As the lesson continued, our coordination and rhythm improved, our steps and spins and spirals reinforcing the silent bond forming between us. The dance had started as a chance to learn, but now it felt like a language all its own—one that allowed us to converse through the push and pull of our intertwined figures.
As the final notes of the song faded like the softest of whispers, the room erupted in applause. We parted, breathless and flushed, joining the others in their appreciation. José approached us with a wide smile and clapped us on the back.
“Bravo, gentlemen! Your connection is palpable. That’s what dancing is all about.”
“Thank you, José,” I said. “Your instructions made it seem easy.”
“Ah, but the joy is in finding the right partner.” José winked, a knowing in his gaze, a recognition of the bond that had formed between us on the dancefloor.
As I stepped out of the dance studio, the cool Forestville air hit my flushed skin like a splash of mountain-stream water. The heat in my body had little to do with the exercise and everything to do with Onno. He’d set something ablaze inside me.
We strolled hand in hand back to my truck, leaving behind the rhythmic echoes of music and laughter. Our steps were unhurried, syncing naturally as if the dance had spilled over into our walk. Main Street was quiet, the shops darkened for the night, but the ever-present silhouette of the mountains stood as silent witnesses.
When we got to my truck, I opened the door for him, but he kissed me. Unlike the first time, there was nothing tentative about this kiss. Desire surged through me like wildfire, and our mouths moved together with a passion that had been building up since the moment our hands touched, as if the dancing had been foreplay.
He threaded his fingers through my hair, tugging gently, sending sparks shooting down my spine. I pulled him closer, deepening the kiss, exploring the taste of him—sweet like sugary pastries and intoxicating like the crisp mountain air.
I slid my hand to his ass, absorbing his heat through the fabric of his slacks, and he responded by surging deeper into my mouth, his tongue exploring mine with a fervor that matched the racing of my heart. He backed me up against my truck. I loved this newfound confidence, this touch of assertiveness. As if he’d found a part of himself again that had been lost.
Onno’s hands weren’t idle either. He unbuttoned my shirt and roamed over my chest, across my stomach, and down to my waist. My cock was so hard I was glad no one could see it because I’d be giving an X-rated show.
“God, you’re incredible,” I murmured against his lips, my hands tracing the contours of his body, committing the feel of him to memory. His scent, a mix of cologne and clean sweat, filled my nostrils, intoxicating and exhilarating.
His response was a sinful moan that vibrated into my mouth. I wanted more than a stolen kiss in public. I wanted all of him.
“Come home with me?” The words spilled out, tinged with longing and the anticipation of what could unfold between us. Each syllable hung heavily in the charged air, and I waited, eager, hopeful.
Onno’s blue eyes radiated a raw vulnerability, but he nodded slowly, the corner of his mouth quirking upward in that sweet smile I was becoming addicted to. “I’d love that.”
7
ONNO
The moment the door of Howell’s cottage clicked shut behind us, it was as if a dam broke loose within me, releasing a torrent of longing held at bay for far too long. His lips crashed against mine with an urgency that set my entire body aflame. The soft hairs from his beard grazed my skin, sending sparks of electricity dancing down my spine.
“God, Onno.” Howell groaned against my mouth, his voice muffled by our fervent kiss. His hands, strong and certain, roamed over my back, gripped my waist, and pulled me closer until not even a sheet of paper would fit between us.
I clung to him, tangling my fingers in his hair, reveling in his solid, muscled frame pressed against mine. His heartbeat thundered against my chest, echoing my rapid pulse.
“Where’s your bedroom?” I managed, lost in the heady blend of desire and the sweet taste of Howell on my tongue.
Without breaking our kiss, he guided me down the dimly lit hallway, our mouths locked together in a dance as old as time. We stumbled, laughter bubbling up between kisses, my nerves dissipating in the face of Howell’s calm certainty. He steered me forward with one hand on my back, his other tracing the lineof my jaw, tilting my head back to deepen our connection. The carpet muffled our clumsy steps, cocooning us in our own world where nothing existed but the magnetic pull drawing us toward his bedroom.
“Can’t wait to feel you,” Howell whispered, his breath hot across my cheek, his voice low and husky with promise. Anticipation built, a bubbling fountain of need that eclipsed all thought beyond the overwhelming desire to be one with this man who had so unexpectedly captured my heart.
“Please,” was all I could utter, a plea wrapped in a sigh. We crossed the threshold into the sanctuary of his room. I had never wanted anything more. Had never wanted anyone more.
The door clicked shut behind us, and the world outside fell away. The urgency in Howell’s grasp ebbed, and he drew back. Confusion fluttered through me. It was quickly assuaged when he reached past me and flicked on a dimmer switch. A warm, amber glow suffused the room, casting shadows across his muscled form. He moved with a fluid grace, born from years of physical activity, and I was enraptured by his elegance.
“Wait here,” he murmured, delicately tracing my lower lip with his fingertip in a too-brief touch. The loss of contact left a tingling absence on my skin, a yearning for more.
He walked to an old-fashioned record player perched on a mahogany dresser. The needle dropped with a satisfying crackle, starting the sultry strains of a romantic ballad, a song that spoke of endless nights and fervent whispers. The music enveloped us, a velvet caress against my eardrums that pulsed in sync with the throbbing desire coursing through my veins.
Howell’s consideration pierced through the fog of lust clouding my mind. His concern was such a stark contrast to Gerard’s cold, calculating ways, where every encounter had felt transactional, devoid of care or forethought. Here was Howell, creating a bubble of intimacy, each detail a testament to histhoughtfulness, attention, and preparation in case I came home with him. Inside me, something profound built higher and higher and higher.
“Wow.” The word felt clumsy on my tongue, my voice betraying the swell of emotions rising like a tide within me. “This… It’s beautiful.”
He returned to me, his gaze tender. “For you,” he said simply. And those two words held a promise, a commitment that required no grand gestures, just a silent shared understanding.
