by L. R. Olson
I perk up. I’ve never been to a gay club.
“Alright, alright,” Fiona sighs. “We’ll head to your club in a bit, mate.”
Christian leans toward Ben saying something that makes him laugh. He’s friends with women, gay men, and people from all over the world. He’s so accepting of everyone that I’m beginning to think he just might be perfect. The more time I spend with him, the more I like him.
“Well done,” Fiona whispers, leaning across Jessica to get to me. “Hot and wealthy.”
She’s talking about Christian. I quirk a brow. “Is he?”
She grins in a mysterious way. Matt’s family is wealthy too, so it doesn’t bother me much…but I do wonder how wealthy is Christian? And why do I keep picking the wealthy, knights in shining armor? Is it something in me that draws them close, or something in them? I don’t want to be with a man who feels like he has to save me. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that we can only save ourselves. And even that’s not guaranteed.
“Come on.” Christian takes my hand. “Let’s dance.”
I have just enough time to set my drink down before he’s pulling me away. Gabrielle catches my gaze and gives me a salute and a grin. I don’t dance. But tonight…I do. Dancing leads to sex…right? At least that’s what Footloose taught me. With his arm around my waist, we weave our way through the crowd and onto the dance floor.
“I don’t really know how to dance.”
He laughs. “Most of these people don’t.”
We’re pushed close together, my body molded to his. This isn’t dancing, I realize, its foreplay. He smells good. Really, really good. I slide my arms around his neck and close my eyes as I rest my face against his shoulder. Unable to help myself, I breathe him in.
His hard planes press into my soft curves like we were made for each other. All my reservations, my insecurities, vanish. As we move, his thighs rub against mine. His muscled chest brushes my nipples, turning them into hardened buds that press desperately to my thin bra. That heated ache deep within me flares, pulsing, pounding. If the flirting is this good, what will sex be like?
We dance for what seems like forever. The music changes. One European techno song after another. They all sound the same to me. Sometimes we dance close, our bodies pressed so near I can’t tell where I end and he begins. We don’t speak, but we talk with our movements. And I’m normal. For a long, long time I can ignore the exhaustion that is creeping ever closer.
And after so many songs that I’m almost numb with euphoria, Christian takes my hand and pulls me close. Laughing, I fall into him. Of course he’s a great dancer, because he’s perfect at everything. He’s caught my gaze, and in his eyes I see his desire, his interest.
“I really like you, Hope.”
Before I can process his words, his mouth finds mine, his lips so firm, so delicious, so demanding. Right there, in the middle of the dance floor, he kisses me. And then, because this isn’t a fairy tale, it all ends.
My stomach twists. Not good. The floor under my feet wavers. The roar of blood rushes to my ears. I feel light-headed, and it isn’t because of the kiss. I push away from him, my mouth still tingling from the pressure of his lips. “I…I need a minute.”
I scurry through the crowds, leaving him behind before he has a chance to stop me. Not now. I can’t get sick now. I’m vaguely aware of our table of friends watching me as I race by them. Of Jessica calling out to me, but I don’t slow until I make it to the steps. Panic keeps me going.
I can’t get sick in front of them. Damn it all, I will not ruin this night. I stumble from the building, avoid the line of people waiting to get inside, and move down the sidewalk until I find an empty spot along a brick wall.
The cool air comforts me, even as the music pounds around me, loud and irritating. People are laughing, singing, dancing, cars honking. No one notices me, thank god. The fun lasted for a while, didn’t it? For about an hour I could pretend everything was fine. I’m Cinderella and my time is limited. But there’s no happily ever after at the end of this story. I sink back against the wall.
“You okay?” Jessica is suddenly standing in front of me, her gaze full of worry. She has my purse. “You left so suddenly.”
I nod, surprised to see her, and take my purse. Every time. Every single time I think I’m doing better, life smacks me across the face. “Just felt a little sick.”
She leans against the wall next to me. She’s wearing simple tight jeans and a t-shirt. “Is it the first time you’ve drank?”
I nod, feeling miserable, and slump down the wall until I’m crouched at the ground. I want to go home now. I want to sink into bed and forget. I’m embarrassed, I’m angry, and I’m disappointed. I had an agreement with the universe. We agreed I’d have a month. Just one month.
“Christian is calling a cab.” She hesitates. “Were you drinking before you came?”
I swipe the sweat from my forehead. The cool air is making me feel so much better. Or maybe it’s the open space. The fact that it’s not quite so loud out here. Not so crowded. “No.”
“That was a quick reaction.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “You didn’t drink much. Are you like…allergic to alcohol?”
She’s fishing for information. Suspicious. I shrug. “Maybe.”
Ignoring her doesn’t work. She’s still here, but I barely notice because I’m trying to take in deep, soothing breaths like I learned to do during chemo. I wish she’d go away. Wish a damn taxi would drive by so I could wave it down and return to the apartment.
“Hope…are you sick?”
I keep my eyes closed. “Maybe it’s the flu…”
“No. I mean really sick.”
I stiffen.
“I’m asking because…my boyfriend is sick. Been for a year. This…” She releases a harsh laugh. “Is supposed to be my night out. My night to forget. He makes me go out once a week. As if I can forget.”
I open my eyes, searching her face. Now I understand the sadness I could sense pulsing from her. “I’m sorry.”
But her worried gaze is on me. She’s studying my features like everyone at home looks at me…like I’m a patient. Like I’m ill. Like there’s something wrong with me. “Maybe I’m just paranoid since I’ve been around illness so long, but it’s just…your symptoms…the way you look…”
“Please,” I whisper, horrified, and not even sure what I’m begging her for. “Stop.”
She nods in understanding. She knows. From dealing with her boyfriend…she understands. “It’s not my business, but if you need anything…”
As if I would bug her. She’s a stranger who has her own shit to deal with. I force myself to smile. “I’m okay.”
She hesitates. “Does Christian know?”
“No. I just met him like five days ago.” I stand slowly. My heart is pounding with adrenaline…anxiety, fear. I’m not sure. “I just wanted to pretend to be normal. Just the two weeks I’m here.”
She rests her hand on my shoulder, her fingers warm and comforting. “I won’t tell him, I’ll leave that to you.”
I frown. Leave it to me? As if she expects me to admit my illness? “It’s not like that. We’re not serious.” I rake my hands through my hair, frustrated and confused. “I’m leaving for Norway in a week.”
A cool breeze stirs her beautiful dark hair, making it curl like satiny ribbons. “Okay. I get it.”
Does she? Can I trust her? “Will you tell them I had to go? Make sure Gabrielle gets a taxi?”
She nods.
Suddenly Christian is there, his gaze sympathetic. “Come on, Lightweight. Isn’t that what you American’s call it?” He wraps his arm around my waist and leads me toward the street where a cab is waiting. And even though I don’t want to rely on him, I can’t help but sink into his form, greedily soak up his essence, his strength. “I’ll take you home.”
Before we get into the taxi, I glance back. Jessica is still standing there, watching us.
; ****
By the time he leads me up the steps to my apartment I’m feeling better. I’m also wishing I hadn’t run outside like a drama queen. Maybe if I’d sat down, sipped some water, I could have avoided this scene. But it’s too late now.
Being the reserved Scandinavian he is, Christian doesn’t pry. He merely slides his arm around my waist and helps me up the stairs. But I see the worry, the sympathy in his gaze as we stand outside my door.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Really. You don’t have to walk me up.”
“It’s alright, really.” He brushes by me and takes my key, opening the door for me. Just like Matias he’s a care-taker. It annoys me more than it warms my heart. If I wanted another babysitter, I would have stayed home. He moves to the side, allowing me to enter first. It’s only then that I realize he’s in my apartment and we’re alone. Completely alone. Suddenly, my bad mood lightens.
“I’ll be a minute.”
I tuck inside the small bathroom, where there’s barely enough room to move, to see the damage. There are dark smudges under my eyes. Lovely. I look paler than normal, but overall it could be worse. I can hear him in the kitchen, getting water.
For one brief moment, I stare into my eyes and I can see the indecision flickering there. What am I doing? Do I really want this? Yes. It’s my one chance, damn it all. And it’s my birthday. I brush my teeth, pinch my cheeks and head out to see if he’s still here, or if he’s come to his senses and fled.
He’s standing by the open window, the breeze tousling his hair, making his shirt cling to his broad shoulders. Sensing me, he glances my way and holds out a cup of water. “Never drank alcohol before?”
I shake my head. “Sips, but nothing strong.”
He hands me the glass. Our fingers brush. “Right. I forgot you’re American. It’s okay to shoot someone, but god forbid you see someone drink, breastfeed or kiss in public.”
I grin. “Hey, you guys aren’t angels. I’ve been told by a very reliable source that Scandinavian guys are arrogant.”
He laughs. “Maybe. A little. I guess no one’s perfect though, right?”
I sip my water. I’m not sure. He seems rather perfect, which makes me wonder…what are his issues? I set my glass on the small table and pause next to him to look outside, savoring the breeze. I’m highly aware that I’m alone in an apartment with a guy I barely know. I’m highly aware that this could lead to another mark off my bucket list if I let him stay. I am highly aware that when I’m dying this could be the moment I think about to make me feel better.
He steps closer. If he touches me, I know I’ll tip over the edge. There will be no holding back. He cups the side of my face, sliding his fingers into the hair at my temples. A sigh escapes my lips. I love how he takes control. Love that look he has in his eyes right before he kisses me. A look that says he’s so damn sure. Of himself. Of me.
“Hope?”
“Yes?” I whisper.
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
My heart is hammering so loud surely he must hear it. “Okay.”
He steps even closer and when he lowers his head to mine, I lift up on tiptoe and brace my hands against his chest. His kisses are so very different from Matt’s. Or maybe it’s just how my body reacts that’s different.
Matt has become a friend. The last time we kissed, it was…sweet. Innocent. I feel anything but sweet and innocent toward Christian. I feel heat, attraction, desire, like I’ve never had the chance to experience before. I want him. I want to know what it’s like to feel his body on mine, no clothes, skin against skin. I want him to touch me…everywhere. I want to touch him everywhere. I want to be in the moment, and to forget.
Both his hands are cupping my face now, tilting my head back to deepen the kiss. He’s so damn gentle, yet so damn sexy. When his tongue sweeps across my lips, I open willingly for him. It’s a deep, thorough kiss that leaves me hungry for more. I slide my arms around his neck and lean into his hard body.
I’ve experienced so much in my short life. Pain. Anger. Loss. But this…this is new. This is what I’ve been missing. What I’ve been craving. What I need before I can say goodbye. Passion. Yearning. Complete connection with another.
His hands leave my face and slide down my back, cupping my ass and pulling me up against his rock-hard arousal. I groan against his lips. The ache between my legs flares, desperate, demanding, throbbing.
“Whoohooo!” someone screams outside, startling me.
Panting, I tear my mouth from his. The catcall is a reminder that we’re making out in front of the windows. A flush of embarrassment rushes up my neck, and into my face.
Laughing softly, Christian steps away from me. “Perhaps not so exposed.”
He takes my hand and leads me toward the couch. The sparks flashing between us are not in my imagination. I can see the attraction in the darkening of his eyes. I can feel it in the hardness of his body. He wants this. I want this. It’s going to happen.
He pulls me closer and I somehow end up on his lap as he sits on the couch. His erection throbs hard underneath me. I shift, moving against him, I can’t help myself. But it only intensifies the ache. Desperate, I wrap my arms around him and mold my lips to his. Nervousness, excitement, boldness and timidity all crash through me at once.
Despite my worries, I am determined not to die a virgin. His hands slide under my shirt, his palms warm against my back. The heat seeps through my body, into my bones and eases the tension within me.
With a groan, I nip at his bottom lip. He presses me closer, and my breasts crush to his chest. His heart beats sure and strong against me. My body awakens, as if I’ve been asleep for a long, long while. My senses are spinning, heightened. I open my legs, my dress sliding up my thighs, and straddle him. The long, hard length of his erection strains against his jeans, against me. A delightful shiver races through me. I’ve never been so desperate for someone. It feels as if I’ve finally come home.
“Helvete, I want you,” he says, his voice thick and husky with desire.
He has no idea. Everything that seemed so important only last week, no longer matters. He is foremost in my mind. Here. Now. His hands slide down my back and cup my ass. I want him to tear off my dress and bra. To draw my breasts into his mouth. I want him to pull aside my panties and touch me there.
He drags my body closer as his tongue delves between my lips. It’s a deep, completely thorough kiss that leaves me trembling and desperate. I do what I’ve been wanting to do since I first met him and comb my fingers through his hair, playing with the strands. It’s as soft and thick as it looks.
I slide my hands under his shirt and up his chest. Muscles. Hard muscle. He sighs and leans back, allowing me to explore. Oh, how I want to explore. His dark gaze is pinned to me, his lips parted as his breath comes out in harsh pants that match my own. There’s a promise in his touch, a promise of more, a promise of pleasure to come.
“You are gorgeous,” I say.
“I think I’m supposed to say that to you.” Grinning, he tugs me toward him, nestling his face against my delicate neck, the scruff on his chin erotic against my sensitive skin. “Do you know how badly I wanted to slide this dress off your body when you danced with me tonight?”
The entire world has disappeared. He is all that matters. We might have met only a week ago, but in this moment it feels as if I’ve always known him. He tugs at the sleeves of my dress and it falls down around my shoulders. Cool air whispers in through the windows, bringing goosebumps to my exposed flesh.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, as he lowers his head, lips brushing against my cleavage.
My breasts grow heavy, tight in my black bra. Despite the breeze wafting in through the open window, the room feels stifling hot. I rock against him. Every night since that first meeting I’ve fantasized about him kissing me, touching me, sliding his hands under my skirt. My entire body is buzzing with unspent energy. His hands grip my waist and he lifts me, laying me down on the couch. His hot and hea
vy body follows. The ache between my thighs is sharp now. Almost painful.
If only he would run his hands up my thighs and touch me there, if only he would rock against me a little longer…I know I’ll come. Why didn’t anyone tell me it feels this good? A kiss isn’t enough. I want more. I want him inside me. Connected.
“Christian,” I whisper, as he kisses my jawline. “I want you.”
“I know,” he replies.
He finds my mouth before I have a chance to respond, to beg him to sleep with me. My fingers bite into his back as I lift my hips, arching into his steel erection. My entire body is heated and thrumming with the need for release. I reach for the button of his jeans while his mouth continues to ravage mine. We’re both greedy and desperate.
“Slow,” he mutters breathlessly against my lips, taking my hands and pinning them to the couch cushion above my head, holding me captive. “We have time. God, I want to take my time with you.”
No, I want to say. No. I don’t have time, and I’m frantic to know him in every way I can, before it’s too late.
Nothing matters. Nothing but him. He is the center of my universe at the moment. The delicious weight of his body is what is keeping me here, grounded.
He rests his forehead to mine. “We should stop.”
What? Why? What the hell is he talking about? He braces himself on his elbows and I hate him for pulling away. But he doesn’t move, doesn’t leave me. Instead, he brushes his thumb over my lower lip, his attention dropping to my mouth. A soft, gentle touch. A shiver tiptoes down my spine. His gaze meets mine again. Our eyes lock. Something whispers between us. A connection I don’t understand. A connection that worries me, as much as it intrigues me.
I shift underneath him, feeling slightly uncomfortable. It’s too intimate. His gaze too intense. It’s as if he’s looking into my soul. This was supposed to be a one night stand. A fling. “Christian…”
He takes in a deep breath. “We should probably wait.”
“Yeah,” I reply, strangely relieved.