A Lesson In Patience
It had been hard to let her go, down there in the gardens. She felt so good. Her lips were so soft when she had returned his kiss.
That kiss… he can still feel her mouth on his and Nathaniel groans in frustration. He knows he mustn't rush things. She's not ready yet and he had waited for her for three years. It's not that hard to wait a little longer, right? Patience is his strong suit after all and he knows it but Maker… patience has never been so difficult before.
He dips his hands into the bowl of cold water on his nightstand and splashes it at his face that feels hot and flush, still. Closing his eyes, he tries to get a hold onto his swirling emotions again. It's been a while since that woman – any woman – last unsettled him like this. Patience, he reminds himself again, just a little more patience.
A soft knock on the door pulls him out of his reverie and makes him frown. It is late and he does not expect visitors. Putting his shirt back on, he unlocks the door and carefully opens it a hand's breadth.
Gray-blue eyes stare back at him and his heart skips a beat. He freezes in his spot, surprised and at a loss of words. She is the last person he thought to see here and he does not quite know if he should be delighted or worried.
"Can… can I come in?" she asks after a moment and her voice sounds so insecure, so different from what he is used to that his surprise instantly turns into worry. It also makes him feel guilty for not having been able to keep his desires in check earlier. What if he made a mistake by kissing her? What if he had ruined her trust in him instead of strengthening it?
When he invites her in, he tries to not let her see how nervous he is all of a sudden by keeping a careful distance. His worry only increases when he notices how she nervously kneads her hands and bites her lip. He's unsure of what to do and what it is that has her acting so out of character.
"You were right, you know?" she says quietly. "About… him. That it's time to move on."
He can't help the embers of hope that were glowing inside of him for years bursting into bright flames with her words and he tries to suppress the feeling.
Remember, you promised her some more time. You promised her to wait until she's ready.
Somehow, he is able to keep his reaction hidden, to remain calm, at least on the outside. It is an effort but he had been in worse situations.
Have you? Tell me about just one.
He grinds his teeth and ignores the tiny, mocking voice in his head, instead concentrates on drawing one deep breath after another. It works exactly until he feels her hesitant hand on his bare chest. It feels cool and soft on his heated skin and the gentle, almost innocent touch is almost his undoing.
"You wouldn't have needed to come to tell me that," he forces out and it surprises him that his voice sounds almost calm. He feels like he is burning up and takes a step back to escape her hand before she notices how rapidly his heart is hammering against his ribs. She won't let him get away from her, though. With a quick step she is close again and raises to tiptoes, pressing her mouth to his lips. The contact is short but it is enough to make his blood thunder in his ears.
"It is not what I have come for," she whispers when she breaks the kiss and looks at him again.
He swallows hard, when that soft, cool hand travels down his chest to his stomach. There can be no doubt that she has indeed come for something completely different and it is what he wants, yet he finds himself hesitating. He knows her; her impulsivity, her tendency to not think things through. What if she regrets this in the morning?
He gets a hold onto her hand before it can wander any deeper, inhaling yet another deep breath. She frowns at him, tugs at her hand but he does not let go. He looks at her intently, trying to read her intentions. Does she mean it? Really mean it?
He gently pulls her closer and she does not resist. His eyes come to rest on her neck, her bare neck. The necklace is gone, he notices, and the flames of hope flare even higher. For the last two years she had not parted with that pendant for a single day and now it is gone. His fingers run over her skin where the leather band used to sit and he feels the tremor that goes through her with his touch.
"Are you sure?"
He has to ask. He wants to do it right.
She nods, without hesitation, determination written clearly on her face and he tries to believe her. He wants to believe her and so he banishes his doubts to the back of his mind, slowly bowing his head. His mouth brushes against hers and, still without hesitation, she answers his careful approach by flicking her tongue against his lips in a bold and teasing manner. Her free hand raises to his neck and pulls him down further in an attempt to intensify the kiss and her fervor makes him smile. Instead of conceding to her wish, though, he draws back a fracture. He is still not willing to rush things. The frown reappears on her forehead and he can easily tell that he has confused her.
"Not so fast," he whispers against her lips as way of an explanation. "Have a little patience."
She gives an unwilling sound and it makes him chuckle. He knows that she is not the patient sort but he also knows that she will enjoy this if only he can make her relax and stop trying to fight for a change. Taking advantage of her momentarily confused state, he slips his hand under the hem of her lose shirt, tracing her skin with barely more than the tips of his fingers.
Another shiver runs through her and she presses her body up against his, again trying to coax him into acting on impulse but again he resists, continuing to draw slow, lazy patterns on her skin.
Her arms come around his waist and she begins mimicking his gentle caresses, brushing her nails and fingers over his back. He closes his eyes, concentrates on her touch that gets more impatient with each stroke and gasps when her mouth slides over his chest, leaving a trail of tiny, heated kisses.
Have a little patience…
The words start to sound like mockery even in his own ears but he knows the truth of them way too well to ignore them. They also remind him that, as much as he wants this, it feels wrong. She says she's sure but as much as he wants to believe her he just can't. Not even an hour ago she got angry when he told her she needed to stop grieving. She is not sure and he knows it.
He wants to do it right and this isn't right. This is taking advantage of a woman who is just beginning to get to terms with the death of her lover. If he gives in to her now it means nothing. She will regret it in the morning and he will loose her for good.
His hands tighten around her slender waist, holding her at bay.
"Lyn," he quietly says and she looks up when she notices the seriousness of his voice. His throat becomes tight with the expression in her eyes; hopeful, passionate… and pleading. Pleading with him to take away the pain and it is all it takes to erase his doubts.
Gently but determined, he pushes her away.
"I can't. Not like this. And you don't want it, either."
He feels her stiffening, sees how her hands clench into fists. He also sees that short flash of hurt in her eyes before she looks away and he wants to wrap his arms around her to comfort her, to tell her everything is alright but he doesn't.
"I… I thought you wanted me," she whispers barely audible and it takes the last of his self-control to remain firm in his decision.
"I do," he admits in a hoarse voice, "but not before you are ready."
Silence falls between them, heavy and uncomfortable but he does not break it, gives her time to think about his words, really think about them. He knows that they are true but he needs her to realize that as well.
When she finally looks at him again there is something like guilt in her eyes and she frees from his hold, stepping back. He exhales the breath he did not know he was holding. He should be disappointed but all he feels is relief; relief that he made the right decision.
"I'm sorry, Nate," she tells him, "I didn't mean to…"
Without thinking, he leans in and cuts her apology short with a chaste kiss on her lips. He doesn't want to hear it. There is no need to be sorry, not for her and not for him.
"When you're ready," he repeats softly. "I can wait."
A hesitant smile curves the corners of her mouth and she takes a deep breath. Her hand comes up and touches his cheek and she returns the kiss with one of her own.
"Thank you," she murmurs before she turns around and quietly leaves his room. When she's gone, he sighs and returns to the bowl on his nightstand.
Patience… just a little more patience.