Dream Angel : Heaven Waits (21 page)

Smiling, he stepped in closer.

“I-I wouldn’t have barged in like this, but I was worried that you were, uh,” I paused again, this time momentarily distracted by the design of my own trickery. “I-I was worried that you needed my help. I-I’m trained, you know, in life saving skills like… mouth-to-mouth.”

I fumbled, and as he paused to look at me, that animated left eyebrow of his rose. I waded through an uncomfortable silence.

“I-it’s what I do.” I shifted to the right.

“Lucky me,” he finally said, and that heart melting smile of his made my knees weak.

Why was I so nervous? Sure there was “something” different in his mannerism, something nagging at me that I couldn’t put my finger on. Worse, he wasn’t giving me time to work it out. He just kept strolling, moving confidently to my side, barefoot and gorgeous, and ignoring my personal space. Didn't he know I needed room to think?

I moved to the right again, and he followed. Then I tried the left and he followed. And when the only move unchartered was backwards, I found myself pinned between his gorgeous bare chest and the vanity station. Instantly, I submerged into those blue pools. I was drowning fast, and two seconds away from admitting defeat, when I snapped back. No you don’t, I thought, and spun around to a beige and black checkered walk-in shower. Room for two!

“You first.” His eyes danced.

I swallowed hard, spun again, and this time exited the room. I headed for the first available place to sit — the bed. I plopped down and pulled the edge of my circus tent down around my knees. And as I was just about to make a smart comment on the iceberg status of the room, a draft blew across my bare legs, pilfering my voice with it and alerting me to what else I was lacking. Quickly, I crossed one leg over the other, whimpering as a rush of heat flushed me.

When I lowered my gaze, my attention fell to an expansive divan. “I can’t believe this is happening,” I muttered, while also noticing the large statue of Jesus next to the bed.
Great he’s here too!

Desiring a reprieve from my helpless position, my gaze floated about the room. Having never been on this side of Graceland before, I was quickly immersed in the view. I admired the way the red lush curtains, decorated in tiny white tassels, were draped elegantly around the room, covering all four of the walls including the windows alike. It was so outlandish, I felt like the fair maiden who had accidently stepped into the King’s boudoir, unprepared and awestruck. She would no doubt pay for the misdeed of trespassing.

Death by pleasure
, I let out a timid laugh, and then glanced behind me to the biggest mirror I’d ever seen and gasped openly. It seconded as a headboard, and suggested a rather erotic purpose, one that left a lump in my throat. If this room could speak, I thought, now tilting my gaze further upward, to the leather padded ceiling — sound proof — and complete with three televisions sets. I swallowed hard.

“I’m in big trouble.”

“Relax, honey, this is your show.” His voice sounded from an all together different direction.

I looked behind me and found him sprawled out in bed, comfy-like, and resting on a mound of pillows. His arms were folded behind his head and he had a sly smirk on his face. There it is, I realized, that cocky demeanor. This wasn’t my angel. This was some vamped up figment of my imagination. A young man full of tactics, I considered and then paused. Tactics, indeed!

I set my jaw. “So, if I’m running the show, how come I don’t get to choose the scene?” I asked and then it hit me — I did.

Admittedly, “Jail House Rock” was a favorite movie of mine. However, Elvis’ character was egotistical, arrogant, and in taking another look, very sexy. He was 1957 perfection. Intrigue set in.

“This is your fantasy, baby, not mine,” he said in perfect Vince Evert style.

“You look like you,” I contemplated while nibbling on my thumb nail, “course you would wouldn’t you?”

He wasn’t listening; he was busy adjusting something under the covers, arms reaching and legs twitching. What was he doing? It was like some kind of stage move, yet not. And I watched curiously as he gave a little hip wiggle and out came his pants. My mouth hung open, and he was either unaware of my shock, or unmoved, because he never once looked my way. He simply wadded them into a ball, and tossed them to the white furry love-seat in the corner.

I followed their flight pattern. My processing was slow, and it went something like: If A leads to B, and B to C and his pants where over there then he was — gulp. I sucked in a startled breath, and looked back at him with eyes that were as big as saucers.

“Your move,” He said with a tone that was so quid pro quo; I was instantly initiating an escape.

I began to inch off the bed, but he was too quick for me. He sat up, grabbed me by the arm, and moved in for the kill. Suddenly, we were nose to nose, and those eyelashes of his were so long they practically touched my own.

“Check mate?” I laughed warmly, trembling with anticipation.

His lips fluttered into a sultry smile, and the air between us ignited with a spark. He drew in a deep even breath, and then leaned forward to skim his lips across my cheek, on his way to my ear. His breathing was rough and ragged, and I was completely mesmerized. And when he kissed the nap of my neck, I was lost.

My heart hammered against my chest. Clearly, he was playing a game without rules.

“I-I’ve heard chess is a sport for aristocrats, have you ever heard that?” I stumbled idiotically. “I-I really don’t know how to play this… game.”

“Woman,” he said huskily while nuzzling my ear, “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

I pulled back to look at him. Those eyes, that face, and that flawless hair I was dying to mess up. He was maddening and intoxicating, a perfect temptation. Every feminine cell in my body screamed to have him. But it wasn’t that simple. If I indulged, where would I be come morning, heartbroken and alone? I could do alone, but a girl only had one heart. And I had just found mine.

When I refocused he was unbuttoning my shirt.

“Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” I jerked back the garment. “M-my experience with men as of late has been—”

“Limited,” he grinned, and he remained so close, his scent so delicious, my mouth started to water.

“I-I was going to say disagreeable.”

“I’ll take it
real
slow.” The word “real” pursed his lips forward, and “slow” rolled his tongue. Involuntarily, my mouth parted in a clear invitation that no man could miss.

“This is unreal.” I said and just closed my eyes.

“M-m-m… come have some unreal, baby,” was the last thing I heard before bursting to the moon.

He used one hand to tilt my chin, and the other to cradle my head as he descended deep into my mouth. The sound of him moaning aroused a series of delicious shivers through my body. I slipped my hands deep in to his hair and we melted to the bed.

There was no slow seduction. No gentle persuasion. He was everywhere at once.

His hand cupped my breast while he used his tongue and the edges of his teeth to sample the delicate place below my ear. He was demanding and I was eager, pressing myself into him. I drew my thigh upward alongside his bare leg, delight found in his gentle shudder. His enthusiasm was intoxicating, and I was quickly lost in my desire to be closer than we had ever been before.

For one beautiful moment, I was free to enjoy what had been denied me all these months. And then, my continence sparked. “Wait.” I gasped, but he wasn’t listening.

Overcome by his own passion, he reached for me and my whole body stiffened, and then melted under his skilled hands. His touch was measured, unhurried. I could feel the hard line of his body over me; hear his breath rasping in my ear as he stirred me closer to the edge of ecstasy.

While my mind continued to object, my body willingly followed. I was weak with desire, lost like a whisper in a raging wind. I wanted him. And God forgive me, but part of me hoped to take him, devour him, and be done with the bone aching need for him.

As the tears streamed down my moist cheeks, his caress suddenly stopped. I kept my eyes closed, but I could hear him panting over me. Baffled by this sudden reprieve, I waited for what felt like an eternity, until opening my eyes to find a new soul piercing gaze admiring me. And where I'd once seen self-assurance and supremacy, now, sensitivity and compassion ruled. This was not the same man. There was gentleness in the depths of these eyes, evidence that the man I truly loved had finally arrived. This new understanding evoked more tears.

“S-h-h, I’m here.”

Not a word more was spoken. None were needed. The magnitude of the moment pulsated in both of our eyes. When I placed a light touch to his cheek, his jaw muscles flexed as he struggled with his own impatience. His mouth parted ever so slightly, and then he moistened his lips, and I pulled him in.

We met half way, dissolving as one. The feel of his measured lips, patiently tasting instead of devouring, melted me back to the disheveled sheets. His tongue skimmed over mine, sinking deeper for a fuller taste, and a quiver coiled down my spine. I moaned and he softly answered back. We explored each other. Lips never parting, our bodies molded together like a perfect puzzle, the softness of mine a contrast to his lean hard frame. We were like two hearts sharing the same beat. As I breathed out, he'd inhaled in — almost one.

He stirred me gently, seizing complete possession of my body. I curved into his touch, trembling from the intensity. The musky masculine scent of him made me feel alive. The feel of his hands in intimate places few had ever been felt natural and shameless. I was a woman responding to the man she loves, just as nature had intended.

Off in the distance, a tidal wave of ecstasy swelled.

“Samantha.” He sounded breathless, and my name spoken so blithe and airy on his lips evoked a rush like that of a drug to my veins. I audibly purred, stirring closer to what I wanted.

My body all but begged for what only he could give, but still he waited.

“Are you sure, honey?” His face was flush and his lips were wet from my kisses. His smile was variant, both bashful and certain, and my consent reflected back to me in his eyes. There was no going back.

When he gently repositioned himself, there was no denying his power, and nothing halfhearted about his passion. Quivering in anticipation, I kissed him deeply while he moaned something husky, something growly, and then we were one. The sudden pressure, weight, and length of him blasted my body to somewhere between pleasure and pain.

“Like one,” he rasped, and his body quiver, just once.

A beautiful stillness enveloped us. If there was to be shame, I felt none. I had wanted him, suffered to be in his arms. I loved him as I feared I’d love no another.

As passion churned, his heart pounded against my chest. Our fingers were entwined, and I could feel his life’s blood throbbing inside my damp palms. He was the master of tempo and grace, easily followed. While an Ocean’s tide rolled around us, his body was taut, and while I was clutching the sheets, grasping at my wilting self-control, his restraint was firm.

Like one-one-one, the rhythm pulsated. The pressure swelled, and a mighty force of nature rammed the walls of my resistance, until I let out a tiny whimper of release.

“From your lips, honey,” he whispered close to my ear, “let me hear you say it.”

He merely shifted, and a wave of pleasure washed over me, ecstasy igniting from every corner of my body in bursts of shimmering ripples.

Overwhelmed by a moment I’d never live again, I lifted my mouth to his ear, “Elvis! Elvis! Elvis!” I cried out, and he groaned back his happiness in response.

My body jolted. Passion shot through me like an electrical shock. My eyes flashed open, and I sucked in a breath so deep my chest lifted upward. As I looked around, I realized my head was where my feet should have been. I was lying flat on my back, twisted up in a damp sheet, and a ceiling fan turned slowly over my head. There was no need to assess what had just happened, I could feel it. My skin was on fire, his touch like finger prints still fresh on my body. All was clear, too clear. And as the details flooded back in living color, only one thought swelled — I’m going to hell!

Slowly, I sat up. A waft of cold air rushed over me, abrasive and unwelcomed, and I quickly pulled the sheet closer to my skin. Where were my clothes? I scanned the room. My nightgown hung on the night lamp next to my bed, and the empty bottle of Champagne lied next to it like the seducer of all that was evil. I frowned. Yup, hell!

As I cried, my dark hair stuck to my face in a mix of tears and sweat. An odd combination of shame and a rush of a thrill seeped from my bones. I’m doomed to love him forever, I sniveled, and I will never be a fully functioning human being. I won’t even be able to work because I’ll be too busy standing in a tourist line at Graceland — I sobbed harder — just to visit my dead boyfriend! I’ll have to get a job there to cut the cost — no, I’ll move to Memphis! It was official; I was bent on a crying jag.

I was letting it all out when my cell phone beeped with a message. Sniffing back one final tear, I froze. There, next to the bottle of spirits responsible for this mess — it sounded good at the time — sat my cell phone, face up and flashing. I just stared at it, wondering if I wanted the outside world to know my state of hysterics. What if it’s Heather, or my father? A real worry spun, and so did the panic. I hit the “view” button without even screening the call.

My boy, my boy, my boy!
The words jumped out at me, and back to the bed I fell, gurgling with more tears.

What did I think would happen? Of course Elvis was watching, just as he said he would. And my private dreams, viewed by all in heaven?
It was idiotic, unfair
, my anger swelled. I grabbed the phone and hit reply. The return number was blank.

“Oh course!” I growled. “You say
I’m
a control freak, well you’re a…” I couldn’t think of anything bad to call him. And try as I might, words like skillful and gifted kept popping into my mind, which only made me angrier.

“Someone should slap your face for spying on a lady!” I hollered out, hoping I still qualified to be called such a thing. And as I stomped around like a child, my cell phone beeped once again and I startled, hand over my heart. Hesitantly, I opened it.

You do realize I’m listening?

“A-h-h-h,” I threw the phone across the room. It hit the wall and landed face up.

For a moment, my pulse surged with a worry that I’d just broken my only way of communicating with him, but then I snarled over the thought. Someone should slap “me” for being this dysfunctional, I sighed, and as if that someone had been listening, my home phone rang. I just glared at it.

“Hello, Grand Central Station,” I huffed.

“Sammy?” Jimmy hesitated. “I-I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”

I pushed back my hair. “Jim. Oh I-I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to snap in your ear.” I pulled the bed linen tighter around my body and swung my legs over the side of the bed.

“Are you ok?”He sounded with gentle concern.

“No,” I thought twice, “I-I mean, it’s been one of those mornings.”

“Oh, I see. Can I help?”

My emotions rose again, threatening to suffocate my words.

“I wish you could, but it seems only I can let go of what haunts me. I
am
trying.” To hear myself speak such confessions surprised me, and when only silence was returned from the other end, I had an excuse ready for my blunt honesty.

“Maybe, you’re trying too hard.” He finally said. “Have you prayed about this?”

“I have.” If he only knew the direct line to God I really had, I mused.

“And the gentleman, does he feel the same?”

Was I that obvious? “Yes, we both agree.” In a flash I could see Elvis’ face stirred by passion, and hear his words of love uttered breathlessly in my ear.

“Well then, you’re over thinking this my friend. At your weakest moments, confess it and let it go. In time God will heal you, but don’t guilt yourself Sammy. Guilt is the Devil’s strongest weapon.”

As I whipped one last tear from my face, my shoulders relaxed.

“Are you there? I hope I haven’t upset you further? I’m sure you’ve heard that old saying, ‘Let go and let God’, that’s all I meant.”

“Yes, I-I've heard that.” I pressed my trembling lips firmly together. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He breathed out a sigh.

It’s funny how one can hear similar words spoken over and over, and never have them move you. Then the right person utters them in just the right way and it’s suddenly so clear. At the time, and for reasons I still don’t understand, Jimmy was that person for me. I’d heard focus on God, from Elvis from my father. I’d heard, move on from Heather. But it wasn’t until I heard confess it and release it that anything made sense. I just sat there with a silly smirk on my face, stunned.

“I’m sorry for calling at this hour, but your father said you’d be awake.” Cautiously, he shifted back to the purpose of his call.

I glanced at the clock.It was 7:00 A.M.

“Normally, I would be, yes. What can I do for you? Are
you
Ok?”

He laughed. “I am, yes.”

“There’s no woman haunting your dreams, is there?” I chuckled and then cringed.

Silence, again.

“No, not last night anyway,” he muttered and I blushed, wanting to kick myself for being so stupid.

“Listen, I’m hoisting an early afternoon youth group event today, and your father said you'd want to come down and help?”

“Oh, he did?”
My daddy the match maker
, I smiled.

“You do like children, don’t you?”

“Yes, oh yes, I do!”

“Oh good, well I’ve got a young boy here that is giving me some trouble, but I’ve noticed he softens up when women are around. See his mother died last year, and now it’s just him and his father, who’s grieving alone I’m afraid. I thought because you have experienced this type of loss yourself you may be able to help.”

“Oh, I see.”

“He has no friends, except for one little boy whose been trying to befriend him with little success. Other than that he’s pretty much a loner.”

“Really? That’s very sweet of that little boy.”

“Yeah, it’s the oddest thing really. This little guy is normally so shy, and yet he will talk with Anthony, that’s the troubled boy’s name, and really seems drawn to him.”

My curiosity perked.

“How old are these boys?”

“Well, Anthony is ten, and Garon is twelve.”

“Garon?” I squinted.

“He’s a handsome kid, dark blonde hair, and I think he’s got a twin brother.”

“You don’t say?” Don’t say!

“Yeah, his family is struggling right now with his father in prison and all.”

“Prison?”

“He’s in for identify theft, I think it was or forgery, something like that.”

I rubbed my temple.

“It was a crime of survival not greed. And his poor mama looks heart broken by it too. She brings Garon every other week. His little brother rides along, but he never stays, though I’m not sure why. His name is Aaron, I believe.”

“Aaron?” I went to chewing on my finger nails.

“Their mama is a real pretty young lady, but she has these haunting eyes. My heart aches whenever I see her.”

I said nothing more. I simply got up, walked to my closet, and pulled out my hiking boots.

“I’m sorry, Sammy, I’m rambling now, but if you could come today maybe you can reach Anthony.”

Let go, let God,
I internally repeated. Then another thought, not entirely of my own, but similar to the voice I’d heard the night before:
Have a readiness to revenge all disobedience
. Was that Corinthians? I shook my head. Why God needed someone as weak as me on his team, I'd never know. But if he had faith in me, it was time to “show” I had faith in him.

“What time and how do I get there?”

***

An angel once told me, love is the key. It’s the most powerful feeling the Almighty ever created. A convoluted emotion that has sparked as many wars as it has peace. And as human beings we have the capacity to love deeper than any living organism. So why is it, so much often goes wrong? Is it because we hold on too tightly? Or possibly we rely too much on ourselves when choosing “what” or “who” we should love so greatly?

Love is a mystery, yet no human life can live fully without it. Find me a miserable person, and I’ll show you someone who has no love. No matter how much we may try to deny it, we’re made to love. Love our fellow man; love our Lord, love life itself. Love something! We need it as badly as we need air. I was no different, and my path to love was uncertain. God’s way required patience, and a lot of waiting, but I didn’t mind. I had nothing but time.

To stay uplifted, I tried to focus more on the love I had then the love I’d lost. It helped and each day was infinity better than the last. Sure, maybe the kind of love I wanted wouldn’t arrive today, maybe not even tomorrow. But when I crawled into bed at night it was the “hope” of love that kept me warm.

Will there be a day when I can utter the words ‘I love you’ to another? For the moment, the idea seems far-fetched but I knew better. All I had to do was look in the mirror to see exactly how much God loved a challenge.