I'll Be Here

it’s my turn.  I try to think of the words but it’s like there’s not even enough air to breathe.  My mind spins… unsure that Alex means what I think he means… unsure if I’m hallucinating or dreaming or…  I flick through my mental journal—the bowling alley all those years ago, the way the corners of his mouth droops when he’s tired, his blue eyes reflecting the sun on a perfect day.  And it all burbles inside of me threatening to come out in a silly jumble. 
    Slowly, he leans in and his mouth grazes the side of my face.  I close my eyes and let myself feel his warm tongue as he makes a trail of kisses down my neck.
    This is Alex.
    Warm breath singes my hair.  “Is this okay?” 
    “Yes,” I exhale.  And, God, as his mouth moves faster I pray to all that is holy that Aaron is already asleep and doesn’t come out asking for a glass of water or something. 
    I am so lost in sensation that when Alex pulls away it’s jarring. 
    He’s got a serious expression on his face and my stomach tightens as if on alert for bad news. 
    “W-what is it?”
    He closes his eyes and when he reopens them, I watch his pupils grow and then shrink again.  “Willow, I don’t want to just be some rebound for you.  I don’t think I could take that.”
    I cup his chin in my hands and kiss him on the mouth.  “I don’t want that either.  Alex, trust me, you are not rebound material.”
    “Good,” he says but he’s still frowning.  “And Dustin?  Is it really over with him?  Please tell me the truth.”
    “If you want to know if I love Dustin anymore, I can say honestly that I don’t.”  My heart is so full of Alex that I’m afraid it might burst and there is no room for anyone else within its walls.  “We’re through.”
    “For sure?”
    “Yes.  For sure.”
    A puff of air leaves him and I realize that’s he’s been holding his breath for too long.  His shoulders slacken slightly and he curls his hand around my arm.  I feel his finger tracing small circles across my skin.  “Good, because… I don’t think I could handle that Willow.  I’m not so great with jealousy and after wanting you for this long...”
    I know that modern women are supposed to confront jealousy in men with disdain because jealousy is: 1) immature, 2) a prehistoric throwback emotion to the days of hunting and gathering and fur wraps and living in caves, 3) a sentiment that implies possession and well, we’re humans, not things.  But, I’ll be totally honest—Alex’s acknowledged jealousy does thrilling things to me. 
    His hands move under the hem of my shirt so that they can feel the skin of my stomach.  I am shaking despite the warmth of his body so near to mine and the flames growing within.  When I finally look up from Alex’s mouth to his eyes all the stars in the night sky start clapping and cheering.  It’s a standing ovation. 
    This next kiss is gentler than I think it will be.  In technical terms it’s chaste—lips touching lips, no tongue.  But between those words there is a universe of something else.  I’ve never been kissed like this—like a whisper, soft and gentle, floating up from the inside.  Like a long sigh that first sucks in the thick air around us and then propels it outward.  
    Then Alex kisses my neck almost frantically.  I can feel the singeing heat of his tongue trailing delicate lines on the soft skin there and I tremble.  He grips my waist and pulls me closer. 
    Closer. 
    Closer. 
    I let my hands move up the long, taut lines of his biceps and over his shoulders so that my fingers loop behind his neck. 
    Fire, air, water, and earth. 
    All the elements wrapped in blood and muscle.  My mouth touches the soft hair along his jaw.  When I follow a line back behind his ear, he groans into my hair.   Our lips meet again and this time our mouths part.  As his tongue finds mine, flicking and tasting the shape of me, I am lost. 
    Later, I’m sure that I’ll relive the moments in detail.  I’ll rewind over and over the part where he breathlessly rolls over me and I can feel the hard lines of his body above me.  Or his hands climbing over my bare, hot skin—his fingers pausing over my heart, the scratchy tickle of his stubble on my neck, the sweet taste of him, his fingers in my hair and rolling down my side.  Later I can pull these things apart like a puzzle and twist them around in my fingers as I put them back together one by one.
    But, right now, in