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For Less Than Three Press Challenge 14
I'm No Good at Goodby
F/F, 629 words


I watched by the light of a solitary lamp, the moon taking note of the mood of the room and remaining hidden behind the clouds. A good hour remained before sunrise and though I hadn’t slept more than an hour or two my thoughts prevented a return to that blessed oblivion.

I’d partially dressed but the gleam of her blond hair captured my eye and I stood watching her sleep. I’d kept her up most of the night as evidenced by the love bites peeking from under her hair on her neck.

She signed and rolled over on her back, dislodging the blanket so a pert pale breast escaped, her pink nipples large in contrast to its size. I brushed my finger over her nipple until it grew rigid, begging for attention. Unable to resist the call I leaned over and took it in my mouth, sliding my tongue over the peak.

She arched and sighed and the other breast slipped free as the blanket slid down to her waist. I took the other nipple and bit, adding the pinch of pain she always begged for.

“Mmm, so good, more,” she purred making me groan. I needed to go but couldn’t stop. Just one more time, I’d do this one more time. For her.

I ran my fingers down her body and found her soft folds swollen and wet.

“Is that for me?” I whispered licking her nipple as I slid a finger inside.

“Been dreaming about you,” she murmured letting her legs fall open to me.

“Good dream?”

“Always my love, always.”

I took my time stroking her, letting her feminine heat soak into me. I added more bites to her breasts but left her mouth, the treasure I wanted most, alone. If I kissed her I might never leave.

Three fingers in her heat, I thumbed her small nub until she cried out. Panting yet sated she rolled over and fell back to sleep.

I licked her essence off my fingers and covered her back up.

I owed her a goodbye, a hug, a thank you, something. But the soft places that made such gestures possible had bled out of me the night before and into her mouth, onto her skin. I had nothing left for such things and finished dressing being careful to stay on the rug lest the sound of my boots on the hardwood wake her. I picked up the saddle bag I’d packed the night before and heard the crinkle of paper.

I’d received the letter three days ago but only read it to her last night. A single piece of paper, thin and brittle yet that letter changed everything. It stripped me of everything I’d worked for and forces me to leave everything behind. My home, my work, my love, none of them possible now. She says she understands and I’m glad she does for I do not.

I blow out the lamp and leave the house as the first rays of the morning peek over the mountain. It’s over a mile to town and if I don’t meet them there they will come for me here and I won’t have them sully her home.

I pulled a black dress off the wash line and rolled it into my bag. The last of my widow’s weeds. But I wasn’t a widow, not anymore. My dead husband, thought lost in the war of Northern aggression had returned and my place was with him, no matter what my heart may need.

I spared not a look back as I walked down the lane. I’m no good at goodby but as I reached town and saw the men waiting I made a vow. This would not be goodbye. I’d be back, somehow someway, I’ll be back.

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a great start to a longer piece. good job! ^^b

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