“I’ll be moaning for you later,” she whispered in my ear. Her lips grazed the edge, sending a shiver down my spine.
The track changed. The DJ’s smooth voice came over the speakers, “We’re going oude school now.” Then that unmistakable, guttural utterance of “Oh… Oh…” followed by the addictive beat of V.I.C.’s dance song filled the air. Everywhere bodies scrambled to organize themselves into lines.
♪ “Wobble” by V.I.C.
“Wobble with me,” Izzy yelled. She set her glass down on the table and grabbed my hand. We found a spot big enough to accommodate us. We got our wobble on with the rest of the club, but Izzy and I didn’t arrange our bodies in a neat line. Rather we moved as a single unit with a miniscule amount of air between us. It was hot as hell, her rear grinding against my crotch as my arms bracketed around her, occasionally anchoring her to me with a palm on her bare abdomen. Back in high school when she taught me this dance, we didn’t move together in such a dirty, sensual way. Good thing, my teenaged hormones wouldn’t have been able to take it.
One song flowed into another. And another. And another. We bumped and grinded and danced until we were breathless. When a thin sheen of sweat coated our flesh, making us glisten, I asked, “You ready to get out of here?”
“Yes, I’m ready to dance with you in private. Nothing between us but a slow tempo to last all night.”
I couldn’t drag her to the car fast enough.
Chapter 5
Izzy
My trip to Amsterdam had been a whirlwind of love and lust. But our time together was winding down. I hated it.
Yesterday we slept in after the late night at the dance club. Then we toured the Van Gogh museum. Seeing masterpieces in person that I’d only ever seen in textbooks was inspiring. Dawson bought a reprint of my favorite, “Sunflowers” and arranged for it to be shipped to my apartment. Then we visited Vondel Park and had a picnic. With help from Dawson’s stylist, we managed to stay out most of the day without being detected by the press or general public. It was a relief to be able to just be us.
Tomorrow afternoon we had to pack up and drive to Belgium. Thankfully, we had no plans today. No shows, no appearances, no sightseeing, no sharing our time with anyone else.
I stretched blissfully. My muscles tingled with that delicious ache I always got when reuniting with Dawson after a lengthy time apart. Generally, it took us a couple of weeks to get past the ravenous state and settle into a less frantic need for each other. My visit wasn’t going to be long enough for us to hit that state, so I’d go home with my muscles still carrying the brand of our intense loving. I smiled at the thought.
Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I ran my toes through the plush carpet. I reached for my phone to check the time. After lunchtime. No wonder I was starving. As I set my phone back on the nightstand, my heart soared at the framed photo of me and Dawson that he always put next to his bed no matter where he was. I had the same photo next to my bed. It was one of my favorites. I remembered the day like it was yesterday…
It was early spring, so the weather was nice enough to go to the park, but the air was still brisk. It took me a few tries to find a spot where I could set up my tripod without it sinking in the damp grass. Once I did, I took dozens of shots of Dawson for one of my classes. He was my favorite subject. After much cajoling, he finally convinced me to join him in the frame. With a few setting changes, I arranged for my camera to burst shoot a series of pictures of us.
As soon as I got within reach, Dawson tugged me against him, just as the first shutter click sounded. When he wrapped his hands around my waist and stared into my eyes, the world faded. And so did the camera. By the time we were breathless from kissing, the burst shooting was long over. But the resulting images were stunning. They couldn’t have been more perfect if I’d been directing the poses. The passion and love that pulsed between me and Dawson in the frozen frame was a living entity, oozing off the photograph.
Knowing he set that reminder next to his bed no matter where he was, did a lot for easing the doubts which tried to creep into my mind anytime the tabloids decided to target him. With a smile on my face, I stood and snagged Dawson’s discarded band shirt. As the soft fabric settled over my skin, I inhaled deeply, breathing him in. Just in case Dawson wasn’t alone downstairs, I pulled on a pair of lacey boy shorts from suitcase. The shirt was long enough to conceal all my important parts. Peeking from beneath some of my clothes was a glittery, red package. I shifted my clothes around to unearth Dawson’s gift. Snagging my zippered art pouch and the package, I headed for the stairs.
Before I descended, I strained my ears to see if anyone was in the suite besides Dawson. I really didn’t want any more run ins with Lila. And I wouldn’t put it past her to try to ruin our day in with some unscheduled appearance or another lecture about how I needed to make sure no one knew I was Dawson’s girlfriend. For the sake of his career. Whatever. That woman just wanted an opportunity to be with Dawson herself. His image had nothing do with her meddling. Hearing only Dawson singing along with the radio, I started down the stairs. The glass surface of the steps was cold under my bare feet, making me hurry.
When I reached the bottom, I stepped into the open archway of the kitchen. Dawson’s back was to me. Clad only in boxers, he was a sight to behold. He was doing something at the counter. His hips shimmied as he danced and sang along with Taylor Swift’s “Shake it Off”. I stifled a laugh. He’d never let the guys catch him listening to this. They’d give him grief for days. But Dawson had mad respect for Taylor and was a closet fanboy. As he executed a twirl, he noticed me admiring him. Rather than act embarrassed at being caught like most guys would, Dawson owned it. He danced up to me and took me in his arms.
♪ “Shake It Off” by Taylor Swift
“See something you like?” he teased.
“Very much.” I pressed my lips to his neck.
“I was just finishing up and was about to come wake you up.” His hips still continued to gyrate.
“You mean after you got your fill of pop music?” No self-respecting rocker would ever own up to listening to pop music for pleasure.
“Exactly.” He planted a kiss on the top of my head and moved back to the counter. “You hungry?”
“Famished,” I admitted.
“Good. I ordered flatbread pizza from that place the canal guide told us about.” He moved toward me with a plate in each hand. The aroma of garlic and tomatoes filled my nostrils as he passed on the way to the table. “Come sit. I’ll get the wine,” he commanded as he pulled out a chair for me.
I settled at the table we’d yet to use, placing the package and pouch in front of me. The song playing through the speakers switched from pop to rock. Dawson’s sensual rasp floated through the air. It was one of my favorites off their last album, “Love Rocked”. He moved around the room, a carnal being hypnotizing me with sway of his torso, the thrust of his hips, the seduction of his voice. My gaze stayed locked on him as he worked the room like he did a stage, only this time he performed for an audience of one instead of thousands. Finally, the notes faded, and I was sufficiently hot and bothered.
“Whatcha got there?” he asked as he sank into the chair next to me, wine glasses in hand.
“A gift for you.” I tapped the crimson covered box. “And supplies we need for part of your gift.” I poked the pouch of art supplies. “You want to open it first?” I slid the box closer to him, knowing he was still very much like a child when it came to presents.
“I’m starving, but you know my weakness.” He was torn. His finger toyed with the taped flap on the end of the box. “I have something for you too. Upstairs.”
“But you already gave me this trip and the flowers and the Van Gough print,” I protested.
“Well, I got you something else. And I got something for us. Let’s eat first. Then we can open the presents.”
“You mentioned gifts for me just so I’d be as impatient as you are right now,” I admonis
hed, smacking his thigh.
“Hey, fair’s fair.” He took a healthy bite of pizza.
I followed suit, groaning as the flavors burst on my tongue. It wasn’t New York style, but it was really good. We ate in silence. No need to fill it with chatter or noise. The kind of quiet that can only be achieved when two people knew each other inside and out like we did.
After we’d downed two pieces each, Dawson seized the red box. His patience had come to an end. Bits of rose paper littered the tabletop as he shredded the wrapping. Running one calloused fingertip along the taped edge of the box, he finally freed the lid.
“Seriously, flutterby?” he moaned as he took stock of the smaller, wrapped packages within.
I tried to smother my laugh but failed. “Open this one first.” I handed him a flat, rectangular package. The thin object flexed in his strong fingers. Once he lifted the paper flaps, he unveiled a small leather-bound journal. “It’s handmade. The inserts can be removed, and blank ones added when you fill it up with all the number one hits you’ve yet to write,” I explained.
He unwound the string keeping the covers closed. “Izzy,” he gasped as he thumbed through the pages. Scattered throughout the book, I’d doodled on the corners of pages, painted various memories of ours and left little messages to him. “This is perfect. I love it.” His fingers reverently rubbed the sketched version of the photo by his bed.
“It should fit in your pocket, so you can keep it with you for when inspiration strikes.”
“I’d see if it fits in my pocket, but that would require putting on pants.” His eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Don’t even think about it.” I nudged the next glossy package toward him. “This one’s next.”
Picking up the box, he gave it a gentle shake, sending the contents thudding into the edges of the box. Glad I bubble wrapped them. With less finesse, he ripped into the foil. Once he’d stripped away the layers of paper, cardboard and cushioning bubble wrap, he palmed two glass jars. Rolling them in his hands, he admired the painting I did on both of them—a dandelion made of music notes, floating off in the wind to become songs. In a fancy script, I wrote on the glass surface “Wishes & Hopes for my Love”.
His face was a mask of confusion. “Open the other package, then I’ll explain.”
Without further question, he made quick work of the last package. His brow furrowed as he fanned out the long, thin strips of colored paper. “Now, I’m really confused.”
“So, I know we spend more time apart than either of us would like. And times of distance will probably always be part of our reality for the foreseeable future. So, I thought we could write down hopes and wishes and little messages for each other. Then I’m going to fold them into these cool little wishing stars. And anytime you need to, you can take one out, unfold it and read it.”
“Ooookay,” his tone was skeptical.
“Let me show you.” Grasping the metal tab on my art pouch, I unzipped it and removed a black sharpie. Quickly, I wrote on a slip of light blue paper. When I finished, I turned it, so he could read my message to him. I hope you have an epic show. Then I began folding the ribbon of paper into a pentagon. He watched with rapt attention as I pinched the folded shape. With a couple of presses, the flat shape popped up into an origami star. “A wishing star.” I held out the small shape to him. Turning it over and over, he marveled at it.
When he offered it back to me, I dropped it into his jar. I held out my bag of markers to him. After digging through them a moment, he selected a glittery purple one. “Pink might not show up on all the colors well,” he offered by way of explanation for his choice. After grabbing a rainbow of colored strips, he shifted in his seat so that I couldn’t see what he scrawled on them.
Two could play that game. I got to work writing every wish, hope and message of love I could think of for him.
I wish for you to have sweet dreams.
I hope for our time apart to pass quickly.
I wish for your music to touch more hearts.
I pray Lila stops giving you grief.
I hope you stay positive.
I hope your dreams are filled with me.
All the hopes I held in my heart for him, for us, I poured onto little scraps of paper. I scattered in a bunch of I love you’s too. The exercise went much faster than I expected. Soon all the strips carried messages of love. With sure fingers, I showed Dawson how to fold them into pentagons. When he tried to puff the flat shape up into a star, it popped up out of his fingers, flying across the table.
“I’ll do the star part,” I offered with a giggle.
“That’s probably best.”
I made quick work of transforming the two-dimensional pieces into three-dimensional stars. By the time I was done, we each had a jar filled with love to help us get through the times when distance made things harder than love should have to be.
“Be right back.” He grabbed our jars and dashed up the stairs. While I waited, I carried our dirty dishes to the kitchen. I eyed the bottle of wine. Another glass would taste good. But I didn’t want to tip into that sleepy, leaden-limb feeling. That might interfere with our last full day in a room with total privacy. Tomorrow we’d be on a tour bus with several pairs of ears on the other side of the bedroom door.
Strong arms snaked around my waist and tugged me backwards against a muscular chest. Dawson planted a sensual kiss in the sensitive hollow behind my ear. “You know, we never did finish that tour when you got here,” he murmured against my skin, sending goosebumps skittering across my skin.
“Really? You want to show me the rest of your suite, now? On our last full day here?” I glanced over my shoulder at him.
“Humor me.” He laced his fingers with mine and tugged me through the living room and into a darkened room we hadn’t taken the time to explore.
With the turn of a knob beside the entrance, the recessed can lights warmed and cast a glow around a room with a huge screen occupying one wall. Wide overstuffed chaise lounges were arranged in a couple of loose rows. “Your suite has a-a movie theater?” I stammered.
“Yep. Thought we could watch a movie today. Quiet afternoon in. If that’s OK with you.”
“It sounds wonderful.” Lifting on my toes, I pressed my lips to his.
“But first, open the gift I got for you.” He held out a flat pink box to me. “I’ll give you the gift I got for us, later.”
Carefully, I slid a finger beneath the tape on one end. “Hurry up,” he urged. He was always so impatient for me to open my gifts.
With methodical precision, I freed a book from the glittery paper. “Dawson,” I breathed as I flipped through the pages of a scrapbook. Photos of us spanning eighteen years adorned the heavyweight pages. Sprinkled amid the pictures were messages, memories, lyrics all written in Dawson’s messy scrawl. “How’d you get all these pictures?” Some of them, I hadn’t ever seen before.
“I had the help of both our parents, the guys, some of our old classmates and the old yearbook advisor at your school.” He ticked off his sources on his fingers.
“How long have you been working on this?” I asked in awe.
“Many months,” he muttered. He clasped his hands together behind his back and rocked on his heels. The exact thing he always did when he was nervous.
I couldn’t believe how much effort he’d put into an anniversary gift. “Wow, babe. I love it.”
“I thought you could add some drawings to the margins. This can be the book we use to tell our fairytale to our kids one day,” he explained.
My heart leaped at his words. “I can’t wait to add more pages to our happily ever after.”
“Me too, flutterby. A lifetime of love to add to our story,” his voice was heavy with emotion.
Clearing my throat, I swallowed down the lump of tears gathering inside. I needed to change the subject, or I was going to bawl over his thoughtfulness. “So, what movie are we watching?” I set the book down on the coffee table and flopped down int
o one of the lounges.
He moved to the cabinet in the corner to grab the remote and turn on the unit. “Oh, just a little story we’re a tad familiar with. And before we start, no complaining about how the book is better than the movie. Let’s just go ahead and agree that’s the case before we even start, OK?” He waggled his finger at me sternly.
“Agreed.”
Dawson turned off the lights as the screen flickered to life. Climbing over the back of the seat, he settled in the lounge with me, tucking me in between his thighs and leaning my back against his front. A sigh of contentment escaped my lips as his arms wrapped around my middle. We’d watched TV in this position countless times over the years. On the screen, clouds moved in fast forward, turning from white to angry grey. As the title of the movie appeared, I turned my head to meet his eyes.
“We’re watching Fifty Shades?” My insides heated with the possibilities.
“Yeah. We enjoyed reading the books together and discussing the chapters in our daily video chats. I thought it would be fun to watch the movie sharing the same space.” His smile was uncertain, like he thought I would protest watching it with him.
“Sounds good,” my voice had a rough edge to it. Reading scenes from the books together had led to some of our hottest video chats. I couldn’t fathom what infernos would arise from watching the movie practically in his lap. But I was more than willing to fan the flames.
Throughout the movie, Dawson kissed and caressed me here and there, stoking the fire building within me, but never letting it engulf me. Whenever I got close to the edge, the scene would end, and his lips would leave my heated flesh and his fingers would settle back into the neutral territory of my abdomen. It was frustrating. But glorious. From the hard ridge at the small of my back, I wasn’t alone in my feelings.
♪ “Love Me Like You Do” by Elle Goulding
Beats of the Heart Page 6
