I leaned forward onto the door, crying for so many reasons – namely because she was afraid to touch me. Thankfully, she had hugged me a small number of times, but she was always so cautious to hold me. Another reason was that I had caused her wariness. I hated that I lived in fear, that my husband had done that to me. I brought my hands up to my face and hated every tear that wetted my palms. I always hated crying.

Then she was behind me, and it sounded like she was whispering over my shoulder. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” I whispered back to her, pressing my hands instead to the door.

“Does this hurt?” she asked, somehow sensing that I needed touch, smoothing her hands very gently over my arms. I can not tell you the perfection in this woman. “I would never …” She couldn’t finish the words ‘hurt you’ because the thought bothered her.

“I know,” I breathed, leaning back into her body. I had no idea how our connection allowed me to estimate how close she was to me, but I stepped back to press my back to her chest, her arms instantly around me. I could have collapsed into her.

With my lack of balance, she stepped in reverse until she felt the wall at her back, holding me still. Steadied there, she kept me close. Both of us were panting.

It was long before either of us could find the strength to speak. And even then, we just couldn’t. I turned in her arms, and looked into the weakness of her eyes. She held my face in her hands.

There is so much conflict in situations sometimes, and how do you manage? How do you sort the good from the bad, or the desired from the devastating? Where is that line, and how do you know what to do? Neither of us knew those answers, nor did we pretend we understood.

Without any of the answers to any of the questions that burdened us both, she tilted her face and pulled me closer until she was kissing me. My eyes closed not because I chose it, but because they just did. I let her kiss me, offering myself to her, whatever she would take. It wasn’t the passionate kiss I may have imagined from time to time, but it was a series of kisses, each one deeper than the last. The sound our lips made as we pulled back each time had me moaning at least once, but she just pulled me in again, her hands now combed into my hair at the back of my neck. Her soft breath tingled over my skin, and I sank into the kiss. A kiss like that is another thing entirely.

When she finally pulled back, I had difficulty opening my eyes. I felt a little lost, like I couldn’t find my way back from the spell she had over me, but I loved that about her effect. It was only then that I realized my hands were resting on her hips, almost as if I were used to touching a woman so intimately.

She didn’t say a word because she didn’t need to.

I watched her walk off to her room, and suddenly knew how she must have felt the last time we kissed. I just watched as she opened her door, and then turned to look at me.

It was difficult to speak, but it would have been harder to find the words. I shook my head at my overpowering emotions, and when I looked up again, she was gone. I pressed my lips together, touching whatever gloss had been on hers, and rubbed it over my fingers. Then I smiled.

That was the best kiss I’d ever had.