Chapter 12 Chandelier
Chapter twelve
Chandelier
After work, I fed Angel and myself bites of cheesecake in his car, rejuvenated by coffee, sweets, and possibilities. He drove us to a white brick two-story house to hang out.
“You have a lovely home,” I said.
“It’s my mom’s place. I’m house-sitting ‘til she gets back,” he explained, opening the ornate front door.
“I figured you’d live together while you were in school to save money.” Wasn’t she gone for a good chunk of the year anyway?
He shrugged and breezed through a marble entryway. “I have a room upstairs, but I like my own space. That way, I never run into her man of the moment. Or other guests.”
I flushed at the implication. “She has a lot of boyfriends, then?”
“She doesn’t like when I do the math.” He flashed me a mischievous grin. “Same goes with her birthday.”
I chuckled. She sounded like quite a character. No wonder he was so dramatic. And flirtatious.
“This must be the lady of the house.” I motioned to a framed black-and-white photograph in the entryway.
A beautiful woman with windswept hair, big eyes, and the brightest smile I’d ever seen hugged a little boy on the beach. She had a glow about her like a model or celebrity.
I poked the little boy in the photo’s cherubic cheeks. “That’s you, isn’t it?”
“Yep. Before I became the man you know and love,” he said, taking my hand and spinning me into a dance.
“Love?” I said incredulously, trying to steady myself in his arms, but as soon as he kissed me, my bones went as limp as ribbons.
Each sweep of his lips wrapped me in indulgent bliss.
Love was a strong word. At least for a second date. But I wasn’t going to be baited into confirming or denying the strength of my affections. I did like him. A lot. More than I should for how long it’d been since he’d swanned into The Closette.
I threaded my fingers into his soft hair, basking in the open admiration of his gaze. Surely, real love was something like this. We swayed to a tune he hummed, some variation of a song that’d been playing in the car.
I brushed my nose against his and grinned. “So, what do you want to do besides kiss?”
He swept me across the floor in more of a waltz. “Dance. Talk. Watch the sunrise in each other’s arms.”
“I’m not sure that coffee was strong enough to get me to sunrise,” I joked, stumbling to keep up with him.
“We have an espresso machine. And a very comfy bed,” he said, rubbing my back.
I nuzzled into him, too cozy with the idea of snuggling his meringue-scented body instead of a plush bear for the evening. “I can’t stay over,” I mumbled into his chest.
“Why not? Your ride doesn’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight.” He held onto me, stepping wide to spin us.
I giggled and clung to him tighter. “No, but my family would worry.”
“Because you’re the baby?” He dipped me.
I gasped and hooked my leg around him. For one delicious moment, it was just him and me. Two people dancing. The chandelier framed his silhouette and formed a glowing crystal halo behind him.
Angel.
He’d saved me from another night stewing in my—and other people’s—consequences.
But I wasn’t the baby anymore. I was a lady. His, if the dopamine I always seemed to get in his presence was any indication.
My eyelashes fluttered as we cradled each other closer for a kiss.
His lips were so sweet. Or maybe that was the meringue on the tips of our tongues. The coffee. He smiled into another kiss, and my heart puffed up like those blood pressure cuffs.
I could imagine us in wedding finery. Or fancy dress. In a castle. On a beach. Or maybe even a hospital hallway, stealing a moment together on shift.
But that would never happen. I wasn’t—I couldn’t be there again.
I stumbled out of the dip, but clung to him as he course-corrected us upright.
This wasn’t some fantasy. Whatever we had was real. It was now. I couldn’t let this chance at love slip away just because of exhaustion, because I’d failed at my other dreams. We could still be…something.
I had to find the energy.
He brushed my hair aside and studied my face with worry. “You okay, pidge?”
“Yes.” Even more so when I didn’t think about it. I kissed him with everything I could muster.
“Tori,” he murmured, tightening his grip on my waist.
For a moment, we teetered, clutching, kissing, and chuckling in an intimate rhythm.
The push and pull revitalized me. He led me into another room, where we stumbled onto a couch with soft, cream-colored blankets.
Time stretched as we fit together. He was unhurried and tender.
Everything felt better. I got a whole-body massage just by pressing myself into him.
Love was a hell of a medicine, numbing me to everything but this wonderful dance.
I tilted my head to breathe, my spine arching as he kissed from my neck to the center of my chest. Everything was electric. Pulsing.
“You feel so good,” I panted, combing his silky hair.
He nuzzled my breast and rasped, “How do you want me?”
“Everywhere,” I said.
He gave me a rakish grin, then kissed me, caressing me on the tender arch of my foot and around my knees. He cupped my ass and gave it a firm squeeze before chasing all my tension into a pool of simmering need.
My gosh, he was good with his hands.
He palmed my breast and commanded my nerve endings to sing for him. My incoherent pleas rang into the empty living room. I wanted him. Wanted more of this. He ground his erection against me, and I keened.
Heavenly.
I rubbed his arrow piercing between my fingers. This was fixing something inside me. Ecstasy. Energy. Finally, I was excited to be with somebody.
I could trust him enough to fall apart, knowing he'd put me back together. For now. Maybe forever.
When he plucked my nipple over my shirt, my sex fluttered with need. I could only imagine if this was skin-to-skin, if he was inside of me.
“Angel,” I moaned, hooking my legs around him to simulate what it’d be like to make love.
He sucked kisses across my jaw. “I thought you were too tired for anything this exciting.”
I shuddered with glee. “The coffee just kicked in.”
He hummed against my skin. “Must be pretty special coffee."
“You're special to me too,” I whispered.
“Oh, Tori.” He kissed me hard enough to send pulses of endorphins through my whole body.
I was in a dream, a fantasy with a man who adored me.
Was having sex with him right now too reckless? Did I need to do the proper steps? Hands, mouths, then…penetrative? A guy like him might lose interest if I didn’t excite him on a regular basis.
Not that placating someone was a good enough reason to have sex. I wanted to make love with someone who made me feel like he did. But when?
Everything was wonderful so far: his flexing muscles under my fingertips, the shallow grind of our hips, and passionate, doting kisses.
His hand skimmed lower, seeking entry under my shirt, now damp in the small of my back. Sweat was not romantic.
“Wait.” I nudged his chest, and he shuddered to give us space.
“We can stop if you want,” he said, his heartbeat pounding under my fingertips.
“I just want to wash up first. Is that okay?”
“Of course. But I’m not averse to getting a little dirty.” He grinned, massaging my hips.
With a little whimper, I resisted the urge to roll into his ministrations. “I know, but I want to feel…hot, not hot, do you know what I mean?”
He leaned closer, his eyes twinkling. “Do you want to shower together?”
My body could only take so much stimulation—and for a second, I couldn’t think.
But amid the fantasy of grinding against each other in a foggy waterfall, my fingertips streaking across the glass and his dewy skin as he rubbed every inch of me clean…
I worried about the potential reality: unflattering lighting, temperature fluctuation, and slipping in the tub.
So many potential injuries. And the last time I took a semi-intimate shower solo, someone yelled at me.
I scrunched down and looked away. “Um, not today.”
“No problem, pidge.” He led me upstairs to his bedroom. The base wallpaper color was dark, brushed with a faint metallic pattern of feathers or foliage that glittered as we moved. His desk didn’t host as many books as I expected it to.
He flashed me a boyish smile as we approached the glossy dresser across from his plush bed. “You can change into any of my clean clothes. Now or, uh, later, if you want them,” he said.
In his roundabout way, he was assuring me I could choose if, when, and how things happened.
I hugged his arm to steady my nerves. “To be honest, I’m not sure we’ll have sex tonight. I know it seems like we’re headed there. But I’ve been so tense, and you feel so nice that I…lose myself for a minute.”
His gaze flitted across my face with concern. “Bad impulses?”
“Not bad. Good. Almost too good. I mean, you feel good. I just…” I shook my head. “I don’t know if I’m making any sense. I’ve never really felt like this.” I wasn’t sure I trusted myself yet.
He studied me with his head cocked. “Are you still tense?”
I rubbed my thighs together to quiet the hot need brewing beneath. “Yes.”
“I have just the thing for that.” He opened a drawer and grabbed a pair of tiny spandex underwear.
I furrowed my brow. “Whose are those?”
“Ours.” He slingshot it at my chest, and I yelped, turning so it hit my arm.
“Angel,” I chided.
“Consider that my revenge for The Closette,” he said.
I rolled my eyes fondly. “That was an accident."
He gestured to the spandex. “They should fit you. If not, I’m sure I have something else you could wear in the hot tub.”
“You have a hot tub?” I gawked.
He nodded and started peeling off his clothes. “Bathroom’s on the right. Dresser’s right there for other clothing options. Of course, we could go naked.” He flicked open his slacks and smirked.
Oh my.
In this ‘normal’ temperature, he was magnificent.