49. Elena #2
It was somewhere after that, with the dance floor filling up properly and the trio taking a break while a laptop and a small mixer took over the music, that I found myself drifting toward the folding table near the speakers where the actual DJ setup sat, mostly unattended, the hired DJ off refilling his water somewhere in the dark beyond the tent.
I told myself I was just looking. Then I told myself it would take thirty seconds. Then I was crouched slightly at the table, glass of champagne balanced on the corner, pulling the playlist software into view.
I scrolled with the fast, sure fingers of someone who had spent a decade making systems that weren't hers do exactly what she wanted. I wasn't supposed to be anywhere near this laptop. That was, if I was honest with myself, most of the fun.
I found the queue, deleted three songs I personally could not survive hearing at another wedding, and slotted in the song Sergei had once admitted, alone with me after hours in his office, that he never skipped, back when I still told myself I hated him and neither of us believed it.
"Are you hacking my wedding?"
I didn't need to turn around to know it was him. I kept typing. "I'm improving your wedding. There's a difference."
"There is not." He came to stand behind me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him without looking up, and rested one hand on the tabletop beside the laptop instead of stopping me. "You do know there is a person whose actual job this is."
"He's getting water. I'm faster." I hit save on the queue and finally glanced up at him, and whatever expression was on my face must have been something, because his own expression cracked into the smile I'd fallen in love with, the one that only ever showed up when I did something he found completely, helplessly charming.
"You look," he said, "exactly like you did the first night I ever saw you at a workstation that wasn't yours."
"Except this time you're not calling security."
"This time," he said, "I am the security, and I have no complaints." He held out his hand. "Come away from the laptop, Elena."
"One more song."
"You've already committed several felonies against this DJ's playlist. Come dance with me."
I let him pull me up, and the new song started right on cue. It felt, for one absurd, perfect second, exactly like the very first thing this whole story had ever been, except now there was nothing to hide and no one to fear, and the only thing at stake was how long I could keep him laughing.
Later, when the dancing had swallowed most of the guests and no one was paying attention to two people slipping toward the stairs, Sergei took my hand and led me up to the small stone balcony above the tent, the one that looked down over the string lights and the noise and the whole glittering mess of people who loved us.
The music drifted up soft and muffled from below.
Neither of us said anything for a while. He just stood behind me with his arms around my waist and his chin resting against my hair, and I let myself lean back into him completely, all my weight, no part of me braced for anything.
"No counting tonight?" I asked, quiet.
"None," he said. "There is nothing here I need to survive."
I turned in his arms. The balcony was shadowed, and the party noise had faded to a distant wash of sound. His eyes were dark and soft in the low light.
I rose onto my toes and kissed him.
The kiss began soft, almost wondering, as if we were both still a little stunned that we had made it here.
He kissed me back at once, a low, contented hum vibrating against my lips.
One hand slid up the bare length of my back, fingers finding the zipper of the dress and drawing it down an inch at a time.
The other stayed firm at my hip, holding me steady as the kiss deepened into something slower and hungrier.
When we finally parted, we were both breathing harder.
"I need you somewhere no one can see us," he said against my lips. "I want you all to myself for a while."
"Lead the way."
He guided me down a short service stair that opened onto a narrow corridor behind the catering tent.
At the end stood a small storage room stacked with extra chairs and a low padded bench.
He pulled me inside, shut the door, and locked it with a soft click.
The only light came through a high frosted window, pale and cool.
He held me back at arm's length for a moment, just looking, his gaze moving from the open neckline of my dress to the flush climbing my throat to the quick rise and fall of my chest.
"I've been watching you all night," he said, voice low. "Every time you laughed. Every time you looked across the room and found me. I kept thinking I can't wait to get my hands on you."
He kissed me hard and finished dragging the zipper the rest of the way down. The dress slipped off my shoulders and pooled around my feet, and I stepped free of it, left standing in nothing but the thin lace underneath. He looked at me like he was memorizing the sight.
"You take my breath away," he murmured. "Every single time."
He reached around and unhooked my bra, dropping it somewhere behind him.
His palms found my bare breasts, thumbs circling the nipples until they drew tight under his touch, and then his mouth replaced one hand, closing over the peak in a slow, deliberate pull.
A helpless little sound broke out of me before I could stop it.
"There it is," he murmured, lips still against my skin. "I want to hear every one of those. Don't you dare go quiet on me."
He took his time there, moving between one breast and the other, licking and sucking and grazing his teeth just enough to make me gasp, until my back was arching up into him and my fingers had found their way into his hair.
"Sergei… that feels so good…"
"I know." His lips grazed the skin between my breasts. "I'm only getting started."