Waiting for Beirut by Rebecca Dimyan

Author:Rebecca Dimyan [Dimyan, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781955062770
Publisher: Running Wild Press

The honeymoon suite of The Berkshire Hotel was beleaguered by bright pinks, white lace, and a bevy of mint-green cushions. The cherry wood, four-post bed was steeped in colorful pillows that didn’t quite complement the pink and white floral bedspread. An oval, gold-framed mirror hung above the bed. I watched Eleanor’s reflection tighten as her eyes fell upon the bed. Her nervousness was paltry compared to my own.

“Today was lovely, wasn’t it?” She removed a silk shawl and set it upon the bed. Her gloved hands trembled.

“It was.” I picked up a bottle of Cuvee Femme from an ice bucket on the nightstand table. I filled two crystal glasses and handed one to Eleanor. The champagne unfastened the knot in my gut. It appeared to have a similar effect on Eleanor, whose cheeks assumed a pinkish hue. I removed my jacket and threw it over a desk chair. My trunk, brimming with as many clothes as it would hold, sat in the corner awaiting its return trip to the old country.

“It’s warm in here, isn’t it?” Eleanor took off her gloves and veil. Her thick fingers fumbled with the buttons in the back of her gown. I steadied her hands and unbuttoned the dress for her, helping her slide it off her shoulders and climb out of it entirely. She stood shyly before me in a white corset, white curves, white stockings. Her dark hair fell curled to her shoulders. Eleanor rubbed the sides of her wide hips. Her anxiety filled me up. My hands were strong taking hers, locking fingers; they reassured. I guided her to the bed with a hard kiss on the mouth. Her whole being rose up to meet me, but I pushed her gently back until she sat on the bed.

I took off my tie, my shirt, my pants, my socks and stood naked before my new bride. By the appetite in her eyes, I knew that she found me desirable. I walked to her and removed her undergarments. Eleanor lay on the bed. Yards of white satin sheets, yards of white satin skin, white satin breasts, pink roses on bedspreads, pink roses on breasts. A dark, wet place below. A dark, wet place in my head. Spicy-sweet cologne. The shape of a damp curl stuck to his forehead. Rough, bearded throats. I buried my face in the pillow, the pillow wet with saliva and sweat. Eleanor beneath me was wet, too. Wet with saliva and sweat and arousal. Throaty, breathy sounds from her; guttural, primal from me. And then the relief, the satisfaction, the pleasure of release. Release. Release.

Afterwards, Eleanor wrapped her arms around me and buried her face in my arm. “Aren’t you excited to begin our life together, George?”

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