Deflowered

Chapter 7

Mawmaw always said gaining clarity worked best alone.

"You sweet girl, let yourself figure it out. And if you need help, ask him." She pointed above and kissed my forehead.

"Too many cooks in the kitchen and your recipes start to look like everyone else's."

I smiled lovingly at the memory and pulled the floral rag quilt she sewed for my fifth birthday over my shoulders. It was ratty and the colors were faded, but it soothed me on both my worst and best days.

I picked at one of the loose threads as I watched the raindrops cascade down the balcony doors from our couch. The rivulets of water blurred the view. Playing on the television, Message In A Bottle was more background noise than anything. The past two days, I didn't intentionally avoid Mason, but I didn't make any efforts to see him either. I'm not quite sure why I would though after the other night. The sight of him with Chelsea was embarrassing and confusing in a way I had yet to understand, revealing a side to him I was not prepared to face. I was married and had no right to object, but I felt troubled by it nonetheless. A small pang of jealousy invaded my chest the more I thought about it. I hid myself in my apartment for two days to gain insight. I prayed every day sometimes twice. I have never exercised more in my life, and Mawmaw was right. Alone, I was able to find clarity.

Two days reminded me of the simplest of facts.

I loved my husband.

I loved my faith.

Adam would be home any minute, and I couldn't wait. The ceaseless bounce of my leg against the couch revealed my overwhelming excitement. I heard the turn of his key, and I flew off the couch before I rounded the corner of the entryway and watched him close the door.

Home. He was home.

He wore jeans and a white v-neck with sneakers, but none of it mattered. I attacked him at the door, wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist.

"God, I've missed you." He told me squeezing the breath right out of my chest.

"I've missed you." I studied his face, running my hands through his soft blonde strands and tracing my finger over his features. He felt the same and smelled like my Adam. I pressed a million small kisses to his face, to his eyes, and his nose. I was desperate to feel his skin and his scent. When I reached his neck, my kisses grew languid and my lips pressed harder and longer.

I could probably count on one hand the times that I have initiated sex, and I was never this aggressive when I did. Parting my lips, my tongue slid against his skin, and I felt him harden against me.

"Maybe I should leave more often." He hissed as he caught us both against the wall.

"What has gotten into you Amelia Grace?" He questioned, and his eyes studied mine as he brushed stray whispers of hair from my face. He watched me as if I were a stranger.

"Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine." I reassured him, but he seemed skeptical so I distracted him with my tongue by slowly invading his mouth. He began to stir in his jeans. Desperate were my hands as I clawed at his shirt, and I could feel him holding back. He clutched my nightgown as if he were afraid of losing restraint with me. I hated in that moment that I worked towards the same frenzy I felt days ago as the vision of Mason flashed through my mind. Adams' kisses grew harder as he led us both back into the bedroom. My fingers frantically searched for the hem of his shirt as he laid me on the bed. He reached his arms over his head and pulled his shirt off. As I studied the hard ridges of his abs, I gripped his neck and jerked him to my lips. I was desperate for distraction, desperate for him.