Mikalo's Flame by Syndra K. Shaw Page A

thought about.”
    We walked again, my arm in his.
    “As I was saying, I believe this fight is a
--” I began.
    “I would like a baby someday,” he then
interrupted.
    My heart leapt, my mind suddenly empty of any
response I could give.
    “To be called ‘father’,” he continued. “Well,
it is a wonderful gift, no? And to be a ‘mother’, to hear that
little voice call for ‘mama’, that is the best feeling in the
world, I would think.”
    I needed to say something to fill this sudden
silence. Of course I had thought of kids, my biological clock
ticking its way into eventual oblivion. And I have no doubt I’d
make a great mother. Certainly better than my own.
    But it’s always been about finding the right
guy first, you know? And with my nose buried in documents, my
office sometimes more of a prison than not, who had time to meet
“the right guy”.
    Yet here he was. The Right Guy.
    Did I want kids? With Mikalo?
    “Yes,” I suddenly said.
    He turned, slightly confused.
    “Yes to ‘mama’ being a wonderful thing?” he
said. “Or ... ?”
    “Yes to all of it, Mikalo. Yes to kids, yes
to someday being a mama, yes to someday you being a wonderful
father. Just yes. Yes to everything.”
    He laughed.
    “Oh, yes to everything?” he teased. “This
version of Ronan, it is quite new and wonderful. She says yes to
everything!”
    I laughed.
    “You know what I mean,” I then said.
    “Yes, I know,” he responded, leaning close to
me as we walked.
    “And your ‘yes’ is the most beautiful word in
the world, my Grace.”
     
     
     

Chapter Twenty-One
     
    The light from the candles bounced off the
ceiling, the walls, the shadows moving as the flames danced. My
hands reached up and ran over Mikalo’s naked flesh, his skin
basking in a beautiful golden glow.
    He moved inside me, gently, slowly.
    We were making love.
    True love.
    Bending low, his lips met mine, his tongue
easing into my mouth to taste, to lick.
    I moved my hands to his head, my fingers
threading through his dark hair.
    God, I loved the feeling of his hair in my
hands, my fist.
    Moving my hips to meet his, he worked his way
deeper.
    He paused, savoring the feeling of my opening
to him, allowing him in, giving myself to him.
    We continued to kiss, my hands guiding his
head as my appetite for him grew ravenous.
    His scent, the feel of him, the sweat of him
on my palms, between my fingers, the weight of him as he pressed
his chest to mine, it was too delicious for words. I could live
with this for an eternity, I decided.
    This, I thought as his sigh warmed my cheek,
the length of him filling me as his pace found its rhythm, languid
and slow and perfect, this is what I wanted for the rest of my
life. This man here, making love to me, loving me, allowing me to
love him.
    This is what I want my life to be.
    Lifting my hips, I pushed myself into
him.
    He groaned, the helpless sound losing itself
in the crook of my neck.
    I kissed his cheek and then his ear and
finally his neck, my lips slowly licking the smooth flesh, my
tongue suddenly hungry to taste his sweat, my mouth moving to his
sweet spot, there, right below the ear, and sucking.
    He moved deeper still, stopping, finding my
own secret, hidden sweet spot and, pausing, teased me.
    His head moved from my neck, his lips
searching for mine and finding them, his hand on the back of my
neck, guided me into him.
    “My Grace,” he whispered.
    “Yes,” I said.
    The pace quickened, slightly.
    His eyes watched mine.
    “I did not think my heart, it could love like
this.”
    I rose and kissed him, my lips lingering on
his.
    God, I loved him.
    “Mikalo,” I said. “My Mikalo.”
    His eyes grew wet.
    “Every day, my Grace,” he then said. “Every
day, I am yours. For my life.”
    And then he dipped low, burying his head in
my neck, his nose lost in my hair.
    He continued to move inside me, my hips
rising to meet his, gyrating against him. My body hungry for his,
my appetite endless, my thirst