Free Chasing Peace by Gloria Foxx

okay. I’ll go.”
    The adrenaline rushes out of me as Boston shrugs into his
jacket. I pin my lower lip between my teeth, feeling bad about his walking
home.
    “I’ll be back first thing tomorrow to see how you’re doing.”
His eyes pin me down with a pointed stare.
    I have an idea. “As long as you’re coming back, you wanna
use my car?”
    “You’re okay with that?”
    “Hey, I know where you work,” I offer glibly, stepping
toward him to find my keys. He’s close as I rummage in my bag. I can smell his
jacket.
    “Looking for these Sterling?”
    I spin around, startled by how close his voice is behind me.
“
    Where’d you get my keys?”
    “I drove you home, remember?”
    “Oh.” I snag my lower lip between my teeth again, lowering
my eyes, embarrassed to have him so close in my tiny apartment.
    “I guess I better go.” His words fan across my cheek.
    “I guess you better go.” I lift my eyes to his. I think to
make sure he’s leaving, but I’m not entirely sure.
    Neither of us moves, at least not intentionally, although we’re
pulled together like the moon that moves the tides or the wind that moves the
trees. His lips part slightly, as do mine, as if it will help us to breathe. We
draw closer and our breath mingles. My respiration picks up. There isn’t enough
oxygen in the air as his breath whispers across my lips. Invisible threads pull
us together until our lips meet, clinging and questioning. Nothing else
touches, just our mouths.
    It’s sweet and tentative with experimentation and inquiry
and hesitation.
    I don’t want this, my mind screams. I don’t want this. I don’t
want this. I don’t want this. I pull away groaning, “Oh God, I groan.” I do
want this, but I shouldn’t.
    Like a magnet that both repels and attracts, I’m pulled in
two directions. The battle within me rages as my mind wants one thing and my
heart and soul another. I want to remain where I am, protected by isolation,
but I want to go forward too. I want to have hope and believe in dreams and
trust in love.
    His eyes hold mine, almost captive. They’re dark with glints
from the dim light in the kitchen. They’re compelling, calling to me, or maybe
I just think that because I want what they promise. His fingertips graze my
cheeks, slide over my jaw, his palm warm against the side of my face as I lean
into him. His thumb teases and catches on my lower lip. He’s pulling me toward
him, without pulling as I comply.
    I can’t worry about yesterday or think about tomorrow. I
have too much going on right now. Giving in without sound, without protest, our
lips clash, consuming. I need this man. I need to feel and live and savor. I
clutch at his shoulders as our lips ravage and suckle and devour. I strain
toward him, wanting more, needing to meld my body with his.
    My tongue traces his lower lip, not waiting for him. When he
groans, I delve into the dark recess, demanding to taste even more. My pulse is
driving, blood rushing through my veins. I’m hot and quaking and I can’t get
close enough to Boston’s body.
    He tries to help, hands at my back and fingers splayed he
holds me close, almost lifting me from my feet.
    Bending my knee to hug his hip, I groan as his knee slides
between my thighs. He drags me close and I’m straddling his leg, heat and steam
building against his denim-clad thigh. My head is tilting back and forth my
oxygen deprived brain voracious, but not for air. I need more of Boston.
    Slipping my hands beneath his shirt, I revel in the smooth
expanse of ultra-heated skin below my palms, the tang of him on my lips, the
strength of his thigh between my legs, until I am bereft.
    Without quite understanding what happened, I find myself
standing alone on legs as weak as a feather trying to hold up the earth. The
pulsing of my body turns sluggish, the heat in my cheeks glowing a dull red as
Boston’s hands at my shoulders steady me.
    I find myself embarrassed and uncertain, wondering what