Read Online Her Name in the Sky by Kelly Quindlen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kelly Quindlen
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a smile. She presses her thumb against Hannah’s fingers. “Really?”
“Really.”
Baker raises her free hand, the one not holding Hannah’s, to Hannah’s face. She brushes her fingers down Hannah’s cheek, and Hannah’s heart beats faster. “I’m really glad you’re my best friend,” Baker says.
“Me too,” Hannah says. She leans forward and wraps Baker in a tight hug, losing herself to the smell of Baker’s perfume and the beat of Baker’s heart against her chest. “You’re the absolute best,” Hannah says, and then she kisses Baker’s cheek.
Baker pulls back from her until they’re looking at each other full on. And it’s startling, because all Hannah can see are deep, dark eyes, the eyes she has trusted for years, but tonight there is something blazingly different in them, something ancient and yearning, something that calls to a feeling deep inside of Hannah. Baker leans in and kisses Hannah’s cheek very slowly and gently—like she means it—and when she draws back Hannah sees that same something in her eyes again, and it prompts her to lean forward and kiss Baker’s other cheek. Baker’s skin is soft under her lips, and when Hannah pulls back she feels Baker touch her face again, her fingers gentle but commanding on Hannah’s jaw, and then they’re moving towards each other again, both of them wanting to kiss each other’s cheeks, except this time they’re facing each other directly.
They kiss each other’s lips, and Hannah feels the spring of creation in her body and blood.
It’s a bursting, awakening feeling. It’s so potent that it almost hurts, the way it feels to eat a morsel of food after a long period of starvation. Every nerve beneath Hannah’s skin—every deep, hidden crevice in her body—every tiny atom that makes her who she is—they all jazz to life, as if they had been long ago buried and were simply waiting to be called upon to arise. Hannah opens her eyes and finds Baker looking at her with a kind of breathless, frightened desire, like a child who just got caught with her hand in a cookie jar, so Hannah leans forward again before either one of them can think about it. She kisses Baker’s lips, and once again all her nerves spring to life, and her heartbeat quickens in her chest, and the drunken part of her sings Oh, yes even while the sober part of her warns Oh, no. Baker’s mouth moves against hers, and now they’re full on kissing, their lips sliding against each other’s while Hannah’s heart rises up to fill the room around them. And it’s magic, it’s sacred ritual, it’s God.
And now Baker’s making small noises, and her hands are running up and down Hannah’s arms, and her breathing is as erratic as her kisses. Her lips are wet and Hannah wants to kiss them, kiss them, kiss them, and in some distant, forgotten part of her mind, she finally understands what the big deal is, why people want to kiss, why this action communicates so much more than words ever could.
“Han,” Baker says against her mouth, and never before has Hannah heard her name pronounced with such fear and such reverence. She answers with another kiss, with a turn of her head, and Baker receives her kiss with a desperate eagerness Hannah never knew she possessed.
And then their tongues are involved, moving into each other’s mouths with exploratory fervor, and deep inside of Hannah there’s a voice that says, This is your best friend, this is your best friend , over and over, and it seems to intensify the physical feelings even more. They kiss and kiss and kiss, and Hannah hears soft whimpers and breaths escaping from Baker’s body, or maybe from her own, and she can’t think of anything except how much she loves this.
“Hannah,” Baker says, her voice more fearful than reverent. She draws away and wipes her fingers across her mouth, and Hannah sees that her hand is shaking.
“Baker—”
“Let’s go back out to the party,” Baker says, standing up and walking
“Really.”
Baker raises her free hand, the one not holding Hannah’s, to Hannah’s face. She brushes her fingers down Hannah’s cheek, and Hannah’s heart beats faster. “I’m really glad you’re my best friend,” Baker says.
“Me too,” Hannah says. She leans forward and wraps Baker in a tight hug, losing herself to the smell of Baker’s perfume and the beat of Baker’s heart against her chest. “You’re the absolute best,” Hannah says, and then she kisses Baker’s cheek.
Baker pulls back from her until they’re looking at each other full on. And it’s startling, because all Hannah can see are deep, dark eyes, the eyes she has trusted for years, but tonight there is something blazingly different in them, something ancient and yearning, something that calls to a feeling deep inside of Hannah. Baker leans in and kisses Hannah’s cheek very slowly and gently—like she means it—and when she draws back Hannah sees that same something in her eyes again, and it prompts her to lean forward and kiss Baker’s other cheek. Baker’s skin is soft under her lips, and when Hannah pulls back she feels Baker touch her face again, her fingers gentle but commanding on Hannah’s jaw, and then they’re moving towards each other again, both of them wanting to kiss each other’s cheeks, except this time they’re facing each other directly.
They kiss each other’s lips, and Hannah feels the spring of creation in her body and blood.
It’s a bursting, awakening feeling. It’s so potent that it almost hurts, the way it feels to eat a morsel of food after a long period of starvation. Every nerve beneath Hannah’s skin—every deep, hidden crevice in her body—every tiny atom that makes her who she is—they all jazz to life, as if they had been long ago buried and were simply waiting to be called upon to arise. Hannah opens her eyes and finds Baker looking at her with a kind of breathless, frightened desire, like a child who just got caught with her hand in a cookie jar, so Hannah leans forward again before either one of them can think about it. She kisses Baker’s lips, and once again all her nerves spring to life, and her heartbeat quickens in her chest, and the drunken part of her sings Oh, yes even while the sober part of her warns Oh, no. Baker’s mouth moves against hers, and now they’re full on kissing, their lips sliding against each other’s while Hannah’s heart rises up to fill the room around them. And it’s magic, it’s sacred ritual, it’s God.
And now Baker’s making small noises, and her hands are running up and down Hannah’s arms, and her breathing is as erratic as her kisses. Her lips are wet and Hannah wants to kiss them, kiss them, kiss them, and in some distant, forgotten part of her mind, she finally understands what the big deal is, why people want to kiss, why this action communicates so much more than words ever could.
“Han,” Baker says against her mouth, and never before has Hannah heard her name pronounced with such fear and such reverence. She answers with another kiss, with a turn of her head, and Baker receives her kiss with a desperate eagerness Hannah never knew she possessed.
And then their tongues are involved, moving into each other’s mouths with exploratory fervor, and deep inside of Hannah there’s a voice that says, This is your best friend, this is your best friend , over and over, and it seems to intensify the physical feelings even more. They kiss and kiss and kiss, and Hannah hears soft whimpers and breaths escaping from Baker’s body, or maybe from her own, and she can’t think of anything except how much she loves this.
“Hannah,” Baker says, her voice more fearful than reverent. She draws away and wipes her fingers across her mouth, and Hannah sees that her hand is shaking.
“Baker—”
“Let’s go back out to the party,” Baker says, standing up and walking
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