his toned one. Her legs secured around him as if she’d fall. He was her harp. Their breathing fell into sync. Their heartbeats demanded to become one.

The cold of granite countertop seeped through the fabric of her dress. Joe’s forehead rested against her own, his hand raising her chin. “I love you A. I love you so fucking much.” A chill ran down Aaliyah’s spine. It’s all she longed to hear. His voice was delicate with a twinge of pleading. His fingers skimmed her lips.

Whatever happened tonight, whether she walked out the door or allowed herself to fall into him, she wasn’t sure what to do after. But he loved her. 

He loves me.

Aaliyah felt the tears forming in her eyes to the influence of his revelation, interwoven with the unclarity between them. “I love you,” he whispered again. Please keep saying it. His eyes requested permission in a way so caring as his lips approached hers. Her breath hitched in her throat. Aaliyah nodded slowly, hands trembling as her fingers danced through his hair. “You don’t need to have all the answers right now.” She nodded again, lashes fluttering against his skin. His mint breath was cool against her skin. “You tell me to stop and I will Aaliyah.” She didn’t say a word, but her demeanor and liberation against him, with those brown eyes imploring, was sufficient for him to press his lips against hers.

“Joe Cool” was even better at making a desiring, longing, and impatient mess of Aaliyah.

He was careful. As if Aaliyah were a glass that may shatter. Warmth radiated throughout her body. In perfect harmony, they fell into a rhythm. A reminder of what they had, a prospect of what could be redeemed. Never in six years had they kissed like this. A kiss sealed with relief, despair, worry, and hope. Aaliyah drew back breathlessly. Her body felt limp. She wanted to fall into him, tell him to heal her in all the ways he could. Her eyes closed as his digits ran up and down her arms. “Please” she whispered, guiding his hands up dress, where they rubbed warmth into her thighs. His large hands pressed into plush skin as her insides throbbed. Joe’s fingers teased, driving the end of her lace undergarment upwards ever so slightly. Aaliyah sighed into him, her nails grazing against the back of his shirt.

Outstretching her neck, Aaliyah gave Joe access to more of her. Joe placed butterfly kisses from her collarbone up to her jaw. Silky and beloved, peppering her skin with his mark. Aaliyah wriggled against him. The simplest of contact made her impatient. He breathed in the familiar aroma of her perfume and pulled back her hair to expose her tender spot. A moan fled her lips as his teeth dug into her skin. She shuddered against him, pushing herself nearer, legs encircling his torso hard. Aaliyah nodded quickly as his fingers lingered along the straps of her dress. “Aaliyah, I need you to say it.” His calloused hands ran down her arms forming butterflies in her stomach. “Yes.” She mumbled breathlessly, leaning back on her arms. “Yes.”

He was delicate, so soft and gentle. Her lips found his again, more firmly against them. Aaliyah’s breasts pressed into his chest as a sound released from the back of her throat when he bit her lip, granting his tongue access to hers. Unexpectedly he drew her onward, her feet landing on the ground. They parted, breathless and warm. Joe studied her rosy cheeks, lustful eyes, and throbbing lips. Her fingers laced with his, tugging him closer.

Aaliyah led them through the halls and ascended the stairs into what was once their bedroom. She halted at the sight of his suitcase. It’s Friday. He would depart for Pittsburgh tomorrow. She knew that. He and his team were the talk of the city. Aaliyah was aware of every move.

“I don’t leave till noon,” he said softly as if reading her mind. The back of her legs hit the bed as she spun to face him. She seemed to be nodding when at a loss for words. Aaliyah pulled him to her, willing him to steer her down. Towering over her, Joe watched as Aaliyah dipped into the white sheets, the mattress soaking her in. A wave of greed surged through her core as her head fell against a pillow. The ends of her digits fiddled with his shirt, pulling it over his head. His body was littered with bruises, likely from his most recent game. Aaliyah ran dainty fingers over each bruise, watching Joe tremble before her. He depressed softly against her hips, earning a moan of delight when he eased against her. Kissing her again from her neck, around her jaw, and her lips. Her back arched with every surge of impatience. “J …” she dragged out, her voice barely audible.

He worked gradually with her dress. Achingly slow. Aaliyah withered impatiently beneath him. The silk slid down her skin, revealing dark lace adorning her most intimate spots. Aaliyah’s cheek flared as Joe’s pupils dilated in desire. “My pretty pretty girl,” he muttered, aimlessly tracing the lining of the fabric around her breasts. 

Yes, I’m yours. 

Lowering himself yet again to press his lips to her, his hand roamed to her back, where the garment was unhinged. Aaliyah pulled back breathlessly, her breasts tender as the lace withdrew from her skin, disheveled whines pleading with him to touch her in ways she had missed. His lusting eyes searched hers for a split second before retreating. His lips fell to the daisy between her breasts. She grasped the sheets around, her nails digging into his flesh as he sank against her. His touches were delicate. His mouth traveled over every bit of skin.

And so the harmony of two souls began. He listened while she articulated beautiful sounds he had only heard while his lips lowered. Lower, lower, lower. Hands traveled and explored places of her body he knew in his sleep. His name slipped from her lips in ways he craved. Joe watched as Aaliyah unraveled before him. Aaliyah was relieved when Joe’s lips moved past her navel, and she felt the lacy garment surrounding her core shift down her legs, exposing her entirety to someone who knew how to please, adore, and love her.

And then they became one. Slow and steady. Soothing and sweet. Every ounce of pleasure poured into one another. His hands gripped hers as she unleashed every trace of uncontainable desire. And she felt him disentangle against her. Pour his heart and soul into her.

…

When morning came, Joe awoke first. Sunlight crept in through the curtains. Next to him, Aaliyah lay peacefully in a deep sleep. Her head was secluded into the crook of his neck, their limbs entangled. Her dark hair settled behind her ears. Her lips were swollen from the collection of kisses shared overnight.

It was the first morning Joe woke up without the grim feeling of isolation. The first morning in which his heart felt whole. Harboring this moment because he did not know what the next hour entailed. The clock behind her read 10:45 AM. It was almost noon.

But he didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to say goodbye. He didn’t want to provide reason for Aaliyah to leave. He could not bear losing her as soon as he got her back.

Aaliyah stirred slightly, sensing the sun’s warmth and the man laying next to her. She felt the shift on his end as his large arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her closer. His ocean eyes met her as she fluttered them open. Hair was disheveled from their antics. Recollections of last night became clear. Sounds of of his name and hers falling from respective lips. The efflux of desire and pleasure radiating through their bodies. The ease with which they knew how to satisfy the other.

This felt normal. This felt like the mornings she had missed. 

Normal was the feeling of love that remained between them. They had escaped the loneliness for a night. And challenged the deprivation of one another, sufficing with one night. Yet it was not enough. It would never be enough. 

Six years came down to this one morning.

“Aaliyah.” For the first time since they crossed paths, she saw the faintest smile on his lips. The ends of Aaliyah’s lips curled upwards as her heavy hand brushed the sparse strands of hair from his forehead. “Aaliyah I have to go.” His whispers were shaky, hardly audible in the stillness of the bedroom. Her fingers traced along his forehead, around his eyes, the brim of his nose, brushing over his lips and jawline. A single tear fell from her eyes. “I know.” She whispered. “I know Burrow.”

Pulling from her with the heaviest heart, she watched his motions as he worked through the bedroom. When the shower began, she rolled over, wiping her tears. The bedside drawer was slightly ajar. Aimlessly going to push it back, Aaliyah hovered over it finding a little black box. Lifting it with unsteady fingers, and pulling open the lid, Aaliyah felt her body drain of life at the sight of the diamond ring.

She froze. A ring. The diamond sparkled. Pulling her eyes away, Aaliyah rummaged through the drawer discovering a photograph of herself. The colors had faded. She recognized her growing features, shorter hair, and a smile that seemed to have disappeared in the past few months. It was taken by Joe, from their earlier days of bliss when they first met in college.

She did not notice the numbers on the clock passing by nearing noon. And it wasn’t until the bed dipped next to her did she find the man bearing these belongings. Joe’s eyes told stories she was unaware of for the past few months. The faint scruff was gone, the scent of his aftershave filling her senses. He had dressed for his departure, black pants with a grey shirt and leather jacket. His lips fell into a melancholy smile, clearing his throat before speaking. Aaliyah let his fingers grasp the box and photograph from her own.

The sun had brought a yellow glow into the room. Joe’s exposed skin was painted golden, his blue eyes electric. Aaliyah pulled her legs against her chest, gripping them in safety. “I never got to ask you.” He whispered, announcing it with fragility. Her heart broke into a million pieces once again.

“I’m sorry Joe.” Aaliyah sniffed, suddenly standing from the bed and rushing into the bathroom. When the door slammed shut behind her, Joe sat there, watching the minutes pass by on the clock.

Aaliyah pulled his shirt over her head. She stared at her bare body in the mirror. Her fingers scanned every love bite. Wrapping her hair into a bun, she guided herself to the shower, where she melted as the hot water burned her skin. Generously lathering his body wash over her skin as if preserving his scent.

Her mind raced when she found the room empty, his luggage no longer in view. The bed was stripped, her dress hanging on the wall on a hanger. Removing the towel from around her, Aaliyah hurried to dress. It was almost noon.

No. No, no, no, no, no. NO!

Rushing down the staircase, and through the hall, Aaliyah called his name, “Joe!?” Afraid she had missed him, till he appeared before her, catching her in his arms. “Oh god, oh my gosh, I thought you left.” she listened to the desperation and fear in her voice. Her eyes fell shut against his chest, breathing in all his scents. Running her fingers through the slightly wet hair at the nape of his neck. There was a knock at the door, a familiar voice of a teammate shouting his name.

Aaliyah was about to be alone again. All alone. “No,” she whispered, feeling his arms tighten around her. Her hair had fallen down her back, his fingers massaging the back of her scalp. His lips pressed against the top of her head. Another knock and then a ring. Joe murmured endearments to her. Bringing her with him to the door.

“Give me a minute!” Joe called out gravely. Aaliyah listened as the footsteps retreated. Pulling apart, Joe cupped her cheeks, wiping at a lone tear.

“I love you Aaliyah.” He smiled, eyes glossy before his lips pressed to hers with prominence. Aaliyah kissed back with distinction, whispering “I love you” numerous times frantically against his lips. They separated when the engine of the car outside was heard.

Time seemed to stop. Two lovers, hurt by one another. Standing in the foyer of the home they once called theirs. Six years of history. Over half a decade of Aaliyah and Joe. Joe and Aaliyah. The good, the bad. The lovely, the horrible. Aaliyah watched Joe’s jaw tense before he spoke words she was hoping to hear.

“Whatever you decide Aaliyah, whatever it is you want to do, I will always love you.”

All too quickly, Joe kissed Aaliyah perhaps one last time, and embraced her as if he would never hold her again. Before turning the knob, he caught one last glimpse of her. Bare-faced, those dreamy big brown eyes, luscious lips, and rosy cheeks.

Aaliyah. Forever and always his Aaliyah. 

Aaliyah leaned against the door frame as the door opened, exposing the outside world. Joe bent down, removing the key from underneath the mat. Without a word, he placed it in the palm of her hand.

It was his silent way of saying “Please don’t go.” Her fingers ran once through her hair, her eyes closing as his lips pressed against her cheek.

She watched as he walked down the driveway. Farther and farther until he turned to her with the most painful smile. With all her might, she smiled in return, wiping her tears and sending him a small wave.

Joe watched her shut the door. Him on the outside. Her on the inside. He hoped to find her there Sunday night. He prayed they become one again.

Aaliyah slid down the door holding the key in her hand. Listening till the car could no longer be heard, she wiped another tear before turning to the ottoman. The roses were long gone, her coat hung on the rack. Her heels were placed on the shoe rack. She recognized Joe’s scribbles on a piece of paper pinned to the wall next to her coat.

Standing up she walked over pulling it off the wall. 

“Please stay.” Do I stay?

If it hurt so much to lose someone, why did it hurt to unite again?

Should I stay?

[likehoneyandsilk]

Ease My Mind

Seldom did Joe lose his serene and composed demeanor. At least not outwardly. It periodically became easier to notice the shift, the sway in his everyday presence. As July rolled in, when the weeks passed in a haze, hot summer heat idle in the air, you observed as your lover lumbered through another day without a vocal complaint. It was the soft sighs, slouching shoulders, tender muscles, and tired eyes repeatedly finding salvage between your arms. Within your grasp, lips pressed against your chest and silky strands brushing underneath your chin, was where he felt most at peace, the voices in his head muted.

It was uncanny, you thought, sitting at the edge of the tub as Joe leaned back, body immersed in an ice bath. Uncanny that a season like Summer symbolizing warmth and positivity became such a dreadful time for him. The pressure he placed on himself tormented, gravely demeaning. It was times like this when the expectations from himself and the public, the desire to perform beyond optimal perfection, settled deep into his soul, rattling his bones, and forcing him past even his own lengthy limits. He was never unrestrained from his job. Instead, he was entirely devoted and enthroned till his very last game. Till the final call, the end of an era belonging to Cincinnati’s golden boy.

When February ended, and March peeked into your lives, it was bliss. You gave Joe grace for a few weeks to wrap his mind around another completed season and permit him time to heal and redeem his emotions. By late February he’d recomposed, football aside, and you both played house. From hometown trips, aimless drives, mid-day chatter, and the ever-so-thrilling nights in bed. The following months leading up to this moment, when the kisses and embraces became more compassionate, the moments held fragile, and the memories of another off-season taunting.

And today as you sat before him, watching dawn grace his face golden yellow, concealing those electric blue eyes, you could not help but feel a twinge of guilt. Off-season despite its bliss, signified more acknowledged time apart. It was easier during the season to work, share meals, take evenings in, lazy mornings in bed on off days, spend your weekends cheering him on, road trips, and fancy team dinners. Any moment together was treasured, the routine ironically steady. But now you pondered if a phone call to the hospital would suffice the turmoils in your stomach. A harmless sick day, an opportunity to play hooky, a chance to pull Joe away from his mind. Your feet moved before the gears in your brain, and within seconds you managed to escape the tiring but rewarding 12 hours ahead, to instead look after your lover.

Upon returning to the bathroom, you met with those captivating blue eyes. Joe smiled at you softly, eyes glancing over your frame. His voice barely audible as he muttered a “Hey you”. Some mornings were brief. He’d catch your lips in a rush, pulling the hem of an oversized shirt covering your body closer precipitously. His hands would find your waist, consuming your senses in just a few seconds, till you’d split, forced to conquer your days. He missed the feel of you against him, the hours spent keeping each other warm, and his ears sought the medley you’d spill from within, only made for him. But his muscles were sore, his legs throbbing, and when he had you alone he selfishly craved your nursing. Familiar hands massaging every aching spot, lips pressing pleasant kisses to sections of pain, and those loving eyes he prayed to call his forever laced with concern before he’d dismiss your mind, venture to revoke the fear in your voice, drive away all worry and pull you into sleep with him, holding you close as if to persuade you he was well.

And as you lay next to him, watching him drift away, observing the crease between his brows resolve and his chest rise and fall with tiresome depth, you knew he was attempting to convince himself.

This morning, however, he noted the relaxation in your stride. His gaze observed as you sat near him, pulling your long hair back before those angelic eyes inched closer, and you pressed your lips to his dearly. The water shifted, barely jumping at the contact of his cold and wet hand against the warm skin of your neck until another held you in place, securing your bare legs, thick fingers pressing into your skin. He groaned as your part, a lazy smile on your lips. The hem of your shirt was wet, water trickling down your neck. Joe’s profound chest was littered with droplets, shimmering against the ray of dawn. You placed your forehead against his, closing your eyes as the feel of his hands crept closer to your bottom. He muttered incoherent remarks at the first feel of thin lace. Before he could pull you in, you spoke.

“What time is practice?” your voice was sweet, almost hushed. His head fell back, a desolate sigh leaving his lips. The room fell quiet again. You placed your lips against his neck, painting a pathway of gentle kisses to his jaw. “Around noon.” His fingers tugged the thin material covering your body, distressed hands longing to have his way. Pulling away, you nodded, your eyes wandering to the large window behind you. The sun was barely up, and Joe had finished an early morning workout already. “Well then,” You faced him again, reaching for a towel on the vanity, holding it out for him. “Better get you some breakfast.”

The house was beginning to glow as the sun inched steadily above the horizon. The white walls became yellow, the hardwood floors shining. The aroma of coffee engulfed Joe’s senses as he made his way down the stairs toward the kitchen. He found you assembling freshly toasted frozen waffles on a plate, dousing them with savory syrup. Before he could protest or retreat from anything outside of his strict diet, you spoke.

“Not today Burrow, one sugary breakfast won’t hurt you.” You motioned to the coffee cups as you lead him to the balcony, nudging the large French doors open with your foot, setting the plates before both of you on the table, as you relaxed into the patio couch. Joe took a hearty bite of a waffle, mouth overcome with sweetness and delight. But nothing matched the pacifying look in your eyes when he turned to face you. “Told you,” you whispered, a smile lurking on your lips. You both ate in silence for a moment, watching the day come alive before you. Finally, Joe spoke aloud, his arm circling your waist.

“Don’t you have work today?” He asked, confusion spreading over his face. He toyed with the hem of your shirt, tips of his fingers daring to graze skin. “No, I called in,” you declared simply, watching as the furrow between his eyebrows became apparent. “I want to spend the day with you.” You added, extending your leg over him, placing your weight on his large thighs. Your hands ran up his neck, as you bent towards him, lips barely apart. “I want to look after you today.” You whispered, exploring his eyes for a sign of solace. “Y/N you didn’t have to …”

Joe admired your drive and passion for your profession. He was in awe of your selfless nature to look after others day and night. During the season you put aside your career some weeks to help him focus, support him and be present with him. And he despised pulling you away from what you loved and did best. “I know, trust me I know, but I want to calm down whatever it is going on in here.” Your voice was an analgesic, and your fingers recovered as they ran through his hair, stroking his scalp. He fell loose before you, allowing you to take authority as you kissed him. His body settled beneath your touch. Your hands ran up his arms which had grown over the last few weeks, along his torso which was more firm. And as your chest pressed against his, your hair falling to frame his face, the taste of syrup and coffee filling his mouth, he guided you underneath him. His calloused restless hands found residence beneath your shirt, feeling the panes of your back as Joe released his weight gently onto you. Your hips pushed against his, a gasp escaping your lips when those blue eyes flashed before you, the larger man practically crawling down your body.

Despite the yearning, regardless of the butterflies in your stomach, you withdrew, mumbling a breathless “Wait”, the tips of your digits pushing into his broad shoulders. “Not yet,” you whimpered, sighing. You swiped the sole curl on his forehead aside as he fell next to you, face nestled into your neck. “Not yet.” You whispered, feeling his lashes flutter against you, the silent consolation when he found your skin underneath fabric again, legs entangling with yours. The pleasure he desired was not a remedy for easing his mind. And while you held him, grazing your fingers through his hair, you observed as his body rose and fell steadily. And as the day awoke, Joe slept within your arms, and you didn’t dare wake him till just before noon.

The sun was fully awake as you stood on the sidelines of Paycor Stadium. The sky above you a vivacious blue, not a cloud in sight. You watched Joe run drills with the team. Those long muscular legs were quick and fast. Daring blue eyes hyper-focused. And every throw was meticulous, as the football spun seamlessly into the hands of his receivers. His orange jersey brought out the tan in his skin which glistened underneath the heat.

As the whistle blew for a water break, Joe permit himself to look at you. When you followed him to the car this morning, any dread of practice seeped through him when you declared you would join. And now, as you stood a few steps away, engaged in polite conversation with the training staff, Joe pulled his ears from the banter amongst his teammates, tuning their voices out, and found serenity at the sight of you.

It was a challenge not to fixate on you during drills, knowing in the back of his mind, from the corner of his eyes that the pretty girl in the blue sundress with tiny daisies was his girl. The sun gleamed down on your rich skin, hair loose, blowing slightly with the soft breeze. White cheeky heart-shaped sunglasses rested atop your head. Your cheeks were rosy from the heat and that pretty smile on your pink lips filled him with warmth greater than the scorching heat as you listened intently to your speaker. Far too mesmerized, Joe barely heard the whistle blow near him. It wasn’t until Coach Taylor yelled his name demanding his attention, followed by the snicker of his teammates as they glanced back at their quarterback’s weakness did he ultimately draw his eyes from you, but not until catching sight of a reassuring smile you sent his way.

In another two hours, you had sought shade in the tunnel watching as practice concluded. As the men made their way off the green grass, some stopping to embrace you, you watched Coach Taylor pull Joe aside. At first, his broad shoulders seemed to tighten, those fine lips pursed, but then as the words left the Coach’s mouth you watched him ease back into comfort. The pair approached you then, anticipation bubbled as a glistening Joe headed straight for you. “Joe is excused from media obligations today Y/N.” You smiled at Coach Taylor as he sent you a wink, bidding you both well.

Your chest rose and fell prominently as Joe stood before you. Your fingers intertwined with his as your backside depressed against the firm wall. “I don’t know what you did, but thank you.” The skin of his cheeks and forehead was sunkissed, the redness evident, and his baby blue eyes more luminous outside. The hair atop his head was messy, which he pushed back with his hand. With weary eyes Joe scanned near and far, before resting a hand over your head, bending down to press a grateful kiss to your lips. His right knee lightly pushed against your thigh, the edge of your little sun dress lifting dangerously higher. Your mind felt foggy, swamped with the fragrances of sweat, grass, and remnants of his cologne. Your arms wrapped around his neck, trying to reach his height as you stood on your toes, practically falling into him. And you didn’t pull back, not until a stream of whistles emerged from nearby. Joe laughed as he walked back into the locker room, turning to find your cheeks blushed, pulling the sunglasses over your eyes.

The house was silent, except for the sounds of soft breaths, the pages of your novel turning as your eyes skimmed over words, and the scratch of Joe’s pen against paper. The sun was beginning to descend below the horizon, the sky outside a canvas of cotton candy pink. The sound of Joe’s heartbeat filled your ears, as you lay your head on his chest, meshed into the couch. Much to your dismay, Joe was distracted with an article on his play. The writer critiqued his form, speed, and resilience. You listened as his heart quickened, frustration evident as he shifted uncomfortably against you. He obsessively underlined phrases and lines, reading over and over what this foreign man claimed he needed to improve. Unable to take it anymore you shifted, your weight no longer pulling into him and he forced his eyes away, a sudden panic as you stood up. Your novel fell in your spot on the couch, unfazed as you lost your page. “Put it away, please, for your sanity just put it away.” Joe watched as the familiar fear clouded your eyes. 

There were only so many times he could play dumb.

Circling your hand around his, you gestured for him to join you. Trailing behind you like a lost puppy, he watched your fingers skim as you flipped light switches, the house becoming dark as did the sky, a sleek dark blue. Reaching the bathroom, you pressed your palms into Joe’s chest, pushing him back towards the vanity. He watched as you filled the tub with warm water, the steam rising. You made your way effortlessly through the bathroom depositing rose and lavender Epsom salts into the water. Finally, when the tub was full, the waft of rose and lavender swallowing him, you came closer, your dainty fingers falling to his gray cotton shorts. Your fingers danced through the strings, loosening them as your hands slid up higher, pulling the black shirt over his head. Your eyes never met his, but he kept his on you, watching as the concern laced your features, tears threatening to spill.

“I want you to get in.” your voice was hushed, sending a shiver down his spine as he nodded, forcing his hands away from your waist as you turned without a glimpse. The door shut behind you, and you lingered, holding your breath till you heard the water shift, his relieved sigh loud as you imagined him descending into the water. After a few minutes of solitude, you knocked, peaking your head into the bathroom, catching Joe in utopia, head back, eyes closed as the warmth around soothed every muscle, each nerve, and delighted his skin. Quietly you sat next to him, your hips in alignment with his head. 

His eyes opened at the first feel of your touch and closed almost immediately. Loving hands massaged his shoulder, your palms outlining the pane of his collarbone, gracing his back, watching as he tensed and eased back into you. Dipping your hands into the water, you brought them back up, running your fingers through his scalp, washing away the scents reminding you of locker room shampoo. You worked quietly, shifting to press your hands into any exposed skin, bringing his arms to rest against your bare thighs as you relieved each knot, every tense form.

His eyes opened as his head fell against your stomach, his large hands closing around yours resting on his bare chest. The silence was comfort. The night had become cool, the floor beneath your feet icey. “What is it that’s on your mind?” He shifted against you, a sigh following a long pause. “What if I’m not good enough? What if I let everyone down again?” You purse your lips at these words, scouring for the right things to say as your head dipped lower in gloom. “You’re always going to think you need to do better. And whether you or not you see it, you are better, every year. A trophy doesn’t prove your worth.” You hovered your hand underneath his chin, pulling his head back as you grazed your lips over his. He kissed you feverishly. “You just have to remind yourself you are getting better. It isn’t fair to not love and appreciate yourself the way you do others.” His features softened, eyes fading into realization. 

As he fell back into you, your hold tighter, you whispered into his ear, pressing your lips against it as if to seal the deal. “You play the game for a living, but you can’t live to play. There will always be someone to tell you that you aren’t better, but if you choose to listen and drive yourself into suffering when instead you can use it to build yourself soundly, I can only speculate how your mind would ease.” For a few more minutes you held him, listening to the sound of his breathing as his eyes stared out into the darkness, your words shifting in his brain.

And as you started the shower, pressing a loving kiss to his lips, you left the bathroom, retreating back to settle your own mind.

When you entered the bedroom again he sat against the headboard, long legs hanging off the bed, feet planted firmly on the ground, and a sober look on his face. Wordless, he reached for you, drawing you near, your legs draping over his thick-toned thighs, skin unveiled as his shorts rose higher. “You’re right Y/N.” The two simple words lingered between you, the concern in your eyes overcome with endearment. You pressed your lips into the crook of his neck, cheek resting on his shoulder as your arms wrapped around him. You breathed in the smells of rose and lavender, your brain fuzzy and stomach filling with butterflies. His fingers danced in your hair, an arm draped across your waist holding you close. “Lean back Joe.” he groaned ever so softly as you pulled away, in search of what it is you needed. 

He watched through heavy lustful eyes as you rummaged through the drawers, smiling as you pulled a pain relief oil from one. “Tell me where it hurts.” The room was dim, and as your bodies made shadows on the walls, the glow warm, your eyes glistening before him, Joe obeyed, guiding your hand to his left thigh. Sitting before him on your knees, settled between his outstretched legs, he gulped as you raised his shorts higher, heat rushing to your cheeks as the oil you rubbed between your palms met his thigh, fidgeting underneath your tedious hands. Slowly you made your way through every painful location, and as you pulled the his shirt over his head, your own eyes heavy, you beckoned to switch spots, settling behind him, drawing circles into the panes of his back, up his spine and down his biceps. And with every ease of pain, every delicate touch of love, he fell deeper in love if possible.

He listened as the water ran in the shower, waiting for you as the effects of the oil seeped into his muscles. For the first time in days he felt free. For the first time in days he didn’t dread tomorrow. And as you opened the door, eyes catching his, you made you way back to him hesitantly, afraid to inflict more pain. “There you go, that’s better.” You chuckled at his teasing remarks, cheeks crimson as your core met his thigh, his hands pulling the lace robe off your body, revealing white lace in the most intimate of spots.

“Thank you for today, and everyday,” he whispered, bringing you down with him, rolling over to face you as you fell beneath him. You nodded, knowing slowly but surely Joe understood. Your fingers traced the brim of his nose, the outline of his lips before digging your fingers into the hem of his shorts. You shuddered as his hands inched higher up your thighs, his lips trailing from your lips, down your neck, and descending below your sternum.

You sunk further in bed, engulfed by the sheets as his hands got lost in your hair, trailed down your warm arms and cupped your cheeks as his teeth grazed your bottom lip. “I wish I could make you forget it all” you whispered, words dripping with sympathy. He nodded against you, “I know …, I know …”. Your heart fluttered as his hips pressed against yours, skin meeting skin as your bodies entangled. Cupping his face within your hands you halted him, watching those desperate eyes hold your gaze intently. “You’re more than enough nine”. You watched the calm wash over his face, pictured the wave of relief running through his mind. And you kissed him, drawing him from his woes, pulling him into another world, reminding him just how much you loved him. 

[likehoneyandsilk]

Eventide Pleasures

Thank you everyone for the love on Ease My Mind!  It is truly appreciated! To help get the creativity flowing I decided to experiment with a shorter piece and something in the drafts. Enjoy! 🤍

…

A faint breeze drifts through the open window gradually. Scents of jasmine and fresh-cut grass arrive with it, overstimulating your senses most delicately. You watch the curtains dance in harmony, gracefully moving back and forth. The setting sun peaks in between. The sky has become a canvas of pink and blue with streaks of golden yellow, painting the end of another day. The tips of your fingers skim over his white cotton shirt. The fabric is soft against the pads of your fingers. Your eyes wander between the window sitting behind the figure before you, a more endearing sight if you will.

Tan and toned, long limbs adorned with a pair of gray shorts. Chest and abdomen, firm and profound, peeking between the unbuttoned shirt. Joe lays before you, eyes closed, lips sealed in a relaxed line. You skim your fingers softly from his navel, up his abdomen, and along his chest until your arm snakes around his shoulder. You watch as he fidgets next to you, eyes fluttering open and those electric blue orbs find solitude in your brown ones. He watches a smile creep over those luscious pink lips, a hint of mischief in your eyes. Your fingers dance into the hair at the nape of his neck.

You smile in delight, lips pressing into the crook of his neck as he pulls you near. His larger hand finds residence at the small of your back. He listens as your breath hitches, followed by a small giggle as he entagles his limbs with your naked ones. His scent intrigues you now. The masculine cologne mixed with the essence of fresh air. His fingers dance along your back, the thin fabric of your sundress unable to disguise the suggestive of his touch. Joe feels your lashes flutter against his skin, and discerns your silky hair tickle the edge of his jaw as you shift against him. Your fingers travel through his hair, gently pulling the longer strands between your digits, the breeze prancing against your skin. He emits a sound of disapproval when you pull back, the sudden loss of contact forming a frown on his handsome features. Lifting yourself on one arm, the hurried movement propels you forward into him, yet you hold your stance. Joe sighs, a smirk on his lips as he studies you. Your eyes dance over his face, cheeks crimson as you near him. He cannot help but close his eyes as your lips press to his. The arm holding you up feels powerless when his hand wrap around your neck, skin tingling under his touch, and with all your might you refrain from descending into him and letting him hold you and confine you in the ways he can only.

As your lips dance in symmetry, you pull yourself higher, chuckling as Joe breaks to chase after you, pulling his weight onto the backs of his elbows. “Not so fast, huh …” his voice is hoarse, the tone tender against your insides as your heart flutters. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere,” you reply in a hushed whisper. The hair he has grown over the last few months falls effortlessly over his forehead, around the sides in the most charming way. Joe takes his time admiring you. Long lashes around bigger eyes, plump plush lips. The off white sundress exquisite around your frame. 

Those blue eyes darken abruptly, a knowing smirk on his face as he resists and lays on his back. Joe brings his large arms behind his head, fingers clasping together. “By all means darling, go ahead.” It is all very nonchalant. The icey smooth tone, piercing gaze and it is all too intoxicating. Unable to find the words, unable to think clearly, you blink, feeling the crimson spread from your neck to your cheeks as his gaze lingers intently.

The heat surges through your core, into your veins, and up to your head, which suddenly feels hazy. Sitting up fully, you feel his eyes on your chest, which exude the smitten state you are in, rising and falling at a faster rate. The air around you feels warm, the room hotter and the sheets beneath your blazing skin sticky. Joe waits patiently, maintaining back the urge to grasp your waist as you hover one leg over him. And suddenly you’re sitting on his lap, staring down at him with those curious dark chocolate brown eyes.

Your mouth is dry abruptly, cheeks burning, and although you cannot speak you allow your hands to speak for you. They travel along his bare sides, underneath the shirt, over his abdomen, and along his chest. Every pane, every muscle felt with such ease. He shudders underneath you, large muscles in his arms tightening with impatience. His eyes roam over you, licking his lips as he wishes to have you underneath him.

It is a command, a craving, when Joe hooks his hands underneath your thighs, pressing your knees further into the mattress. You lean slowly, well aware that your core presses against his thigh, creating impeccable friction against the lacy fabric protecting it. Joe kisses you sweetly, tasting every ounce of cherry chapstick and the remnants of vodka soda. Pulling your bottom lip between his teeth he cannot help but find satisfaction as the most heavenly moan escapes your throat. It is devilish you think to yourself, as he shifts beneath you, listening as you gasp while more uncontainable friction is created against your heat. His hands press into your waist, holding you still as you try to dive into him, begging him to hold you against him. He shakes his head when you pull back, your hands pushing into his biceps as more friction is created against your most intimate spot while he adjusts you.

He smirks as your cheeks go pink and you catch your breath. For a brief second, Joe watches as your eyes wander to the window. The breeze has picked pace, forcing strands of your long brown hair to flow. The darkness of the room and the warm brightness outside has painted you in a lavender haze. He imagines revealing you fully, above him like a goddess, pulling the dress lower and lower. He craves the hue of lavender to grace your skin.

And when your eyes meet his, he cannot help but note the divine glow. The impatient yet helpless look across your features that flashes in waves through your eyes. And the silent plead as you shift against him, biting your lip as the known friction compels you to keep moving your hips against him. Despite this you resist, taking a deep breath as Joe nods reassuringly.

The tips of your fingers now find a home between the thin straps of your sundress. Joe watches with eager eyes as you slowly but achingly pull them down, exposing every speck of skin gracing your shoulders. He watches a shaky breath leave your lips as you eye him through your lashes. His tongue glides over his lips, those eyes lingering with interest. “Don’t be tease Y/L/N,” Lifting yourself off him, your bare feet find plush carpet. The ends of your sundress become engulfed within your nervous hands. You wait as Joe sits himself, those eyes a heavenly dark shade as he nods his head motioning you closer. You obey, gulping as he spreads his legs wider, exposing a spot for you on the mattress. He turns you, his hands guiding you with every touch on your waist. Your back presses against his as you sit down, his legs pressing against yours as if to hold you in place.

His fingers brush your hair to one side, and while the curtains dance before you so does your breathing. “Beautiful,” he mutters into your ear, pressing his lips against them as if to seal his words. Your hands find solace on his knees, smiling as his lips press into the intricate spot on your neck, and suddenly you need his arm to wrap around your stomach to hold you in place. Your neck cranes farther, your heart beating as his fingers trace up your right thigh, inching the dress up higher and higher. “Open up for me.” his voice is both calming and chilling. As your legs spread farther, his name falls from your lips in cluttered whispers. Barely touched, and he has you flustered. “A little more sweetheart,” you nod, melting against him. Joe is smitten by the desperation as he teases you, watching as crumble before him, demanding what it is you so hopelessly desire. His lips press to your jaw, and he silences those desperate whimpers, as his thick fingers hover before your core, and you nod while he mumbles affirmations.

When his digits enter you, it is both exhilarating and over-captivating. And as he works you through, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, pressing his lips to all exposed skin, as his hair brushes against your skin, you flutter against him, filling the air with sounds he desired to hear. Your nails graze over his thighs, and when he’s worked you through pleasure, you listen as he mutters words of content. “That’s my girl.” You catch your breath, falling limp against him. His arm around your stomach pulls away, bringing his fingers to the top of your scalp as he mumbles endearments, tasting you with pure satisfaction, before pulling his fingers from his mouth.

The sky has begun to darken, replicating the look in his eyes when you twist your body to face him. He knows the look in your eyes all too well, kiss swollen lips and skin littered with love bites as he nods, a playful smirk on those lips. You lean over, knowing very well your dress is sliding further down your frame, and as the room becomes cast in a yellow glow from the bedside lap, you push him onto the bed. As his head falls back against the pillow, you fall next to him, pulling him towards you as your fingers hastily grab onto his shirt. He kisses you then, pressing his hips against yours. You lift yourself, back arching as the sundress exposes honeydew skin. The sheets velvety against you, Joe’s hands and lips tracing over every curve. 

The kisses descend from your neck, down your sternum, lingering at your breasts, and slow down your navel. As your stomach erupts with butterflies, his eyes meet yours. The sight before him is breathtaking. And he cannot hold you back any longer. When his large hand presses against your stomach, and another pull the sheet over you, knowing well you are desperate to grasp something, you fall into his bliss as his mouth meets your aching core.

And when the sky has darkened completely, the breeze icy cold and the sounds coming from within you silenced, Joe holds you, flush against him, wrapping his arms and sheets around your figure, listening to the sounds of your breathing. His fingers rub your scalp, whispering soothing words into your ear as he brings you from an astounding high to a leveled low. And when your breathing has fallen into a rhythmic pattern, eyes sealed shut, only then does Joe fall asleep.

[somemellifluouswords]

Obsessed 🤩

[likehoneyandsilk]

Ease My Mind

Seldom did Joe lose his serene and composed demeanor. At least not outwardly. It periodically became easier to notice the shift, the sway in his everyday presence. As July rolled in, when the weeks passed in a haze, hot summer heat idle in the air, you observed as your lover lumbered through another day without a vocal complaint. It was the soft sighs, slouching shoulders, tender muscles, and tired eyes repeatedly finding salvage between your arms. Within your grasp, lips pressed against your chest and silky strands brushing underneath your chin, was where he felt most at peace, the voices in his head muted.

It was uncanny, you thought, sitting at the edge of the tub as Joe leaned back, body immersed in an ice bath. Uncanny that a season like Summer symbolizing warmth and positivity became such a dreadful time for him. The pressure he placed on himself tormented, gravely demeaning. It was times like this when the expectations from himself and the public, the desire to perform beyond optimal perfection, settled deep into his soul, rattling his bones, and forcing him past even his own lengthy limits. He was never unrestrained from his job. Instead, he was entirely devoted and enthroned till his very last game. Till the final call, the end of an era belonging to Cincinnati’s golden boy.

When February ended, and March peeked into your lives, it was bliss. You gave Joe grace for a few weeks to wrap his mind around another completed season and permit him time to heal and redeem his emotions. By late February he’d recomposed, football aside, and you both played house. From hometown trips, aimless drives, mid-day chatter, and the ever-so-thrilling nights in bed. The following months leading up to this moment, when the kisses and embraces became more compassionate, the moments held fragile, and the memories of another off-season taunting.

And today as you sat before him, watching dawn grace his face golden yellow, concealing those electric blue eyes, you could not help but feel a twinge of guilt. Off-season despite its bliss, signified more acknowledged time apart. It was easier during the season to work, share meals, take evenings in, lazy mornings in bed on off days, spend your weekends cheering him on, road trips, and fancy team dinners. Any moment together was treasured, the routine ironically steady. But now you pondered if a phone call to the hospital would suffice the turmoils in your stomach. A harmless sick day, an opportunity to play hooky, a chance to pull Joe away from his mind. Your feet moved before the gears in your brain, and within seconds you managed to escape the tiring but rewarding 12 hours ahead, to instead look after your lover.

Upon returning to the bathroom, you met with those captivating blue eyes. Joe smiled at you softly, eyes glancing over your frame. His voice barely audible as he muttered a “Hey you”. Some mornings were brief. He’d catch your lips in a rush, pulling the hem of an oversized shirt covering your body closer precipitously. His hands would find your waist, consuming your senses in just a few seconds, till you’d split, forced to conquer your days. He missed the feel of you against him, the hours spent keeping each other warm, and his ears sought the medley you’d spill from within, only made for him. But his muscles were sore, his legs throbbing, and when he had you alone he selfishly craved your nursing. Familiar hands massaging every aching spot, lips pressing pleasant kisses to sections of pain, and those loving eyes he prayed to call his forever laced with concern before he’d dismiss your mind, venture to revoke the fear in your voice, drive away all worry and pull you into sleep with him, holding you close as if to persuade you he was well.

And as you lay next to him, watching him drift away, observing the crease between his brows resolve and his chest rise and fall with tiresome depth, you knew he was attempting to convince himself.

This morning, however, he noted the relaxation in your stride. His gaze observed as you sat near him, pulling your long hair back before those angelic eyes inched closer, and you pressed your lips to his dearly. The water shifted, barely jumping at the contact of his cold and wet hand against the warm skin of your neck until another held you in place, securing your bare legs, thick fingers pressing into your skin. He groaned as your part, a lazy smile on your lips. The hem of your shirt was wet, water trickling down your neck. Joe’s profound chest was littered with droplets, shimmering against the ray of dawn. You placed your forehead against his, closing your eyes as the feel of his hands crept closer to your bottom. He muttered incoherent remarks at the first feel of thin lace. Before he could pull you in, you spoke.

“What time is practice?” your voice was sweet, almost hushed. His head fell back, a desolate sigh leaving his lips. The room fell quiet again. You placed your lips against his neck, painting a pathway of gentle kisses to his jaw. “Around noon.” His fingers tugged the thin material covering your body, distressed hands longing to have his way. Pulling away, you nodded, your eyes wandering to the large window behind you. The sun was barely up, and Joe had finished an early morning workout already. “Well then,” You faced him again, reaching for a towel on the vanity, holding it out for him. “Better get you some breakfast.”

The house was beginning to glow as the sun inched steadily above the horizon. The white walls became yellow, the hardwood floors shining. The aroma of coffee engulfed Joe’s senses as he made his way down the stairs toward the kitchen. He found you assembling freshly toasted frozen waffles on a plate, dousing them with savory syrup. Before he could protest or retreat from anything outside of his strict diet, you spoke.

“Not today Burrow, one sugary breakfast won’t hurt you.” You motioned to the coffee cups as you lead him to the balcony, nudging the large French doors open with your foot, setting the plates before both of you on the table, as you relaxed into the patio couch. Joe took a hearty bite of a waffle, mouth overcome with sweetness and delight. But nothing matched the pacifying look in your eyes when he turned to face you. “Told you,” you whispered, a smile lurking on your lips. You both ate in silence for a moment, watching the day come alive before you. Finally, Joe spoke aloud, his arm circling your waist.

“Don’t you have work today?” He asked, confusion spreading over his face. He toyed with the hem of your shirt, tips of his fingers daring to graze skin. “No, I called in,” you declared simply, watching as the furrow between his eyebrows became apparent. “I want to spend the day with you.” You added, extending your leg over him, placing your weight on his large thighs. Your hands ran up his neck, as you bent towards him, lips barely apart. “I want to look after you today.” You whispered, exploring his eyes for a sign of solace. “Y/N you didn’t have to …”

Joe admired your drive and passion for your profession. He was in awe of your selfless nature to look after others day and night. During the season you put aside your career some weeks to help him focus, support him and be present with him. And he despised pulling you away from what you loved and did best. “I know, trust me I know, but I want to calm down whatever it is going on in here.” Your voice was an analgesic, and your fingers recovered as they ran through his hair, stroking his scalp. He fell loose before you, allowing you to take authority as you kissed him. His body settled beneath your touch. Your hands ran up his arms which had grown over the last few weeks, along his torso which was more firm. And as your chest pressed against his, your hair falling to frame his face, the taste of syrup and coffee filling his mouth, he guided you underneath him. His calloused restless hands found residence beneath your shirt, feeling the panes of your back as Joe released his weight gently onto you. Your hips pushed against his, a gasp escaping your lips when those blue eyes flashed before you, the larger man practically crawling down your body.

Despite the yearning, regardless of the butterflies in your stomach, you withdrew, mumbling a breathless “Wait”, the tips of your digits pushing into his broad shoulders. “Not yet,” you whimpered, sighing. You swiped the sole curl on his forehead aside as he fell next to you, face nestled into your neck. “Not yet.” You whispered, feeling his lashes flutter against you, the silent consolation when he found your skin underneath fabric again, legs entangling with yours. The pleasure he desired was not a remedy for easing his mind. And while you held him, grazing your fingers through his hair, you observed as his body rose and fell steadily. And as the day awoke, Joe slept within your arms, and you didn’t dare wake him till just before noon.

The sun was fully awake as you stood on the sidelines of Paycor Stadium. The sky above you a vivacious blue, not a cloud in sight. You watched Joe run drills with the team. Those long muscular legs were quick and fast. Daring blue eyes hyper-focused. And every throw was meticulous, as the football spun seamlessly into the hands of his receivers. His orange jersey brought out the tan in his skin which glistened underneath the heat.

As the whistle blew for a water break, Joe permit himself to look at you. When you followed him to the car this morning, any dread of practice seeped through him when you declared you would join. And now, as you stood a few steps away, engaged in polite conversation with the training staff, Joe pulled his ears from the banter amongst his teammates, tuning their voices out, and found serenity at the sight of you.

It was a challenge not to fixate on you during drills, knowing in the back of his mind, from the corner of his eyes that the pretty girl in the blue sundress with tiny daisies was his girl. The sun gleamed down on your rich skin, hair loose, blowing slightly with the soft breeze. White cheeky heart-shaped sunglasses rested atop your head. Your cheeks were rosy from the heat and that pretty smile on your pink lips filled him with warmth greater than the scorching heat as you listened intently to your speaker. Far too mesmerized, Joe barely heard the whistle blow near him. It wasn’t until Coach Taylor yelled his name demanding his attention, followed by the snicker of his teammates as they glanced back at their quarterback’s weakness did he ultimately draw his eyes from you, but not until catching sight of a reassuring smile you sent his way.

In another two hours, you had sought shade in the tunnel watching as practice concluded. As the men made their way off the green grass, some stopping to embrace you, you watched Coach Taylor pull Joe aside. At first, his broad shoulders seemed to tighten, those fine lips pursed, but then as the words left the Coach’s mouth you watched him ease back into comfort. The pair approached you then, anticipation bubbled as a glistening Joe headed straight for you. “Joe is excused from media obligations today Y/N.” You smiled at Coach Taylor as he sent you a wink, bidding you both well.

Your chest rose and fell prominently as Joe stood before you. Your fingers intertwined with his as your backside depressed against the firm wall. “I don’t know what you did, but thank you.” The skin of his cheeks and forehead was sunkissed, the redness evident, and his baby blue eyes more luminous outside. The hair atop his head was messy, which he pushed back with his hand. With weary eyes Joe scanned near and far, before resting a hand over your head, bending down to press a grateful kiss to your lips. His right knee lightly pushed against your thigh, the edge of your little sun dress lifting dangerously higher. Your mind felt foggy, swamped with the fragrances of sweat, grass, and remnants of his cologne. Your arms wrapped around his neck, trying to reach his height as you stood on your toes, practically falling into him. And you didn’t pull back, not until a stream of whistles emerged from nearby. Joe laughed as he walked back into the locker room, turning to find your cheeks blushed, pulling the sunglasses over your eyes.

The house was silent, except for the sounds of soft breaths, the pages of your novel turning as your eyes skimmed over words, and the scratch of Joe’s pen against paper. The sun was beginning to descend below the horizon, the sky outside a canvas of cotton candy pink. The sound of Joe’s heartbeat filled your ears, as you lay your head on his chest, meshed into the couch. Much to your dismay, Joe was distracted with an article on his play. The writer critiqued his form, speed, and resilience. You listened as his heart quickened, frustration evident as he shifted uncomfortably against you. He obsessively underlined phrases and lines, reading over and over what this foreign man claimed he needed to improve. Unable to take it anymore you shifted, your weight no longer pulling into him and he forced his eyes away, a sudden panic as you stood up. Your novel fell in your spot on the couch, unfazed as you lost your page. “Put it away, please, for your sanity just put it away.” Joe watched as the familiar fear clouded your eyes. 

There were only so many times he could play dumb.

Circling your hand around his, you gestured for him to join you. Trailing behind you like a lost puppy, he watched your fingers skim as you flipped light switches, the house becoming dark as did the sky, a sleek dark blue. Reaching the bathroom, you pressed your palms into Joe’s chest, pushing him back towards the vanity. He watched as you filled the tub with warm water, the steam rising. You made your way effortlessly through the bathroom depositing rose and lavender Epsom salts into the water. Finally, when the tub was full, the waft of rose and lavender swallowing him, you came closer, your dainty fingers falling to his gray cotton shorts. Your fingers danced through the strings, loosening them as your hands slid up higher, pulling the black shirt over his head. Your eyes never met his, but he kept his on you, watching as the concern laced your features, tears threatening to spill.

“I want you to get in.” your voice was hushed, sending a shiver down his spine as he nodded, forcing his hands away from your waist as you turned without a glimpse. The door shut behind you, and you lingered, holding your breath till you heard the water shift, his relieved sigh loud as you imagined him descending into the water. After a few minutes of solitude, you knocked, peaking your head into the bathroom, catching Joe in utopia, head back, eyes closed as the warmth around soothed every muscle, each nerve, and delighted his skin. Quietly you sat next to him, your hips in alignment with his head. 

His eyes opened at the first feel of your touch and closed almost immediately. Loving hands massaged his shoulder, your palms outlining the pane of his collarbone, gracing his back, watching as he tensed and eased back into you. Dipping your hands into the water, you brought them back up, running your fingers through his scalp, washing away the scents reminding you of locker room shampoo. You worked quietly, shifting to press your hands into any exposed skin, bringing his arms to rest against your bare thighs as you relieved each knot, every tense form.

His eyes opened as his head fell against your stomach, his large hands closing around yours resting on his bare chest. The silence was comfort. The night had become cool, the floor beneath your feet icey. “What is it that’s on your mind?” He shifted against you, a sigh following a long pause. “What if I’m not good enough? What if I let everyone down again?” You purse your lips at these words, scouring for the right things to say as your head dipped lower in gloom. “You’re always going to think you need to do better. And whether you or not you see it, you are better, every year. A trophy doesn’t prove your worth.” You hovered your hand underneath his chin, pulling his head back as you grazed your lips over his. He kissed you feverishly. “You just have to remind yourself you are getting better. It isn’t fair to not love and appreciate yourself the way you do others.” His features softened, eyes fading into realization. 

As he fell back into you, your hold tighter, you whispered into his ear, pressing your lips against it as if to seal the deal. “You play the game for a living, but you can’t live to play. There will always be someone to tell you that you aren’t better, but if you choose to listen and drive yourself into suffering when instead you can use it to build yourself soundly, I can only speculate how your mind would ease.” For a few more minutes you held him, listening to the sound of his breathing as his eyes stared out into the darkness, your words shifting in his brain.

And as you started the shower, pressing a loving kiss to his lips, you left the bathroom, retreating back to settle your own mind.

When you entered the bedroom again he sat against the headboard, long legs hanging off the bed, feet planted firmly on the ground, and a sober look on his face. Wordless, he reached for you, drawing you near, your legs draping over his thick-toned thighs, skin unveiled as his shorts rose higher. “You’re right Y/N.” The two simple words lingered between you, the concern in your eyes overcome with endearment. You pressed your lips into the crook of his neck, cheek resting on his shoulder as your arms wrapped around him. You breathed in the smells of rose and lavender, your brain fuzzy and stomach filling with butterflies. His fingers danced in your hair, an arm draped across your waist holding you close. “Lean back Joe.” he groaned ever so softly as you pulled away, in search of what it is you needed. 

He watched through heavy lustful eyes as you rummaged through the drawers, smiling as you pulled a pain relief oil from one. “Tell me where it hurts.” The room was dim, and as your bodies made shadows on the walls, the glow warm, your eyes glistening before him, Joe obeyed, guiding your hand to his left thigh. Sitting before him on your knees, settled between his outstretched legs, he gulped as you raised his shorts higher, heat rushing to your cheeks as the oil you rubbed between your palms met his thigh, fidgeting underneath your tedious hands. Slowly you made your way through every painful location, and as you pulled the his shirt over his head, your own eyes heavy, you beckoned to switch spots, settling behind him, drawing circles into the panes of his back, up his spine and down his biceps. And with every ease of pain, every delicate touch of love, he fell deeper in love if possible.

He listened as the water ran in the shower, waiting for you as the effects of the oil seeped into his muscles. For the first time in days he felt free. For the first time in days he didn’t dread tomorrow. And as you opened the door, eyes catching his, you made you way back to him hesitantly, afraid to inflict more pain. “There you go, that’s better.” You chuckled at his teasing remarks, cheeks crimson as your core met his thigh, his hands pulling the lace robe off your body, revealing white lace in the most intimate of spots.

“Thank you for today, and everyday,” he whispered, bringing you down with him, rolling over to face you as you fell beneath him. You nodded, knowing slowly but surely Joe understood. Your fingers traced the brim of his nose, the outline of his lips before digging your fingers into the hem of his shorts. You shuddered as his hands inched higher up your thighs, his lips trailing from your lips, down your neck, and descending below your sternum.

You sunk further in bed, engulfed by the sheets as his hands got lost in your hair, trailed down your warm arms and cupped your cheeks as his teeth grazed your bottom lip. “I wish I could make you forget it all” you whispered, words dripping with sympathy. He nodded against you, “I know …, I know …”. Your heart fluttered as his hips pressed against yours, skin meeting skin as your bodies entangled. Cupping his face within your hands you halted him, watching those desperate eyes hold your gaze intently. “You’re more than enough nine”. You watched the calm wash over his face, pictured the wave of relief running through his mind. And you kissed him, drawing him from his woes, pulling him into another world, reminding him just how much you loved him. 

[likehoneyandsilk]

Stay

Graceful fingers danced across the strings of the harp. Aaliyah observed with curiosity as the harpist’s body descended into her craft. Shoulders rigid but hands-free. Long legs firmly encircled the instrument. Her eyes shut from the dimly lit restaurant draping her in gold. She had tuned out the entire world.  

Aaliyah’s dark brown eyes fixated on the harp, listening for every sound as the strings moved in patterns she did not comprehend. As her shoulders relaxed and her finger withdrew from the brim of her glass, the harpist stood up and took a bow. The dining hall burst into a roar of applause.

“Aaliyah?“

Suddenly, Aaliyah was back in the world. “Sorry Dash.” Aaliyah shook her head in shame, feeling idiotic for casting her focus on something other than the man who had arranged for an extraordinary meal. Aaliyah’s eyes found Dash’s own brown ones across the small table. He smiled reassuringly, reaching across to place a cordial hand over hers. She hesitated. 

His touch was unfamiliar. Aaliyah only truly knew one touch. Inscribed deep into her soul. It did not belong to this polite but foreign man before her. Dash withdrew, clearing his throat and bringing the glass of red wine to his lips. Grave silence fell between them as Aaliyah fidgeted with her cutlery.

She had been distracted the moment they stepped foot into the restaurant.“I’m starting to think you were never really interested in me.”

Oh gosh. Be soft, Aaliyah. He isn’t at fault. Dash observed the dazzling woman sitting across from him. Out of place. Back into the scene of harmless dates far too soon. Aaliyah paused, sipping on her wine for a few seconds attempting to collect her thoughts. However, there were not many. Her heart had been heavy for the past few months. This was her first date since the turmoil breakup. Her first date where the other man was not the one she had known to be her lover of six years.

Before Aaliyah could speak, she was stopped by Dash’s raised hand ushering the waiter over. “The cheque please.” Dash’s tone was solid yet kind. The young waiter looked between the two seated at his table, awkward and confused at their hasty departure. Aaliyah was parched. Her eyes located themselves on the bottle of wine before them, not even a quarter empty. She drew the glass towards her mouth again, swallowing a large amount of bitterness. The waiter nodded abruptly. “Of course sir, of course.” Aaliyah averted her gaze watching the boy disappear behind Dash. He became a lost figure within the exhibition of people smiling and laughing. Their eyes and mouths moved jovially, exchanging pleasantries with one another accompanied by divine meals and the most exquisite wine.

“Dash, listen I …” Aaliyah’s words were cut short as the waiter emerged with their cheque. She reached for it abruptly. It’s the least I can do, she thought to herself. “No Aaliyah, please, let me.” Without a glance at the cheque, Dash retrieved a few bills, crisp and smooth, handing them to the young boy. “Thanks for your service, keep the tip.” The waiter thanked Dash before giving Aaliyah a gentle bow. “Dash I am so sorry.” she mustered sheepishly, her cheeks burning from embarrassment.

The remorse in Aaliyah’s tone was evident, her features rueful. It saddened her to watch Dash smile with a shake of his head. His hand brushed through his long dark hair, styled neatly. “Let’s talk outside.” Aaliyah pulled her coat around her.

Autumn nights in Cincinnati were always frigid. After leaving the doors of the warm restaurant, Aaliyah shuddered as the cold sank into her bare legs. The stars above them were bright, like specks of glitter littering the dark sky. Dash kept a hand at the small of her back, leading her towards the valet. The two men seemed to wear the identical expression of shock as their waiter. They both acknowledged Dash and Aaliyah with a nod, before parting for their respective vehicles. It had not been very long since they had arrived. A few sips of red wine were the only thing of consumption. The engine must still be warm.

Aaliyah pulled her coat tighter, hugging her purse against her stomach. Dash leaned against the wall giving her his full attention as he had all along. “I feel horrible.” Aaliyah was a broken record that was repeating the same sentence in paraphrases.

Dash studied her face for a few seconds. Taking in those big brown eyes, dark lashes, and those plump lips. “I know Aaliyah, but it isn’t easy to see past how distant you seem. I know it was only the first date, but it isn’t time.” Gosh, Dash, you’re perfect.

Perhaps it was the way Dash knew exactly what to say. Or that despite having gone on the shortest date of his life with a woman as distasteful as Aaliyah, he sympathized and saw through her. “You owe it to yourself, and all the other men to figure it out. Whatever that is, whoever he is.” Aaliyah felt the tears at the brim of her eyes, turning her head away from this man who accepted her without question. “You are absolutely wonderful Dash. I’m sorry for wasting your time tonight. You didn’t deserve this.”

Their cars appear before them and Aaliyah walked with Dash to his. In the sleek black BMW, she caught sight of them. She felt the tension in the air, tearing herself away from Dash as he reached into the backseat of his car. “For what it’s worth,” he stated, offering a bouquet of ruby red roses.

Aaliyah chuckled. “Dash,” she whispered, reaching for the bouquet. “Thank you.” Dash nodded with his easy smile. “Take care, Aaliyah.”

And Aaliyah watched as he drove away, farther and farther. And she wondered when she would feel ready. If there ever was a time known as ready for her?

…

This is ridiculous. This is shameful. It’s low. In every attempt to talk herself out of what she was about to get herself into, Aaliyah failed to succeed.

The front porch light was on. All the blinds shut. From her seat, Aaliyah could make out that the lights were on in the kitchen and living room. She wondered if the key taped underneath the doormat in the left upper corner was still there. It always had been.

Stop Aaliyah, stop!

Don’t do this. Please don’t do this.

Her mind said to turn back. Go back to your sad empty apartment. Take off the dress, wipe the makeup, and fall into your bed. Think about him as you try to sleep instead. But her heart propelled her further.

Without another thought, she parted her car, slamming the door behind her. She walked straight to the door. Past the dead hydrangeas Aaliyah remembered planting early Spring. The red, orange, and yellow leaves crunched beneath her heels. She felt dizzy on her way up the steps. A trembling finger pushed against the doorbell. The all-too-familiar sound tugged at her heartstrings. Her legs felt feeble. Her vision was blurry. She was gripping the roses against her chest. Their musky scent was intoxicating. I can’t do this.

And then he appeared. 

“Aaliyah?” The sound of his voice laced with confusion hung heavy between them. It was as if a ghost appeared. He was unable to believe she was here. Aaliyah was frozen trying to comprehend that the man before her was right before her. If she reached out her hand, she could run it down the material of his white shirt. Aaliyah could pull at it, force him to her. And she could hold him. Cry into him. Beg him to love her. Plead him to kiss her once again.

Make her feel all the things he had for six years.

“Aaliyah.” Her name rolled off his tongue like an addictive drug. It came out whispered this time. As if she would drift away. As if the sound of his voice, one she had tried to forget, would pull her into insanity. “What are you doing here?”

What am I doing here? What am I doing here Joe?

“I … I don’t know … I …” her speech felt weak. Aaliyah’s chest was heavy as if pulling her down to the ground. The air around her was hot. With all her strength, she tore her eyes away from his piercing blue ones, dropping her gaze to the ground to compose herself.

Joe hesitated and with a shaking hand softly enveloped his fingers around her wrist. The sudden contact was enough for Aaliyah to feel the void within her fill. She wondered if he could feel her radial pulse pounding against his digits. The gentle tug of her arm towards the door forced her eyes into his again.

It was effortless for Joe to get lost in them. Big and brown. Surrounded by long lashes. Tonight they gleamed like stars underneath the porch light. Glossy and timid. His features softened. Aaliyah felt the well-known solace of his cool and calm persona. He shifted on his feet, leading her through the door.

What are you doing Aaliyah!? What are we doing!?

The release of her wrist happened all too soon. She placed the bouquet of roses on the ottoman she had selected when they first moved in. Her coat slid from her arms, exposing herself as vulnerable yet brave. She unclasped her heels, pushing them aside. It was as if she was making herself at home.

She could hear his trembling breath as she came clear into vision. Joe ran his eyes from the top of her head to her toes. Aaliyah’s jet-black hair had grown longer since he last saw her. It was curled and surrounded her back and shoulders. Her lips were painted a mixture of red and pink. The silk black dress hugged every curve of her body. A body he knew on the back of his hand. Every dip, every curve, every soft spot, and every insecurity. It was Aaliyah, his achingly stunning Aaliyah. 

Their eyes met again. Those heavenly lips parted but sealed shut. Joe gestured for her to follow him up. It was odd to Aaliyah how one could live in a home for years, only to become a stranger within its walls. Every part of this house was hers. From the art, the furniture, and each appliance.

They had built this home together. And then she was gone. And it had become only his.

Aaliyah gulped upon entering the kitchen. Everything was the same. It was as she had left it. She remained at the doorway. Joe watched from behind the kitchen island as her eyes roamed the space before her. He observed the change in her demeanor. She was scared. He knew her inside out. He knew the look of panic in her eyes. The realization that perhaps she was not ready for what she had come for. The epiphany that she had no clue how to go about this.

Joe feared Aaliyah would turn and run. And that he would not be able to stop her. He pictured chasing after her. Pulling her into him. Holding onto her for dear life and letting her release herself against him in any which way. Any opportunity to tell her he loved her. That he hadn’t stopped thinking about her. Tell her the minute she walked out, the moment the front door slammed, that in that second everything once something had become absolutely nothing.

But to his relief, Aaliyah came closer. She stood on the opposite end. She permitted herself to properly look at him. Him. It’s him. Tall, broad, and handsome like always. It was obvious he was bigger, more built in the span of a few months. His hair was the perfect length, not too short or long. It appeared soft and silky underneath the lighting. His jaw was more defined, lined with the tiniest of scruff and a scar to the left. Likely from a game. His eyes were soft. Skin tinted golden. Patiently waiting for her to say something. Joe leaned slightly over the counter, his knuckles white from gripping the ends.

“I’m sorry I came.” Joe felt a chill down his spine. That voice. Her voice so timid and sweet. Her voice like honey. A voice with the power to soothe him and drive him wild. “To be honest …” her thoughts fell short as she let out a shaking breath. She hesitated, searching her head for the words. 

In silence, Joe watched her as she made her way to the wine cellar off the left kitchen wall. Her fingers danced over labels, settling for a bottle of red wine. As she neared, Joe studied her frame. Her dress was divine. The fabric falling over her effortlessly. Her fingers long and slender, nails painted a glossy red. The tattoo of a daisy she had gotten drunk in college on full display between the curves of her breasts. Joe sighed heavily, averting his gaze. Aaliyah proceeded to the cabinet with the wine glasses. She had organized this home. She knew where anything and everything was kept.

Filling two glasses halfway, she slid one across the counter. Joe observed her lips fold around the brim, the red liquid diving into her mouth. He watched the movement of her neck, which was bare. His heart twisted at the missing “9” necklace. With some liquid courage, and the slightest of adrenaline, Aaliyah’s eyes once again encountered his.

“I went on a date tonight. First one since.” Aaliyah paused, flailing her fingers between them, scoffing before she said bitterly, “I couldn’t even sit through it.” Joe shifted uneasily. Lips pressed into a firm line as his eyes darkened with jealousy. Any man would be honored to know the woman before him. Radiant, loving, and sincere. The mere thought of another man holding her, kissing her, and touching her in ways only he had made him distraught. She was no longer his. He had no right.

“How was it?” His tone was flat. He didn’t want to know. But he did. She chuckled dryly jerking her head back and forth. Joe took a long sip of wine, pursing his lips at the sharp taste. With only a few drops of liquid remaining, Joe moved to pour it down the drain, watching the dark red swirl before it vanished completely. Aaliyah watched the muscles of his back tense underneath his shirt. 

“I couldn’t sit through it. I didn’t want to.” And then they relaxed.

“And why is that?” His tone was firm, jealousy probing. Aaliyah felt her breath hitch. She wanted to flee. But Joe was taking slow yet purposeful steps in her direction and she couldn’t move. “Talk to me, Aaliyah. What brings you here?”

Joe now stood inches from her. His large hands rested against the granite countertop. From this proximity, Aaliyah could see clearly how gorgeous he was. “He took me to a nice restaurant. Bought me flowers. Purchased the best wine. But …” Aaliyah felt the tears pooling in her eyes. Joe became blurry before her as a single tear fell down her cheek.

“It’s okay A, it’s alright.” Joe’s voice was like butter. Soft and smooth, sending ripples of warmth through her body. Aaliyah was tense, as Joe carefully pulled her against him. Her arms felt weak, limping at her sides. The familiarity of his arms around her made Aaliyah’s stomach tingle. One hand was placed against the curvature of her back while the other became lost in her hair. They remained that way for a few minutes, a single tear falling from Joe’s eyes when Aaliyah’s arms wrapped around his torso. This feels wrong yet right, she thought.

Aaliyah was not naive. She understood this would end in one of two ways. It wasn’t fair to either of them for her to just walk back in a moment of heartbreak. He deserved better.

“Please don’t go.” Aaliyah’s body tightened against him in response to his words. I don’t want to, she thought. But the words just didn’t seem to come out. She felt him shuffle, directing her against the island. Her breath hitched in her throat when he released her. Her heart felt like it was about to explode from her chest when their eyes met again. “Baby please don’t go.” He whispered, pressing his forehead against hers.

He was so close. Their lashes barely touched, his breath warm against her lips. His jaw clenched as she brought her hand nervously against the right side of his face, tracing his scar. His large hands placed themselves firmly on the countertop as if trapping her. Aaliyah felt her throat constrict, and her chest tighten. Joe watched as the dark lips before him moved, brown eyes staring right through his soul.

“How do you give someone six years of your life and pretend that they don’t exist anymore?” The words fell from those lips dripping with curiosity.

Aaliyah wanted to reach for Joe when he pulled back, propelling himself off the counter, and straightening back to his normal level. She saw a flare of something in his eyes. The confusion, pain, and potential resentment brushed passed in a wave as his eyes appeared  two shades darker. He shook his head in disbelief, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t.”

His voice was loud. Assured. Powerful. Not to scare Aaliyah, but a reminder that she was responsible for his pain as he was for hers. “I didn’t, because not a day goes by where I don’t think of you. Not a morning passes when I wake up to realize the spot next to me in bed is empty. The door was always within your reach.”

The key.

“The moment you left, the moment I let you leave, everything changed.” What started as confidence now became a cry for help. A pleading of words that he had suppressed far too long. His biceps flexed as he pulled at the ends of his hair. 

“Nothing feels right. You’re embedded everywhere in this house. Every inch and corner is a reminder of you. Every time I come home I wonder if you’ll be here.”

Aaliyah stood motionless. Digesting all his words. Every change in his tone. She did not bother to ask why he hadn’t sought her. She understood him far too well. They had practically grown together. Aaliyah knew that once Joe felt someone was better off without him, he wouldn’t dare intrude.

Even if it destroyed him.

The silence was heavy. Aaliyah fiddled with the rings on her fingers, pulling at the elastic band around her wrist. Joe winced as the band slapped back and forth against her skin. She’d picked up the anxiety relief mechanism after they parted ways. When nights were long and days a drag. When all she could do was wallow in heartbreak. He watched Aaliyah now, examining the damage they had done. Cheeks red from the impact of his words. But her eyes said everything. She was sorry. She was afraid. She had felt lost without him too.

“All I’ve thought about is you, Joe.” He gulped. The muscles in his biceps relaxed. A wave of relief washed across his face. Aaliyah willed herself forward. With weary steps, she came closer and closer. His fingers slipped between hers. His thumb rubbed atop the spot of her hand that always seemed to calm her. She couldn’t play this game she’d begun of back and forth the minute she had arrived at the door. They didn’t deserve to spend whatever time they’d have in this moment treading on thin ice.

The exhale leaving Aaliyah’s body felt promising. Her lungs felt lighter. Despite her heart beating profusely against her chest, regardless of her dry mouth, she felt safe as she always had with him. “Joe.” She whispered, craning her neck upwards. She released her fingers from his hold, moving them to his muscular arms. He shuddered at her touch, the tips of her fingers running up and down his arms. Aaliyah had the effect of turning “Joe Cool” into a mess of a lustful  man desiring nothing but her. His eyes closed waiting for her to speak. Aliyah watched her effect on him. She grazed over those arms, playing him like a harp. “Dammit Aaliya, say something.” HIs voice was husky, lingering in the air as Aaliyah clenched her legs together.

“I keep searching for some sense of relief. I keep waiting for things to feel right.” Her voice was like liquor. Pulling him right back in and he couldn’t resist. He had no wish to.

“I still love you, Joe.” His eyes opened then. Aaliyah’s eyes had darkened, her expression was sincere but reluctant of what he might say. They both knew something wrong had happened to cause the drift. They both knew that at some point they’d become outsiders to one another. Barely speaking. Scarcely touching. They knew there was a reason she had walked out the door that night when everything went to shambles.

But why did it hurt so bad? If this wasn’t meant to be, why couldn’t they move on? "Right person wrong time.” It was the phrase they heard from numerous people. Skeptical of what may happen next, Aaliyah watched as Joe leaned towards her. Her arms curled around his neck. He dipped his head near her, quivering at the feeling of her fingers in his hair. For the first time in months, he felt at peace. His arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her with ease. Aaliyah pressed herself to him, her chest against his toned one. Her legs secured around him as if she’d fall. He was her harp. Their breathing fell into sync. Their heartbeats demanded to become one.

The cold of granite countertop seeped through the fabric of her dress. Joe’s forehead rested against her own, his hand raising her chin. “I love you A. I love you so fucking much.” A chill ran down Aaliyah’s spine. It’s all she had been longing to hear. His voice was delicate with a twinge of pleading. His fingers skimmed her lips.

Whatever happened tonight, whether she walked out the door or allowed herself to fall into him, she wasn’t sure what to do after. But he loved her. 

He loves me.

Aaliyah felt the tears forming in her eyes to the influence of his revelation, interwoven with the unclarity between them. “I love you,” he whispered again. Please keep saying it. His eyes requested permission in a way so caring as his lips approached hers. Her breath hitched in her throat. Aaliyah nodded slowly, hands trembling as her fingers danced through his hair. “You don’t need to have all the answers right now.” She nodded again, lashes fluttering against his skin. His mint breath was cool against her skin. “You tell me to stop and I will Aaliyah.” She didn’t say a word, but her demeanor and liberation against him, with those brown eyes imploring, was sufficient for him to press his lips against hers.

“Joe Cool” was even better at making of desiring, longing, and impatient mess of Aaliyah.

He was careful. As if Aaliyah were a glass that may shatter. Warmth radiated throughout her body. In perfect harmony, they fell into a rhythm. A reminder of what they had, a prospect of what could be redeemed. Never in six years had they kissed like this. A kiss sealed with relief, despair, worry, and hope. Aaliyah drew back breathlessly. Her body felt limp. She wanted to fall into him, tell him to heal her in all the ways he could. Her eyes closed as his digits ran up and down her arms. “Please” she whispered, guiding his hands up dress, where they rubbed warmth into her thighs. His large hands pressed into plush skin as her insides throbbed. Joe’s fingers teased, driving the end of her lace undergarment upwards ever so slightly. Aaliyah sighed into him, her nails grazing against the back of his shirt.

Outstretching her neck, Aaliyah gave Joe access to more of her. Joe placed butterfly kisses from her collarbone up to her jaw. Silky and beloved, peppering her skin with his mark. Aaliyah wriggled against him. The simplest of contact made her impatient. He breathed in the familiar aroma of her perfume and pulled back her hair to expose her tender spot. A moan fled her lips as his teeth dug into her skin. She shuddered against him, pushing herself nearer, legs encircling his torso hard. Aaliyah nodded quickly as his fingers lingered along the straps of her dress. “Aaliyah, I need you to say it.” His calloused hands ran down her arms forming butterflies in her stomach. “Yes.” She mumbled breathlessly, leaning back on her arms. “Yes.”

He was delicate, so soft and gentle. Her lips found his again, more firmly against them. Aaliyah’s breasts pressed into his chest as a sound released from the back of her throat when he bit her lip, granting his tongue access to hers. Unexpectedly he drew her onward, her feet landing on the ground. They parted, breathless and warm. Joe studied her rosy cheeks, lustful eyes, and throbbing lips. Her fingers laced with his, tugging him closer.

Aaliyah led them through the halls and ascended the stairs into what was once their bedroom. She halted at the sight of his suitcase. It’s Friday. He would depart for Pittsburgh tomorrow. She knew that. He and his team were the talk of the city. Aaliyah was aware of every move.

“I don’t leave till noon,” he said softly as if reading her mind. The back of her legs hit the bed as she spun to face him. She seemed to be nodding when at a loss for words. Aaliyah pulled him to her, willing him to steer her down. Towering over her, Joe watched as Aaliyah dipped into the white sheets, the mattress soaking her in. A wave of greed surged through her core as her head fell against a pillow. The ends of her digits fiddled with his shirt, pulling it over his head. His body was littered with bruises, likely from his most recent game. Aaliyah ran dainty fingers over each bruise, watching Joe tremble before her. He depressed softly against her hips, earning a moan of delight when he eased against her. Kissing her again from her neck, around her jaw, and her lips. Her back arched with every surge of impatience. “J …” she dragged out, her voice barely audible.

He worked gradually with her dress. Achingly slow. Aaliyah withered impatiently beneath him. The silk slid down her skin, revealing dark lace adorning her most intimate spots. Aaliyah’s cheek flared as Joe’s pupils dilated in desire. “My pretty pretty girl,” he muttered, aimlessly tracing the lining of the fabric around her breasts. 

Yes, I’m yours. 

Lowering himself yet again to press his lips to her, his hand roamed to her back, where the garment was unhinged. Aaliyah pulled back breathlessly, her breasts tender as the lace withdrew from her skin, disheveled whines pleading with him to touch her in ways she had missed. His lusting eyes searched hers for a split second before retreating. His lips fell to the daisy between her breasts. She grasped the sheets around, her nails digging into his flesh as he sank against her. His touches were delicate. His mouth traveled over every bit of skin.

And so the harmony of two souls began. He listened while she articulated beautiful sounds he had only heard while his lips lowered. Lower, lower, lower. Hands traveled and explored places of her body he knew in his sleep. His name slipped from her lips in ways he craved. Joe watched as Aaliyah unraveled before him. Aaliyah was relieved when Joe’s lips moved past her navel, and she felt the lacy garment surrounding her core shift down her legs, exposing her entirety to someone who knew how to please, adore, and love her.

And then they became one. Slow and steady. Soothing and sweet. Every ounce of pleasure poured into one another. His hands gripped hers as she unleashed every trace of uncontainable desire. And she felt him disentangle against her. Pour his heart and soul into her.

…

When morning came, Joe awoke first. Sunlight crept in through the curtains. Next to him, Aaliyah lay peacefully in a deep sleep. Her head was secluded into the crook of his neck, their limbs entangled. Her dark hair settled behind her ears. Her lips were swollen from the collection of kisses shared overnight.

It was the first morning Joe woke up without the grim feeling of isolation. The first morning in which his heart felt whole. Harboring this moment because he did not know what the next hour entailed. The clock behind her read 10:45 AM. It was almost noon.

But he didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to say goodbye. He didn’t want to provide reason for Aaliyah to leave. He could not bear losing her as soon as he got her back.

Aaliyah stirred slightly, sensing the sun’s warmth and the man laying next to her. She felt the shift on his end as his large arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her closer. His ocean eyes met her as she fluttered them open. Hair was disheveled from their antics. Recollections of last night became clear. Sounds of of his name and hers falling from respective lips. The efflux of desire and pleasure radiating through their bodies. The ease with which they knew how to satisfy the other.

This felt normal. This felt like the mornings she had missed. 

Normal was the feeling of love that remained between them. They had escaped the loneliness for a night. And challenged the deprivation of one another, sufficing with one night. Yet it was not enough. It would never be enough. 

Six years came down to this one morning.

“Aaliyah.” For the first time since they crossed paths, she saw the faintest smile on his lips. The ends of Aaliyah’s lips curled upwards as her heavy hand brushed the sparse strands of hair from his forehead. “Aaliyah I have to go.” His whispers were shaky, hardly audible in the stillness of the bedroom. Her fingers traced along his forehead, around his eyes, the brim of his nose, brushing over his lips and jawline. A single tear fell from her eyes. “I know.” She whispered. “I know Burrow.”

Pulling from her with the heaviest heart, she watched his motions as he worked through the bedroom. When the shower began, she rolled over, wiping her tears. The bedside drawer was slightly ajar. Aimlessly going to push it back, Aaliyah hovered over it finding a little black box. Lifting it with unsteady fingers, and pulling open the lid, Aaliyah felt her body drain of life at the sight of the diamond ring.

She froze. A ring. The diamond sparkled. Pulling her eyes away, Aaliyah rummaged through the drawer discovering a photograph of herself. The colors had faded. She recognized her growing features, shorter hair, and a smile that seemed to have disappeared in the past few months. It was taken by Joe, from their earlier days of bliss when they first met in college.

She did not notice the numbers on the clock passing by nearing noon. And it wasn’t until the bed dipped next to her did she find the man bearing these belongings. Joe’s eyes told stories she was unaware of for the past few months. The faint scruff was gone, the scent of his aftershave filling her senses. He had dressed for his departure, black pants with a grey shirt and leather jacket. His lips fell into a melancholy smile, clearing his throat before speaking. Aaliyah let his fingers grasp the box and photograph from her own.

The sun had brought a yellow glow into the room. Joe’s exposed skin was painted golden, his blue eyes electric. Aaliyah pulled her legs against her chest, gripping them in safety. “I never got to ask you.” He whispered, announcing it with fragility. Her heart broke into a million pieces once again.

“I’m sorry Joe.” Aaliyah sniffed, suddenly standing from the bed and rushing into the bathroom. When the door slammed shut behind her, Joe sat there, watching the minutes pass by on the clock.

Aaliyah pulled his shirt over her head. She stared at her bare body in the mirror. Her fingers scanned every love bite. Wrapping her hair into a bun, she guided herself to the shower, where she melted as the hot water burned her skin. Generously lathering his body wash over her skin as if preserving his scent.

Her mind raced when she found the room empty, his luggage no longer in view. The bed was stripped, her dress hanging on the wall on a hanger. Removing the towel from around her, Aaliyah hurried to dress. It was almost noon.

No. No, no, no, no, no. NO!

Rushing down the staircase, and through the hall, Aaliyah called his name, “Joe!?” Afraid she had missed him, till he appeared before her, catching her in his arms. “Oh god, oh my gosh, I thought you left.” she listened to the desperation and fear in her voice. Her eyes fell shut against his chest, breathing in all his scents. Running her fingers through the slightly wet hair at the nape of his neck. There was a knock at the door, a familiar voice of a teammate shouting his name.

Aaliyah was about to be alone again. All alone. “No,” she whispered, feeling his arms tighten around her. Her hair had fallen down her back, his fingers massaging the back of her scalp. His lips pressed against the top of her head. Another knock and then a ring. Joe murmured endearments to her. Bringing her with him to the door.

“Give me a minute!” Joe called out gravely. Aaliyah listened as the footsteps retreated. Pulling apart, Joe cupped her cheeks, wiping at a lone tear.

“I love you Aaliyah.” He smiled, eyes glossy before his lips pressed to hers with prominence. Aaliyah kissed back with distinction, whispering “I love you” numerous times frantically against his lips. They separated when the engine of the car outside was heard.

Time seemed to stop. Two lovers, hurt by one another. Standing in the foyer of the home they once called theirs. Six years of history. Over half a decade of Aaliyah and Joe. Joe and Aaliyah. The good, the bad. The lovely, the horrible. Aaliyah watched Joe’s jaw tense before he spoke words she was hoping to hear.

“Whatever you decide Aaliyah, whatever it is you want to do, I will always love you.”

All too quickly, Joe kissed Aaliyah perhaps one last time, and embraced her as if he would never hold her again. Before turning the knob, he caught one last glimpse of her. Bare-faced, those dreamy big brown eyes, luscious lips, and rosy cheeks.

Aaliyah. Forever and always his Aaliyah. 

Aaliyah leaned against the door frame as the door opened, exposing the outside world. Joe bent down, removing the key from underneath the mat. Without a word, he placed it in the palm of her hand.

It was his silent way of saying “Please don’t go.” Her fingers ran once through her hair, her eyes closing as his lips pressed against her cheek.

She watched as he walked down the driveway. Farther and farther until he turned to her with the most painful smile. With all her might, she smiled in return, wiping her tears and sending him a small wave.

Joe watched her shut the door. Him on the outside. Her on the inside. He hoped to find her there Sunday night. He prayed they become one again.

Aaliyah slid down the door holding the key in her hand. Listening till the car could no longer be heard, she wiped another tear before turning to the ottoman. The roses were long gone, her coat hung on the rack. Her heels were placed on the shoe rack. She recognized Joe’s scribbles on a piece of paper pinned to the wall next to her coat.

Standing up she walked over pulling it off the wall. 

“Please stay.” Do I stay?

If it hurt so much to lose someone, why did it hurt to unite again?

Should I stay?

[bluephoenixgirl]

Via CBSSports on Instagram: Every single NFL team changed their Twitter avatar to show support for Damar Hamlin.

[thingsmk1120sayz]

Buffalo Sabres showing there love for Damar Hamlin

[bluephoenixgirl]