“What do you mean?”
It looks like he’s contemplating a response when the music dies down, bringing an end to the one song I agreed to. We stop dancing, but he keeps me in his embrace, only tightening his grip when I try to distance myself from him.
“One dance,” I remind him, barely able to control my breathing as the heat of his body envelopes me with its intoxicating allure.
“What if I don’t want to stop?” he asks, pulling me even closer. I feel awfully exposed with my boobs spilling out on top of my tight-fitting dress as I’m pressed against his body.
And yet, I lean into him.
I can’t help it.
It’s all still there. His heartbeat, his smell, the valleys of his chiseled chest, palpable even under all this fabric, his strong upper arms—and the depth of his dark green eyes.
I shouldn’t have looked up. I shouldn’t lock eyes with him, not now that we’re frozen in this intimate embrace, in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by faceless strangers who are starting to swirl around us as the string quartet strikes up the next song.
I can feel the world moving around us, but I cannot see it.
I know there’s music being played, but I cannot hear it.
I’m barely aware of the commotion surrounding us, the smell of the room, the voices, the string quartet’s tireless play—all of it fades into nothingness the moment I let myself fall into him. The world is no longer heavy with pain, anger, and regret, but merely provides a stage for us. A stage for what is next.
I want to kiss him. Despite everything, I want to kiss him so badly it hurts. The ache is running through my veins with such blazing force that my entire body starts burning up, further inspired by the shame that takes a hold of me a moment later—when our lips finally meet."
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