07-22-2018, 08:37 PM
His heart raced with relief when she melted into him. She was easy to cradle and light as a feather. He kissed her gently as handling snow. Not out of some perception of her delicacy, although he was mindful of the fragile gauze of her dress as he pulled closer. The warmth of her seeped through the barricade of the uniform like a grave-robber pulling the falsely buried from their coffin. Sparked alive. The rush pushed for more, harder, deeper. But he held the temptation back. His touch slow. His lips exploratory while hunger was chained. Certainly not out of a sense of honor. Hell knew just how dishonorable his imagination could be. This was deliberate. To exaggerate anticipation. To delay escalation. To stretch the seconds to infinity just to float away in them.
Her fingers trapped the cords of his neck. The forcefulness of her grasp anchored something previously questionable in him, and as though permission for more was granted, that chained intensity escaped. His chest tightened as much as everything else. The whole world became her. The scent of her skin fuzzed his mind. The golden hair against his cheek sparked chills down his neck. The sliver of her chin swarmed his view. The curl of a collarbone. The lines of her neck. The crest of a shoulder.
For the darkness within herself that he may have the smallest chance of chasing away. For the light to his darkness. From twining his fingers through hers to grasping that golden silk hair, he drew close enough to never want to leave yet ached that she wasn't close enough. He smiled behind the press of her lips and wanted so badly for the pull of her hands to lead him somewhere. She lifted close; the weight of her balance shifting to him.
Instead, she fell away. The sudden space flashed the emptiness cold. A gasp of pain stabbed him into tension. Wincing with her, catching her weight. His mind raced for explanation. Had he gone too far? Hurt her?
His questions were met with silence. The kind that internalized pain, pushed it into a box, until something tolerable emerged. He knew what that was like. He just waited. Heart slowing to normalcy, though the rush of the past few minutes coursed warmth in his veins he wasn’t sure would ever dissipate.
Guilt crept like shadows. Concern curled his brows low, but he was familiar with those looks. It haunted the face of his mother when he showed up on the doorstep with nothing but an old coat, discharge papers and an empty bottle of tequila.
He helped Natalie find her weight again. “Could be worse. Could be the knee,”
he smirked when her exploratory gaze caught his. He wanted to be trapped by it again, but the strings were loose now. They were both sprung, duty creeping around the periphery like shadows.
The touch of her thumb swelled his nearly calmed chest with desire again. It pushed the breath from his lungs.
He traced the hair from her face, gently as that first kiss, and tucked it behind an ear. ”You know, when I imagined taking a girl home for the first time, it wasn’t like this.”
He could have laughed at the absurdity of the situation. Hey mom and dad. Here’s an English Princess that the ruler of half the world required escort me in and out of the United States so that I can return to do his evil bidding before the Pentagon stopped me. Oh, and her family rules part of the country you despise. But she’s great. That was going to go over really well.
Cayli would find Natalie breathtakingly beautiful though, like an actual princess. When she was well again, maybe he could take her on a trip, show her some of the world she always longed to explore. After Africa, anyway. Assuming I make it back. No. He mentally slammed that option as impossible. He’d make it back. For Cayli, there was no other option. He’d go back for her.
A deep breath anchored him. Or maybe it was Natalie’s pale gaze lighting the passages home.
He steadied himself, brushed a hand through his own hair and ripped the band aid. “Any other time, I would, uh..”
he trailed off, a nervous swallow ending the sentence while flashes of moonlight on dark shoulders caught his imagination.
Clearing his throat, he glanced over one shoulder. Guess it was time to find Jensen and catch the first plane out of the country.
He stepped off slightly, adjusted the coat back to the hug of a shroud and tugged the sleeves into place. ”How do I look?”
His smirk grew, knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it from her anyway. The roguish grin beckoned, and this time he offered his arm again for completely practical reasons like helping her not to limp back to the ball, and not at all to keep the crest of her shoulder close, the lay of her hair brushing near. Or to graze the bends of her fingers with his.
It was the gentlemanly thing to do. But he really hoped she’d accept or else he was going to look like an idiot.
Her fingers trapped the cords of his neck. The forcefulness of her grasp anchored something previously questionable in him, and as though permission for more was granted, that chained intensity escaped. His chest tightened as much as everything else. The whole world became her. The scent of her skin fuzzed his mind. The golden hair against his cheek sparked chills down his neck. The sliver of her chin swarmed his view. The curl of a collarbone. The lines of her neck. The crest of a shoulder.
For the darkness within herself that he may have the smallest chance of chasing away. For the light to his darkness. From twining his fingers through hers to grasping that golden silk hair, he drew close enough to never want to leave yet ached that she wasn't close enough. He smiled behind the press of her lips and wanted so badly for the pull of her hands to lead him somewhere. She lifted close; the weight of her balance shifting to him.
Instead, she fell away. The sudden space flashed the emptiness cold. A gasp of pain stabbed him into tension. Wincing with her, catching her weight. His mind raced for explanation. Had he gone too far? Hurt her?
His questions were met with silence. The kind that internalized pain, pushed it into a box, until something tolerable emerged. He knew what that was like. He just waited. Heart slowing to normalcy, though the rush of the past few minutes coursed warmth in his veins he wasn’t sure would ever dissipate.
Guilt crept like shadows. Concern curled his brows low, but he was familiar with those looks. It haunted the face of his mother when he showed up on the doorstep with nothing but an old coat, discharge papers and an empty bottle of tequila.
He helped Natalie find her weight again. “Could be worse. Could be the knee,”
he smirked when her exploratory gaze caught his. He wanted to be trapped by it again, but the strings were loose now. They were both sprung, duty creeping around the periphery like shadows.
The touch of her thumb swelled his nearly calmed chest with desire again. It pushed the breath from his lungs.
He traced the hair from her face, gently as that first kiss, and tucked it behind an ear. ”You know, when I imagined taking a girl home for the first time, it wasn’t like this.”
He could have laughed at the absurdity of the situation. Hey mom and dad. Here’s an English Princess that the ruler of half the world required escort me in and out of the United States so that I can return to do his evil bidding before the Pentagon stopped me. Oh, and her family rules part of the country you despise. But she’s great. That was going to go over really well.
Cayli would find Natalie breathtakingly beautiful though, like an actual princess. When she was well again, maybe he could take her on a trip, show her some of the world she always longed to explore. After Africa, anyway. Assuming I make it back. No. He mentally slammed that option as impossible. He’d make it back. For Cayli, there was no other option. He’d go back for her.
A deep breath anchored him. Or maybe it was Natalie’s pale gaze lighting the passages home.
He steadied himself, brushed a hand through his own hair and ripped the band aid. “Any other time, I would, uh..”
he trailed off, a nervous swallow ending the sentence while flashes of moonlight on dark shoulders caught his imagination.
Clearing his throat, he glanced over one shoulder. Guess it was time to find Jensen and catch the first plane out of the country.
He stepped off slightly, adjusted the coat back to the hug of a shroud and tugged the sleeves into place. ”How do I look?”
His smirk grew, knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it from her anyway. The roguish grin beckoned, and this time he offered his arm again for completely practical reasons like helping her not to limp back to the ball, and not at all to keep the crest of her shoulder close, the lay of her hair brushing near. Or to graze the bends of her fingers with his.
It was the gentlemanly thing to do. But he really hoped she’d accept or else he was going to look like an idiot.
Only darkness shows you the light.