Free Fire & Water by Betsy Graziani Fasbinder Page B

on a grander scale, huh?”
    Jake pulled me close. Every part of me softened as I took in the soapy fragrance on his skin. His face was newly shaven, and I missed the stubble that had grown while we’d holed up at his place. I pulled off his glasses and set them on the coffee table. His mouth found surprising locations of excitement: under my chin, on each temple, and at the hollow of my throat.
    A sudden burst of light flashed, followed by a growl of thunder, knocking out the power. The house went dark, and Dinah Washington’s voice wound to a stop. The room radiated with candlelight from every corner and the flickering glow from the fireplace. Ben Casey’s tail thumped a slow rhythm against the floor.
    Firelight glowed amber on our skin as Jake unbuttoned my shirt. He cupped my breast in his hand, the warmth of him penetrating deep into me and the cavern where my heart drummed in more and more rapid response to his touch. His lips, his tongue, searched my skin. Soon I found myself naked in the firelight, but without any urge to cover myself.
    Hungrily, I opened his shirt, then the buttons on his jeans, glad to see that he was as aroused as I was. Both stripped of our clothing, we melted together in front of the fire. I pleasured in the textures of him—the layer of feathery hair on his chest, the firmness of his thighs. I loved the sound of his panting, a sign of his eagerness for me. “Wait,” he said, gasping just a little. He pulled my mouth away from him. “I have to slow down a little.”
    He laid me back, tucking my hands under each of my hips. “You first. Let me take care of you.” My body responded to his touches with shudders of pleasure. Lightning flickered in the distance as if we were creating it.
    As my breathing quieted, I watched the rise and fall of Jake’s chest. With a smooth motion I rolled on top of him, my legs astride. Our bodies found their synchronized rhythm, our eyes fixed on each other. In the glow of the candlelight his face was a twist of bliss and anguish. His moan drifted into a soft sigh until all tension left his body.
    Together we lay, entwined as one form, our bodies distinguishable only by the contrast of his olive skin and the near whiteness of mine. The pop of the fire and the rain against the roof were the only sounds in the room. Jake laughed. “We look like a marble rye,” he said as he looked down at our bodies.
    “What the hell is a marble rye?”
    “Don’t tell me I’ve found myself a real live shikse ? Do you mean to tell me you’ve never had a marble rye?”
    I shook my head.
    “Oy,” he exclaimed, donning his old Yiddish accent. “A marble rye is such a marvelous thing it cannot be explained. It’s only to be experienced. A beautiful mixture of rich brown rye and creamy white challah woven together, dark and white, in a braid. Just like you and me here.” Jake began tickling and kissing me until I could take no more. “I need a bite of this creamy white bread,” he said, biting me gently. Suddenly he stopped his silly play and looked up at me. “I can’t remember when I’ve felt so happy.”
    I pulled him close.
    “Oh, yeah,” Jake said, then rose from the pallet we’d made on the floor. “I gave everybody presents but you.”
    I leaned up on one elbow. “I think you just gave me a pretty nice present.”
    “That was for both of us. This is for you.” He slid the box he’d been balancing when he’d arrived across the hardwood floor.
    I wrapped myself in a blanket and lifted the flaps on the box. Inside rested the earthen bowl filled with smooth, dark stones that had been on his hearth. He lifted the heavy bowl and placed it on my hearth. I pressed my hands against my heart, unable to speak. I lifted one of the cool stones, running its smoothness against my cheek.
    “Don’t get all choked up,” he said, his eyebrows twitching. “It’s just a bowl of rocks.”
    I pulled him toward me, overwhelmed with feelings I couldn’t name.
    Jake