42. Chapter Forty-Two #2
“Respectable is boring with arms like those,” he shoots back, tucking the last of his cards into place, and gesturing at my body like I’m some sort of object.
He closes the binder carefully and slides it under his arm.
“Don’t overthink it. Just don’t screw it up, either.
Also, it’s not illegal to entertain your other desires.
Not that I have much experience, but nobody is going to hunt you down for wanting more than just a date with her. You really are stuck in your ways.”
I stay quiet, because there’s no point denying it. Tonight though, initiating our relationship is what matters. I won’t try anything more. As much as I would love to. I’ll be asking her out. That’s it. I can’t give in to Kai’s swaying.
Kai gives me a two-fingered salute as he moves toward the back.
“I’ll keep the bottles flowing downstairs.
You just worry about keeping her upstairs.
” Please end my misery. The clock ticks closer to closing.
The silence stretches again, but this time it hums with anticipation.
I brew two shots of espresso before sitting back down to read.
She’s going to walk through that door, and everything will shift.
I lower my head into my hands and comb my fingers through my black and red locks.
The bookstore is dead silent once he’s gone.
It’s just me, my thoughts, and a million books.
I cross the lobby with my cup of espresso and book in hand, settling into one of the larger leather seats instead.
My hands start to shake as I sit. A new nervous tendency I’ve apparently acquired.
I keep trying to find where my mind is most settled.
The ticking of the clock fills the air. Sounds being heightened now will never not surprise me.
Elowen deserves to be cherished. Not just touched, not just wanted.
Cherished. My mind betrays me, wandering to the thought of her body tangled with mine, of being buried deep inside her warmth until neither of us can catch our breath.
The hunger is there, undeniable, but it isn’t stronger than the vow I’ve already made.
I want her to know that I am worthy of her.
I have no doubt I can please her sexually.
I want to please her romantically as well though.
Elowen is more than my darkest desire. She’s a woman who deserves to be seen, adored, and protected in ways no one has ever given her before.
If she gives me the chance, I will make sure she never doubts that again.
Unforgivably, I still climax to the thought of her every night to attempt to satiate my need for her.
And to top it all off, if she truly knew the real me, I doubt she’d ever sit face to face with me ever again.
She would probably freak out knowing all the times I've gone to check on her and just watched through the windows. At least I can sleep at night knowing that I have never gone as far as touching myself when I’ve done that though.
I have to have some sort of decorum. In order for this to work, I need to go about telling her the right way.
I’ve gone back to rationing my donor blood bags since my last spell, but I still imagine the taste of hers in my mouth.
Her face haunts me in the best way, framed by that pixie cut she wears with such defiance.
It is undeniably her. She doesn’t need to do a damn thing to look good.
An image worthy of a crown that speaks of resilience and independence, sharp and soft all at once.
Her hair allows the world to revel in her every expression, every arch of her brow, every smirk that dares me to come closer.
She has no veil to hide behind. She lives before the world, and I adore her for it.
Over all my years, I’ve never met anyone like her.
Everything about her is so unbelievably unique.
If what they say about your sino is true, everything that’s occurred points back to the books I used for research.
I can’t imagine an existence, living or un-living, without her at my side now.
Every moment I’m not with her feels like the agony of transitioning all over again.
The thought of her absence makes the centuries behind me feel like ash.
What good is eternity if she’s not the guarantee waiting for me when the night ends?
Without her, the loft upstairs will only ever be my oasis of shadows.
Without her, the bookstore is just paper and dust. She gives meaning to a life that has long since dulled.
She speaks about books like no other. She doesn’t just read.
She absorbs and the fruits of her labor come out in her words or actions for others.
If the poets I admire had ever known a woman like Elowen Briar, their stanzas wouldn’t have been about fleeting muses or distant goddesses.
They would have written of her hands, of the curve of her smile, of the way her voice carries like warm honey through a quiet room.
They would have abandoned metaphor and written only her name, over and over, until the ink ran dry.
I don’t need an eternity of experience to know the truth. I only need one more moment with her to understand that she is the reward for holding on for one more day. For not giving in to the thoughts after all.