Purposefully Coincidental ✓

79. Josephine

Leo

Our dishes are clean, dry and put away.

Josephine hasn't stopped smiling the entire time. Neither have I.

She's pouring herself a glass of water now. And I watch her drink it.

My palms run up her hips to her waist. I always loved touching Josephine in any shape or way I could. But now, it's like I need to touch her. Like I need to make sure this isn't some sick joke. Some dream. I need to make sure this is real.

But when I pull her flush to me and feel her heartbeat against mine, I know this is real.

"I missed you so much." She whispers.

I can only nod. Missing her doesn't even begin to cover it.

It physically hurt me being away from her. From my family.

"Let me hold you." I plead.

She vehemently nods, and I don't need any further encouragement. I scoop her up in my arms and walk us to the bedroom. We lie together on the bed, with my face in her neck. Our arms around each other.

I rub my palm up her back. I can still remember the many times at night she fell asleep in my arms exactly this way while watching a movie.

It seems so long ago but also like yesterday.

The fabric rises and I sneak my fingers up her shirt. Her skin is warm and smooth as butter. I continue rubbing her back, all the way to her neck, then to the hem of her pants. Then again, and again.

Her legs tangle themselves between mine, and she squeezes my arm. Her lips leave the faintest kiss on my forehead and my entire body becomes alive.

My hand moves to the front, stroking over the dip of her waist, up to just beneath her breasts.

I stop and pull away just enough to look at her.

I'm nervous to proceed. Just like the first time we made love.

She gives me permission by nodding. I gently cup her breast and my eyes dip to her mouth.

Leaning forward, she licks my bottom lip. My body shudders. She then encloses her mouth over mine and kisses me. She's taking the lead this time. Usually, it's me. But not now. She tells me everything in this kiss. How much she loves me. Missed me.

Her fingers dip beneath my shirt and my muscles flex at her soft touch.

She tugs at it, and we pull away so I can take it off.

Her eyes scan my chest. The new scars that mar it now. The bruises that will take a week to disappear. Her eyes shine, but she leans into me and kisses my pec. Right where a fresh bullet wound is.

I heave out a sigh. It's not that I hate my scars. But I don't love them either. But each time she kisses them how she's doing right now, she makes me appreciate them in a new light.

We wordlessly kiss, touch, and cherish each other. But there are no words needed. Our bodies are doing the talking.

I rid her of her top and kiss her neck, then the column of her throat, then her heart. Her chest is heaving with short, shallow breaths and I leave faint kisses all over her breasts.

With my body on top of hers, I fuse our mouths again as she exhales and I inhale. I exhale, she inhales.

The kiss turns more urgent. Our bodies grinding.

Her hands lower my pants and I help her lower them all the way to the floor. She palms my bare ass as I didn't bother with underwear after my shower.

Untying the drawstrings of her pants, she helps me lower them by lifting her hips.