I cannot understand how she could not have seen all along what I see before me. A beautiful woman with a genuine smile and caring heart. I love the way she dances to the music as she gets ready, hips swaying sensuously while her feet stick stubbornly to the ground. She’s always loved dancing but has never been good at it. I love to see it, anyway.
The movement highlights the perfect curve of her ass, making me want to sink my teeth into it. I despise her in black, but she swathes herself in it from head to toe tonight. Colors are for the living.
The light winks off her newly reacquired ring, the twin to mine. Seeing it on her finger, where it rightfully belongs, brings me more joy than I have had in so very long.
The ring itself is bittersweet; these are the only two of their kind. And although I love some of the memories of them, the thought alone of how they came to be is almost enough to destroy me.
She rushes out the door, checking her silly little bag and then stopping to make sure the door is closed securely behind her. Like that could stop me. Oh, her innocence. If only a simple door could keep the monsters at bay.
I feel a faint twinge of guilt over hiding here to watch her, but I can't get the compulsion to be near her out of my mind after all this time. Our souls call to each other, across time, across space. I can no more resist coming to her than a compass can refuse true north. I am drawn to her. Always.
Just like last night, she had looked so innocent in her sleep—face relaxed, breathing deeply. I couldn’t resist carefully crawling into her bed and wrapping myself around her as she laid on her side. I had been scared to even breathe as I had stealthily moved a single muscle at a time until her back was flush against my front.
Home.
Holding her is home.
Her body had felt so warm after so many years away from her fire. As I twined my legs through hers and fit my rapidly hardening cock into the cleft of her fine ass, I had to bite my lip to stifle my groan.
With the reserve that could only come from eons of time, I had kept myself still instead of grinding and thrusting into her. It would have been easy to sneak her panties down and slip into her tight, wet warmth.
But I needed to look into her eyes when we joined ourselves again. I needed to see her, her to see me. So, I took pleasure in the simple nearness of her and the way our bodies fit together, carved from the same flesh.
I ghosted a fingertip down her hair and then over each vertebra of her spine. Feeling her flesh ripple into goosebumps was the most exquisite torture. I longed to follow my questing fingertips with my tongue.
I desperately craved to taste every inch of her, explore every texture of this lifetime with a kiss. But I forced myself to be satisfied for now with these stolen touches. I mapped the topography of her body with a single fingertip, across the top of her panties to her elbow, up over her arm, and down to her exposed stomach, luxuriating in the softness of her skin.
I really had been attempting to exercise considerable restraint, but when she ground her perfectly round ass back into me and let out a breathy little moan, I hadn’t been able to stop myself from a taste of her. Just one taste, I promised myself, as I opened my mouth where it laid behind her ear.
Her essence flooded my mouth, consuming me, thrumming through my veins like liquid light. She tasted like the promise of hope. She tasted like the fruit of the garden. She tasted like mine.
Soon, my love, my light. Soon, myRoza.
Rushing to get out the door, I grab two protein bars, throw one in my belt bag, and put the other in my back pocket to eat on the way. I make sure I have my wallet and hotel key.
Just as I walk out the door, I whip my head around to scan the room behind me. I have the strangest feeling of being watched. Seeing nothing, I shake my head at my imagination and head out. I open my bar in the elevator and am finishing it up by the time I cross the lobby and am out the front door.
There are a fair amount of people out walking around at this hour. The heat of the day has faded, and a slight breeze makes for a pleasant summer evening. I’m thankful the humidity has dissipated, so my freshly straightened hair doesn’t get any ideas.
I wish I had brought some more stylish shoes than my Converse, but at least they are comfortable to walk back to the expo center. I head back in that direction, noticing it’s one of those nights where couples in love are everywhere–twosomes are strolling hand in hand down the street, sitting together holding hands across a cafe table, or taking a selfie in the city.
It makes me feel maudlin and more than a little jealous. My life is wonderful in so many ways. My confidence and happiness are growing. I am proud of the business I have built. My little found family is amazing.
But.
I’m lonely. My friends have become understandably busy with their own lives over the past few years. My cat barely tolerates me. My father–well, is my father. I’m ready to find my other half and have a partner to share my life with.
Hell, I’d even take someone to fight with. We’d have some silly argument about something stupid, like hair in the sink, and then end up having fabulous make up sex. I’d even be willing to tolerate someone’s mess in my little home above the shop.
So, when is my time? Where is my person? My doubts about McHottie resurface, and I decide if he doesn’t show back up when I get home, I realistically need to think about moving on. I can’t mourn the loss of a nameless man, no matter how hot, forever.
Especially after starting to build a relationship in my mind over what, in reality, has been a single physical encounter. My steps slow, the excitement over my strange VIP ticket dimming, as I continue to focus on my lack of a love life.
This pattern is nothing new. I meet someone, get hopeful, and build a relationship in my head like a castle in the sand. And then the wave of life comes crashing down, reducing my beautiful creation to a sad, unrecognizable blob, and I’m left devastated. Thank goodness I’ve never actually fallen in love. I don’t think I could survive the fallout.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s what keeps me in love with impossible, imaginary men like Dracula and lusting after ones, like McHottie and Luke, so far out of my league I don’t know why I think they would even consider me.
My steps falter, and then I remember Luke’s feline smile and his earlier compliments, and they buoy me back up. Perhaps I’ll even see him again tonight instead of the far off Poe convention. And with that thought, my stride picks back up, carrying me the rest of the way to the expo center.
