by Jess Epps
My back is still against his chest and my head is angled in just the right way for this kiss. The temperature in this tent has jumped at least ten degrees. I want him to touch me. I need him to touch me. I can feel him growing harder underneath me and I know for a fact that he can get even harder. Without breaking our kiss, I boldly take his hand and force it down my body. He lets me move his hand over my breasts and down my stomach as his fingers dig into my skin on the way down. Our kiss becomes a little more heated and I hear a slight rumble in the back of his throat. I love that I can get him worked up. I slip our joined hands beneath my sweats and we graze my sex over my lace panties. He's nipping at my lips with his teeth every so often but when I slip our fingers under my panties and through my wet folds, he full-on bites me.
Although our fingers are still laced, he pushes his middle finger up into me. I’m beyond wet and ready for him. I gasp against his lips when he pushes up against my most sensitive spot. I rock my hips in response to his finger and he groans into my mouth. "Baby..."
He moves swiftly and before I know it I'm on my back underneath him. I'm scrambling to get his boxers off as he pulls his sweatpants off of me, but leaves my panties on. I finally get his boxers off, then his shirt. He's kissing up my stomach and pushing his shirt off, grumbling, "Why the hell did I even put clothes out for you?"
I'm breathing fast and hard, running my fingers through his hair. "I don't know..." I move my arms out of the shirt and toss it somewhere. He’s moving slowly now. Tasting me, savoring every single thing about me.
It takes him an hour to get me ready to accommodate his size, but once I’m ready, he takes my bra off. His lips press against mine as I pant. He hasn’t let me come yet. He wants me to feel him when I’m ready and aching.
"Noah...baby, I..."
I can’t take anymore. I'm quivering with need. I've been begging him for the past hour to let me come. If I don't soon, I’m going to combust.
He ever so gently pushes into me, slowly but surely. He’s so hard and I’ve never felt him like this before. Both of us are so raw and aching. His thrusts remain constant and slow as I circle my arms around his neck.
He won't go any faster than this. My kisses are fast and needy while he continues to slow me down with deliberate, passionate strokes of his tongue. He's brought me to the edge a million times but never lets me fall.
“How does that feel, baby?” His lips move against mine as he speaks. His warm breath mixes with mine as my body stiffens. Is he going to let me feel this? Is he going to let me soar?
I whimper softly against his lips. "Don't stop. It feels so good."
The way he thrusts his hips drives me crazy. He does it so well. Unlike anyone before. I feel powerful knowing that I took him first. Before anyone else could. Me. Nobody can take that away from me.
He’s breathing through his teeth when he grunts and pushes in deeper than ever. I fall.
Hard and fast.
I’ve lost myself hundreds of times to this man, but this feels different.
It’s so raw, and filled with passion.
I gasp out, unable to catch my breath.
He comes gloriously inside of me, filling the limited space he has left.
My body is shaking under his and I’m still coming. And so is he. He thrusts again and I feel every single pulse as he empties himself into me. He's pulling back and I look up at him as my breathing evens out. He's staring into my eyes. He's not saying anything but I can tell he wants to. My voice is soft when I speak.
"Noah? What's wrong?"
“I couldn’t ask for a more gorgeous, compassionate, and addictive girlfriend.”
He smiles and slowly pulls out of me. He takes his time cleaning us both up. He gets up and out of the tent to put his now-used shirt into the washer. When he comes back, he’s carrying a small navy-blue giftbag with the word Swarovski written on it. His sexy, naked body moves down next to mine. He lays his head on my lap and hands me the bag when I sit up.
"You butthead! You didn't need to get me anything. You already gave me the most perfect date," I say, as I eagerly open the bag.
“Yes I did, ballerina. I’ll always treat you the way you are supposed to be treated.”
He’s looking up at me from my lap, watching as I open the little box and pull out a pair of Puzzle Greige pierced earrings. They are so perfect and simple, with long stems leading down to the crystal. The fairy lights catch the crystals, making them sparkle even more.
"Noah, they're beautiful." Taking them out of their box, I put them in my ears. "How do they look?" I ask, holding my hair back and up off my neck so he can see.
“They look even more beautiful on you than I could have imagined. Are you sure you like them? The only jewelry I’ve ever bought was a brooch or two for Mae…” He trails off as he traces patterns on my inner thigh. I don’t want to lose him to the horrid thought of her. I lean forward and kiss him passionately.
Running my fingers through his hair gently—I know he enjoys it when I do that—I say, "Thank you for everything tonight. I've loved every minute of it."
He hums his appreciation and nuzzles my naked sex. “You’re welcome, baby.”
His eyes grow heavy as I play with his hair and before I know it, he’s asleep. His muscular chest rises and falls with each shallow breath he takes.
I ease myself back onto the pillows and watch him sleep, continuously running my fingers through his dark hair. He looks so peaceful, his lips parted slightly. God, the way his dark lashes fall in contrast to his skin tone. I've never taken the time to take in just how good looking this man really is.
But it's more than that. His personality and caring demeanor throw him into a category all his own. It's just not possible that he exists. I think back to Christmas Eve, all the way up to now, everything that he's done for me, said to me, and made me feel. He's amazing...and he's given himself to me in every way. Physically and emotionally. What I’ve feared would happen has happened, without my even realizing it.
I’m scared of what comes next. How is it possible to feel this way about a man in seven weeks?
I’m not sure where he wants this to go, but I’m not sure I can take it any further. I don’t know if I can deny my dance career for a man…but this man? Both are once-in-a-lifetime and I’ve stumbled across both of them at the same time, at the wrong time.
I muster up my courage and make sure he’s asleep before I move and replace a pillow under his head. There’s one last thing I have to do today.
I kiss his soft lips gently before moving out of the tent. I can't help but be distracted by the thousands of glittery lights above me. God, he put so much time and effort into this night. He deserves so much better than me. I make my way over to my clutch and take out his cufflinks and my iPhone. I compose an email to Mr. Norwich:
To: Oliver Norwich
From: Heather Adalyn Lane
Subject: The Royal Ballet Offer
Dear Mr. Norwich,
I apologize for the last-minute decision, but I accept your offer to join the Royal Ballet.
Best,
Heather A. Lane
I drop my phone back into my clutch because it suddenly weighs a thousand and one pounds.
Heather
I SMELL BACON. I sigh and blink my eyes open slowly. I'm alone in the tent. Suddenly, I’m nauseous. The reality of what I have to do hits me and I double over with pain. Please don't let this break me…us. I ease my way out of the tent and pull on his sweats and tee. Finding him in the kitchen cooking, I see he looks happy. Beyond happy. Why?
“There she is. Good morning, ballerina.”
“Hi, uhm, can we talk, please?” I ask nervously.
He turns off the gas stovetop and walks over, taking my hand, and leading me to his relocated couch. “Is everything okay?”
He’s playing with my fingers, touching me in an attempt to calm me down. He figured out a few days after we’d been dating that a simple touch of his can turn my day around, b
ut I can’t let this happen now. He leans in and he’s about to kiss me. I want nothing but those lips all over me right now. I want to feel that calming effect he has on me, but I pull back instead.
"Noah, I can't."
I’m undeniably terrified of being in love with him. I have to get up off of the couch and walk into his bedroom, picking up and folding my outfit from yesterday, pretending this isn't affecting me. He follows me in, but doesn’t say a word.
"I've decided to accept the position and I will be joining the Royal Ballet. It’s an internationally recognized ballet company, which is based in the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden, London. It'll be too hard to continue whatever this is from that far away." My heart breaks into a million pieces when I say the words out loud.
Silence fills the room and I wait for him to say something.
"But...you're mine," he replies softly. I hear the anguish in his voice and it cuts through me like a knife. I'm on the verge of tears and I know if I turn around and face him, I'll crumble to the floor at his feet into a pile of nothing. Choking back the tears that threaten me, I try to speak.
"Noah..."
I feel the bed dip as I fold my shirt. “Whatever this is? You can’t even put a name on what we have, Heather?”
He gets up just as quickly as he sat down and starts pacing the room. “We’re over? That was you breaking up with me? Over what? London? The fucking ballet?”
I turn to look at him with a tear-stained face. He’s exactly right. I drink him in while I still can. He’s so handsome with those dark, broad shoulders. “It’s my life, Noah.”
“Right. Of course it is. Just your life.” He moves quickly to the closet and when he emerges, he’s wearing a loose-fitting shirt with a long-sleeve Under Armour shirt underneath it, with sweatpants and his running sneakers.
“That’s not fair!”
“Fair? You want to know what’s not fucking fair?” He’s gritting his teeth and his eyes are rimmed in red. “Finding out your entire damn life was a huge lie, and then chasing a woman across the fucking country because she’s the only thing that makes you feel alive, the only thing that fucking matters anymore—and she runs. She runs so fucking far away that I have no chance of catching her again. That’s what’s not fucking fair!” he shouts.
Silent tears are streaming down my face as he stands in front of me, waiting for me to say something.
“Nothing? Fuck!” He runs both of his hands through his gorgeous dark hair that’s gotten too long. “I can’t believe you’re calling this over before you’ve even spoken to me. You know I’d give my fucking life for you to stay, but I don’t think anyone would trade my damaged heart for a grain of sand now.”
“I don’t want to hurt you. Please!”
He shakes his head as he swallows hard and walks out of the bedroom. Before I can force my legs to move, I hear the apartment door slam shut. He’s gone.
I just left him. My Greek god.
I crumple onto the floor, my breaths ragged and shaky.
Noah
I FEEL EMPTY.
Maybe if my heart stopped, it wouldn’t fucking ache like this. I’m sick to my stomach as I round the corner to my apartment building. I’ve been running in the snow for three hours.
Every time I try to forget her, I see her gorgeous face. I see her smiling under the lights in the tent last night. The lights that took me hours to hang. Everything I did yesterday, every fucking detail was for her. I knew she was struggling with the decision, but never did it once cross my mind that she’d choose a foreign country over me.
I feel betrayed.
I feel like death.
The soul-crushing feeling only intensifies as I run up the nine flights of stairs to my apartment, torturing myself physically to try and stop this pain.
I'm uncertain how to process these emotions that are taking swings at me every chance they get.
Opening my apartment door, I stride through every room, and every room comes up empty. I want to—no, need to—tell her how I feel about her. She needs to know. But she's gone.
I ram my fist into the metal frame of the door, hearing a pop, but not giving a fuck. I've been welcoming the physical pain since I stepped outside into the freezing cold snow for a run. I have nothing left. No ballerina, no mother, no family. If someone wanted me alone, he or she has succeeded.
I want to fucking lash out at everything; I want to hurt anything and everything. I want someone else to feel this obnoxious pain. I make my way back to the kitchen and grab a beer. That's when I see the bacon. I toss the pan and bacon into the trash receptacle.
Screw the ballet. I won't ever go see another shitty attempt at a ballet again, I swear to myself childishly. Because she's the only one that makes it worth it anymore...
I march indignantly into the living room. Fuck me. The tent and the motherfucking stars are still up. I can't look at this shit, let alone clean it up. I need to get out of here. I can still smell her perfume; I can feel our magnetic pull being sliced in half. She's part of someone else's magnetic field now. Not mine.
I decide to take a cold shower before getting dressed and heading over to Joel's place. He called me earlier when Heather was still asleep, informing me that he had something to talk to me about. I pound on his door a little too hard when I arrive. "Open the door, Joel."
He opens it and takes in my mood. "Shit. Girl problems?"
Fuck, is it that fucking obvious? "You don't want to know," I state as I stride past him and into his living room, taking a seat in the brown leather recliner. "What did you need to talk to me about?"
Joel grabs a binder full of papers and hands it to me. "This is essentially from Mae Ryan. To sum it up, everything has been under your name, even that diner she loved, and it has been for years. All of the funds from those accounts are under your name."
"Wait, what?"
He simply shrugs and answers, "It’s all yours, everything."
I just stare at him.
"Seriously, dude? Do you not watch the news? She was convicted yesterday during her trial. She's serving a sentence of three years, but will be eligible for parole depending on behavior."
My eyebrows shoot up. "Why the fuck did you not tell me?"
"I thought you'd be keeping up with the trial—it's my bad, man."
"Nah, you're good. I apologize. I'm not in a good place right now. Heather has decided to move to London. Shit, is Coen still in the city?"
"Well shit, I thought the two of you had something good going. The best way to get over her is to get on top of someone else, dude. Coen? He didn't tell you? Shit, you've been in the dark...he's decided to move up here. He said Phoenix is dry as hell compared to NYC."
I laugh and shake my head. "He's not talking about the weather or the booze, is he? Oh shit, what happened the other night with Dillen?"
He flicks me off. "Coen got that nice piece of ass. They fucked up to the minute he got onto the plane back to Phoenix."
"I don't doubt that. The man has game. All right, I better get going. Thanks for the folder of shit."
I get up and shake Joel's hand. "No word on my birth parents yet?"
"No. I've been searching day and night. If I knew where the kidnapping took place, it'd be easier. I'll be in contact."
"Thanks, man." I open the door. "I'll see you around."
I leave his apartment and find myself wondering what the hell is next.
I'VE BEEN STARING at my phone for the last hour, wanting to call her. Or her to call me. Or text...or anything. I don't even know when she's leaving. Hell, it could be tomorrow. Christ, how long is that flight? Wait...she doesn't fly. How in the hell does she have a passport if she doesn't fly? A ray of hope shoots through me. If I can have her by default then so fucking be it.
I decide to stop being a pussy and send her a text.
Can we talk please?
I'm sitting at a restaurant bar, waiting, and willing my damn phone to go off, but it doesn't and now I know it won’t. It's
been hours since she broke my fucking heart, since everything in my world faded to gray —a dark, colorless hole of nothing, with no more pink glitter.
I continue to drink. I know this isn't going to end well so I might as well be oblivious to the pain. I try sending her another text.
I'm sorry I walked out. Don't go.
I won't let the light on my phone go off as I wait for a response. I try again.
Ballerina, please. Fuck, this hurts!
I don't understand what went wrong. I thought things were great between us. I thought she was happy. I never pushed her. Never forced her to reveal anything about herself. I let her do it on her own. What else could I have done?
Unless...shit, I can't think like that...but how can I not? Was I just a good fuck to her? Someone who did everything I could to make her happy, to make her stay? I hope she enjoyed the ride on my cock while it lasted.
I feel used and broken. Nothing, not even alcohol, can halt this physical ache.
My thoughts are quickly interrupted when a thick Russian accent invades the room, “Well, look who we have here…”
I turn my head to the side and look into pernicious eyes.
“Ah.” he says before ordering a vodka, neat. “You must have just found out about the London offer.”
I swing around stormily and stare the motherfucker down. “Excuse me?” I manage to say in my not-so-sober-state.
“Yeah, I know about it. Don’t worry: I’ll be taking good care of her.”
Rage surges through me and I almost pass out from the sheer force of it. My vision blurs and I know it isn’t from the liquor. “You’ll what?”
“I don’t believe I stuttered, you stupid fuck!”
My body moves on its own accord and I stand up, towering over him. I know what’s coming and I don’t care. I’m not holding back. That old, familiar feeling creeps through my veins…that feeling I get when some douche finally crosses the line and I lose my shit. And quite frankly, this prick deserves everything he’s about to get. “You’re making a big fucking mistake.”
