Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 36036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
She nods. “Yes.”
Tentatively, I cup her face, lift my head from the mattress, and bring my lips to hers. The kiss is soft, a gentle brush of my lips against hers. There’s a hesitancy in both of us. I fist my hand in Margarete’s hair, holding her close, her warmth tethering me.
“I love you,” I whisper against her lips.
She doesn’t respond with words. Instead, she pushes herself against me. As my lips part, she reciprocates by opening hers, a dance of intertwined tongues that breaks the barriers we’ve built throughout our lives. At this moment, sin, damnation, judgment, and all the other nightmares of our world become meaningless. In the darkness, the only thing that matters is the tangled need of our touch, creating a sermon that leads us on a path to exaltation and freedom. If God shuns us for the magnitude of our love and devotion for each other, perhaps He doesn’t usher in paradise but forces humanity to endure the fiery blazes of Hell.
I roll us over so she’s beneath me. Pulling back, I stare into her emerald eyes, and a sense of peace washes over me. Margarete is the embodiment of beauty and goodness. A part of me believes ravishing her would be a major sin, but another part of me wants to possess her in a way that would force us to be baptized in Hell.
My hand moves down her body, resenting the cotton barrier between my fingers and her flesh. “Is this okay?”
Margarete combs her hands through my hair and lifts her head, pressing her lips to mine. “Yes.”
“If you want me to stop, let me know, okay?”
CHAPTER 9
Margarete
Igrew up believing that my chastity was my greatest virtue. No one spoke about sex in the community where I was raised, but there was an understanding that your virginity was to remain intact until your wedding night.
Ironically, the Elders of our society didn’t believe that the women remained chaste. They needed proof, and on the wedding night, they stood around the bed holding hands, singing hymns as they witnessed the most intimate act between a husband and a wife. This ritual had nothing to do with religious morality or the union of two souls meant to walk in this eternity and the next. The charade was one more act to demean and humiliate women. I often asked my mother why God hated women, but now I realize it was the wrong question to ask. The question I should’ve asked is, why do men fear us so much that they twist the concept of God to shackle us?
My breath hitches, and my skin tingles as Hans lifts my nightgown above my waist. He peers into my eyes. “Is this okay?”
“Yes.”
Hans kisses my forehead before trailing his lips over my face to the crook of my neck. A moan escapes my lips. I want to clap my hand to my mouth to silence the sound. The pleasure is wrapped in a blanket of guilt. My mind screams that what we’re doing is sinful, but my body quietly begs for more. I long for Hans’ touch, for his lips to pepper my skin. I want to experience every earth-shattering emotion he evokes in me. I force myself to ignore the nagging echo warning me about the Jezebel I’ve become. That echo is shackled to beliefs that imprisoned and threatened to destroy me.
With nimble fingers, Hans raises my nightgown higher, exposing my undergarments. “Lift your arms, baby.”
I follow his instructions and he pulls the gown over my head, discarding it on the floor. There’s something freeing about the way he gazes at me.
His eyes trail over my body with evident appreciation. “You’re so beautiful. Every inch of you is a work of art.” Hans laughs nervously. “I’m not sure I’m worthy of touching such perfection.”
Hans takes his time, touching me as if trying to imprint every inch of my body in his mind. I close my eyes and allow my mind to roam in bliss.
But then he stops.
My eyes shoot to his. “What’s the matter? Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry.”
Hans grinds his teeth, eyes wide, right hand forming a fist. “You did nothing wrong. You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I must have done something for you to stop.”
Hans shuts his eyes momentarily as if trying to compose himself. “You did nothing wrong.” He trails his hand along my side. “I just hate that this is on your body.”
I know what he’s talking about. The indented cattle mark. Property of The Covenant. “It’s okay. All the women have it.”
“It’s not okay, baby. Nothing they did to you was okay.”
Mommy got me a new dress and fixed my hair like hers. I stared in the mirror, my hand moving along my braid.
I should be excited about the ceremony. After all, it was ushering me into a new phase of my life. But I’d heard the older girls talk about it, and their words hadn’t reassured me. They mentioned the pain, the weeks of healing, And on occasion, I’d heard one or two girls crying at the memory.