Twenty-Eight #2
“Most of us don’t deserve the shit that happens to us.
Our loved ones don’t die for a reason besides them fulfilling their story.
Hardships aren't meant to be, except for the path we take with all the pain. The lessons we learn. You don’t need me or anyone to remind you of your worth, but if you let me in, Sara— I won’t take any of it for granted.
I can’t promise I’ll never leave you, but it won’t be of my doing—that much I can promise you. ”
A couple of tears run down her face, my fingers chasing them away. “You didn’t deserve to be conditioned into being afraid that anything you love wouldn’t love you back or leave you behind.”
“So, if we explore this…” she says, and I finish her words,
“I’m not going anywhere…” I kiss the spot between her shoulder and neck. “Is that what you’d want?”
I watch her eyes shift and without an ounce of hesitancy, she breathlessly says, “Yes, I think so, Liam.”
I smile, that's good enough for me for now. I kiss her forehead for the words I want to say but don’t have the courage just yet. I know we both want this, we’re riddled in guilt and regret, more so for me, but I’m done not reaching for what I need.
“What is something that made you smile, that you miss doing?” I ask, whispering in her ear as I cup her face.
She looks at me with a flicker of a newfound hopeful expression on her face, and the last thing I want to do is chase it away. “I don’t know…”
“Besides gardening, or swimming. Dancing? You’ve haven't gone to a dance class in a while.” And her eyes light up as to confirm.
“Yes, I miss my dance classes so much and just dancing.” A hint of sadness comes over her as I see her reminiscing when life was a little simpler, before cutting her freedom, for good reasons may I add.
“Don’t move,” I tell her as she looks at me inquisitively, perched on the kitchen island. I press on the house speakers and play “Smooth” by Santana ft. Rob Thomas.
“What are you doing?” she drawls. “Oh my God, I haven't heard this song in forever!” Her hips sway instinctively, and it's like watching her come alive before my eyes. So much beauty. Raw fucking beauty.
“Show me,” I say, holding out my hand. “Show me how you dance.”
My heart swells at the idea of seeing her do something she loves, that is an expression of her.
It’s so clear music and dancing have saved her on more than one occasion.
Talent is beautiful. You don’t have to be the best at anything, you can be good at a lot of things as long as it makes your fucking heart sing.
Boxing did that for me, and seeing her transform before my eyes has me memorizing everything that she allows me to witness.
Her curves, her hair swaying, her now black silk dress adjusting along her curves as she moves her body, the urge to put my hands all over her is out of this world. She hesitates, then takes my hand.
“I'm not sure you can handle my moves, Laurent boy,” she teases.
“Try me, Sara Delacroix. Come here.” I pull her forward against me, the tempo of this song an absolute aphrodisiac, having us grind our bodies together as I push her closer to me by her waist, her laugh intoxicating our every step.
I watch how the music awakens her like an IV rush to her veins.
She's fluid, confident, sexy as hell, as her body tells a story with each movement against mine.
Her eyes close, her head dipping as her hair cascades over her bare back and our hips dance rhythmically in the most natural pattern.
“How do you know how to dance?” she asks unable to contain her laugh.
I spin her away from me, creating a space between us before snapping her back into my chest, my hand firm at the small of her back as her body slams back into mine, and I want to make love to her, I want to make her see fucking stars.
“O-oh—” Her eyes widen as I pull her flush against my chest and dip her low, my face hovering inches from hers before pulling her back up with controlled strength. The shock on her face is fucking priceless.
“You can fucking salsa—” she starts, but I cut her off with another quick spin.
“There's a lot you don't know about me, princess,” I murmur in her ear, grinding against her.
“Where did you learn to dance like that?” She asks breathlessly, her chest rising and falling against mine.
“Our boxing coach thought it would help with discipline and footwork to learn basic salsa.”
I pull her closer, my hand over her ass and touching her all the way to her shoulder, not missing an inch of her curves and the goosebumps that erupt in the wake of my touch. “Turns out, it's good for other things too.”
Her eyes are locked on mine, pupils dilated, breath shallow. She bites her lips with pure surprise when I suddenly move forward, backing her against the wall. My hands find her jaw, tilting her face up.
“Liam,” she gasps. I lift her, pressing her harder against the wall as her legs wrap around my waist. I press my forehead to hers. “Let's agree, you and me. We face our demons together.”
Her heart hammers against my chest.
“What exactly are you proposing?”
“For now, popcorn and a movie?" I ask and she catches her breath. I know it’s something she and Joe loved to do, and I’ve always secretly envied those moments they’d share.
“I’d like that,” she says softly.
We’re going to shed the past together, and maybe Joe would be happy we found each other.
I stop the music from my phone and walk over to the couch.
While I go make some popcorn and set things up, she takes off her heels and curls into the corner, knees pulled to her chest, with Fiasco at her feet.
I disappear briefly again and return with a soft throw blanket, draping it over her legs before settling beside her, giving some ear scratches to Fiasco and curling my arm around her. Fuck, I love this.
“What do you want to watch?” I ask, scrolling through the options.
“Something mindless.” She taps her fingers on her mouth. “Something that doesn’t make me think about… anything.”
“The Notebook?” I suggest, and that earns me a smack on the shoulder and a bewildered glare.
“You didn’t just insult one of the best romance movies?”
“You’re one of those, huh?” I smile playfully.
“The fuck you mean, Liam! That movie is far from mindless.” She reaches for the popcorn, pops one in her mouth.
“Okay, sailor!”
“Why don’t you put The Matrix on?” she offers and I glare at her.
“No, you didn’t!” I grab her by the waist and start tickling her as her laugh fills the room for the second time this evening.
“Stop! Stop, I’m going to pee myself!” she gasps, squeezing out the words between giggles.
“Say please.”
“Please! I can’t breathe!” she squeals, twisting in my grip.
“Take it back about The Matrix!”