* Author's Note: Now that I'm caught up, I'm going to do my best to do weekly updates! Thank you for reading my story!
She came out of a strange dream, like emerging from deep dark water...she heard waves as she came to...
Her eyelids were heavy as she opened them slowly, soft warm colors dancing around above her until she gained her focus...the dancing lights stilled themselves, strung like a spider's web...they were the tea lights of her room. Her fingers twitched on the sheets of her bed. How did she get here…?
Slowly, she turned her head to the right, seeing her nightstand over the mounds of pillows and blankets around her. The clock next to her father's vintage blue lava lamp blinked 7:15 a.m. Her sound machine, which she never turned off, washed over her in the relaxing sound of waves crashing gently on a shore, retreating through sand.
She turned her head around to the left, towards the window and the dreary day outside, and everything, even time, stopped.
The sky was dark and cloudy through the big arched bedroom window, rain pelting and dripping down the panes softly, and there was a dark shadowed form inside the archway on the floor, leaning against the wall...the sight of him brought back memories from last night, her head swimming around them sleepily. Her body warmed, her cheeks flushed. Jack.
He had taken off his sweater, a black undershirt showing off the smooth toned muscles of his arms, and he was sprawled comfortably on the small landing, his face turned to the window. She watched his chest move up and down slowly and knew he was asleep, his breathing matching the waves playing over them.
Her eyes were fixed on him in amazement, remembering how he had taken care of her, how he had carried her up here before she passed out from exhaustion...
Any guy could've crawled into her bed, her space, without her true consent. With all the pillows and blankets on her bed, he could've done anything, could've hidden anything, could've merely slept next to her. He could've assumed she would be ok with it - and for him she would have been...
But he had put her to bed, and stayed like he promised.
She remembered - the migraine. She sat up slowly, realizing she was still fully dressed. But all pain was gone, and despite her heavy eyelids, she wanted to look at his face.
She slipped out of her circular cloud-like bed, covered in pillows and blankets of different fabrics and knits, all different hues of blue, turquoise and white, like the ocean Her room was an old attic repurposed, creaky and circular, and the yards of soft tea lights were the only lights of the ceiling, crisscrossing up to the hollow point of the turret on the roof. Lamps were scattered on dressers and her desk with silk scarves and bandanas thrown over the lamp shades, casting warm colors, nothing too bright. Soft rugs covered the dark wooden floor randomly; she liked the way they cushioned her feet and made her silent. The furniture had their places against the wall, her bed close to the window, and she had plenty of open floor for her to practice, do yoga, stretch. She liked the bigness of the room, and longed for warm nights to leave her window open.
She came around to crouch opposite Jack on the single step up to the landing, pillows on either side in the corners.
The gray of the day was dim on his face, his fine features completely relaxed. The high planes of his cheekbones, the strong sweep of his jaw, his chiseled lips...she sat there for a long time, her eyes watching him, learning the lines of his face, the wave of his brown hair.
Why did he care for her so well?
His patience, his manners, the way he didn't try to take advantage of her...the PB & J.
So respectful, so traditional.
So wonderful.
She reached out, her fingers trailing over his forehead, barely brushing his hairline. His head dipped suddenly and his eyes flew open to see her, wide awake.
He dragged a hand over his face as he sat up. "'s matter? You ok?"
She smiled at his voice, half groggy.
"Yes," she answered in a whisper.
He relaxed against the wall again, his eyes trying to wake up. "How ya feelin'?"
"All better, thanks to you."
He gave her a sleepy smirk, "Glad I could help."
Then her brow furrowed as she looked at him, "How in the world are you sleeping like this?"
He smiled that young boy grin, laughing a little as he looked out the window, stretching his arms. "You'd be surprised where I've slept... 's actually the best sleep I've had in a long time."
"Really?" she laughed.
"Well yeah I mean ya got these comfy pillows everywhere, everything's dim, a freakin' sound machine - I was sleepin' on a beach."
She laughed and he grinned at her again.
The teasing gleam in his eyes became pensive as he looked out the window to the Brooklyn bridge in the distance. From this height, they could almost see the entire bridge and the high-rise buildings on the other side, their lights dim in the gloom.
"'s easier to sleep when you're at peace with somethin'," he said thickly, dreaming of something far away. "I've slept on stoops, fire escapes, freakin' theatre chairs...Noise doesn't bother me - I've never known what 'quiet' is. 's never quiet here; 's always someone snorin', someone talkin', laughin', yellin', always noise - like those goons downstairs."
"You're inseparable," she observed with a laugh. True brothers. Thunder rolled in the distance outside.
He smiled a little. "Knowin' they're good is what helps me sleep," he said quietly, drifting off. "Those ya care about...their safety."
He looked at her hesitantly, slight concern on his face as his eyes swept over her. His eyes darted back to the window, his mask back in place, and she felt a thrill when she realized he was talking about her.
"A bed is more comfortable, though," she said after a moment, speaking low. "You could've joined me before...when you brought me up here."
Those dark bright eyes locked with hers intensely, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath. The idea excited him, she could see it through his rigidness.
"The only bed I get into without thinkin' 'bout it is my own."
Her eyebrows lifted and she smirked in pleasant surprise. "You're not like most guys our age are you?"
"Not at all." He gave her that grin again. "Like an old school vampire."
She laughed, and he grinned bigger.
"Well consider this your formal invitation," she teased lightly, reaching out to touch his hand, her fingers trailing over his. "Better than a window."
He regarded her carefully for a moment. "I wouldn't sleep a wink next to ya," he said huskily.
"Why not?" she asked, leaning closer to him.
He laughed a little incredulously, looking away as her fingers touched his. He licked his lips. "'s different: knowin' you're ok, an' knowin' you're next to me."
He looked back to her, his gaze serious. "I wouldn't want to close my eyes."
Another thrill raced through her, and before she knew it she was standing up, pulling him with her. He rose slowly and followed her reluctantly as she led him to her bed.
She felt something other than lust for him, something that had been steadily growing inside her with every action he had taken with her - or didn't take with her. Affection stirred in her, and while she wanted to feel and explore his body with every fiber of her being, she only wanted to lay down, for their bodies to rest beside each other.
His figure was so dark and masculine in her room, the sight was exciting and charged, the energy crackling between them. Surely he felt it too.
She climbed in and tried to pull him with her. But he sat on the edge, his dark eyes watching her as his jaw stayed clenched tight.
"I don't bite," she purred, smiling a little at his discomfort.
His eyes roamed over her face as she laid next to him on the pillows, her long hair messy beneath her. She was very aware of the top she still wore, the mesh v-neck that almost touched her bellybutton. He looked at her like she would bite him, a woman he wanted but didn't trust.
Or maybe he didn't trust himself.
"Just lay next to me," she said softly, her eyes going to his lips.
He gave her a dark calculating look, thinking and torn.
And then it clicked in her head like a loud flip of a switch, as abrupt as a crack of lightning - his hesitation, his restraint, his careful respect. The clear desire he had for her that he kept in check.
It was so obvious she was amazed she didn't put it together sooner. He knew.
She sat up quickly, her cheeks flushing violently - which only made her angry; embarrassed and furious all at once.
"Who told you," she demanded darkly.
His eyes were unwavering as he looked at her. She could tell by the way his chest moved that he was keeping his breathing steady, but a vein at his neck betrayed his fast heartbeat.
"Does it matt'ah?" he said low, almost challengingly.
Her upper body was close to his as she sat there staring him down, feeling like an upset child. She was embarrassed, revealed too personally. She felt thwarted by whichever friend felt the need to tell -
Honey.
She looked away from him, sighing in frustration.
"'s your business," he murmured as if reading her thoughts, his deep warm voice slightly uneasy. "'s no secret that I'm -" he hesitated "- attracted to ya...jus' tryin' ta not be a jerk. Can't imagine the number of assholes you've encountered."
She looked back to him; he was looking at the lava lamp across the bed on her nightstand, avoiding looking at her. He was uncomfortable, and she hated it. She didn't want him to treat her like an expensive dining set he couldn't use…
"It wasn't her business to share," she said quietly.
He ran his fingers through his hair. "I know the world you work in prizes certain qualities in women...an' I know ya got your reasons -"
"Work has nothing to do with my virginity."
He looked up at the sharpness in her voice, reading her steadily.
Her cheeks flushed again, looking at him and his bare arms. He had goosebumps.
"Sorry," she murmured as she pulled her feet close to her, her bent legs covering herself.
"I'm the one who said somethin' stupid," he said gently. She looked back to him, seeing his sincerity. "I apologize for offendin' you."
She read his dark eyes for a long moment, thinking. She had never wanted a man like this before, so badly craving touch. His touch. As her anger subsided, she saw that he must have been caught between feeling nervous and elated that she had never been with anyone…
She took a deep breath, looking down at the soft blue hues of her bed as she let her legs fall to the side. She angled herself towards him as she leaned on her left hand, the other playing with her hair as her thoughts ran away.
She remembered her dreams, how real he had been when she dreamt of him when she was younger...they had been shapeless dreams, colorful and dreamy, but his face and body was clear to her. She wasn't about to bring that up; she didn't want him to think she was crazy. But it definitely had affected her in waking hours, never seeing a man who stirred feelings inside her the way her dreams had, the way he had...and now here he was, in the flesh, in reality.
She felt almost dizzy thinking about it. She decided to go with the truth.
"My mother...was adamant about teaching me to protect myself," she said slowly. "She taught me from an early age to guard myself, not give anything away easily or for nothing. She was always distrusting of men, except for my father...but he worked his ass off to break through with her."
She smiled a little and Jack mirrored it, sad understanding in his eyes. He waited patiently, his full attention on her. She never had stage fright before, and she was surprised at herself for how nervous she felt now.
She could dance the part of Odette in Swan Lake at the Los Angeles Dance Company in front of hundreds of people at the age of sixteen- she had been the understudy, and took the lead role only two days prior to opening night. Standing ovations the entire weekend, and at no point had she forgotten her feet, or even felt shaky. Critics that night said what she felt: she was born to dance.
But with Jack...one on one, no one else. She was caught between feeling everything and forgetting where they were. She would never admit it - losing her sense over someone so quickly and easily. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she felt she could trust him.
"...I'm not saving myself for the highest bidder." She read his eyes, feeling warmth grow inside her, feeling the intense charge between them. "It certainly gives me a boost in the world I work in…"
Darkness crossed his face, hatred and distrust.
"...but I've never been with anyone because I've never wanted anyone...until now."
He inhaled slowly, deeply, as he looked at her. His cheeks burned and so did hers; she wasn't used to showing her hand so many times to someone, even her closest friends. But it was true - she had never been in territory like this before. And she never expected to want it so badly, to want more. She didn't expect to fall so fast.
After a long moment, he spoke first, his voice husky and low. "Slow isn't a bad thing, Tiffany."
Her eyes read his hungrily. "What if slow isn't what I want?"
His body tensed in response and she leaned into him before he could say another word, her lips taking his. His mouth softened against hers instantly as his left arm moved across her, his hand resting on the bed next to her hip. She wrapped her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss as she brought him closer. She leaned back and his right hand went up behind her, laying her down gently on pillows, and his upper body pressed to hers deliciously. She dragged her hands down his strong pectorals and a low groan came from his chest.
He pulled away, breathing slowly and heavily, his eyes closed.
"Spot said you weren't fragile," she breathed. "And neither am I."
His eyes opened and read her face for a long moment. She wondered what he was seeing.
"'s certainly not a word I would use to describe you." His husky voice was teasing but she could hear the tightness in his tone.
He slowly pulled away from her and laid across the bed, his hand propping up his head and his feet dangling, sprawled like a porch cat. He watched her carefully - wanting to put a little distance between them but she saw how much control her had over himself.
She mirrored him, turning sideways on the bed to face him, inches apart.
His bright eyes drank her in and she felt the urge to fidget. But she slowly relaxed as she looked at him.
"I jus' want to get to know ya," he said warmly, his face masked. "...in every way I can."
Chills went up her body as she inhaled his words, feeling giddy as a little girl.
"Alright," she whispered after a long moment of them looking at each other. "Slow it is."
He gave her a smirk, "'s not easy for me either."
They laughed and she reached out to brush his hair back. He closed his eyes at her touch and he looked almost relaxed - he was always thinking, she could see it in his features, his tense brow. Questions danced around her head as she watched his handsome face, wanting to know more about him too.
"When did you meet them?" she asked softly. "The goons downstairs?"
He opened his eyes to look at her, his face a little somber. "We were kids, workin' in the city together. Bunch a street rats in the beginning." He grinned, "don't trust any of 'em."
She laughed and he smiled bigger.
"Sure fooled me," she teased.
"What about you? How'd ya meet your friends?"
"My mother's dance studio," she said with a happy and sad memory playing in her mind. "She was…" she hesitated. "...a lead dancer in Hollywood, in the eighties. It's where she met my father." She smiled at the memory. "He was a director...when they got tired of it all and left Los Angeles, she opened a studio in San Francisco...which is now a dance academy." She smiled a bit bigger, proudly.
"She musta been amazing," he said quietly.
She could feel the tenderness in his gaze, and she looked away, afraid to see her sadness reflected back in his eyes. "Yes she was." She looked down, her fingers playing at the edge of one of the blankets under them. "Jazzi actually knew her before I was born."
"Yeah?" his voice was strange, like dark curiosity.
"Yeah...they were close, too," she added emotionlessly, lost in thought, seeing Jazzi and mom together... "Jazzi was seven when she lost her parents, and she was a student of my mother's. Mom took her in. She's my sister from another mister," she said with a sigh, smiling. "We want to kill each other sometimes, but she's always been there, since day one. She reads me like a book and it drives me crazy."
He chuckled darkly, "that's relatable."
She looked back to his handsome face, seeing his understanding grin. She smiled in return.
"It's what siblings are for, right? Driving us nuts."
"They put up with my ass so it's an even trade."
They laughed and became lost in easy conversation, their fingers reaching out for each other every now and again as they told stories of their lives: the best sunsets they'd seen, their funniest memories with their friends, her school work, the bike he bought when he was eighteen. She could see him on a motorcycle. It reminded her of her father driving up and down the beaches in California.
"Cool," she said warmly. "Do you still have it?"
"No," he breathed with regret as he laid back, one hand on his chest, the other behind his head as he looked up at the tea lights. "Had to sell it to leave home."
His words hung over them, silence falling as she felt the weight of his words and read the darkness in his voice, his face.
"I have my father's in California," she said softly. He turned his face to her, forgetting whatever bad memories plagued him. "It'll be at the new house...a '71 Super Glide. Maybe you'd like to take it for a spin, see the beaches on it...with me."
He didn't say anything, he was completely still, his face masked again as he looked at her.
She smiled nervously, "there's no better way to travel in a beautiful place. You'll love it."
"No doubt," he said after a moment, his voice thick with an emotion he tried to keep hidden. Thunder still rolled outside, the clouds still dark and weeping, the sound machine washing over them.
The spark of awareness was there in his gaze, and she grinned a little as he sat up to lean towards her. Her heart flew away as he kissed her tenderly, his lips unhesitating, different than before. More sure.
His free hand brushed her cheek softly, stroked down her hair and shoulder, down her waist, and rested torturously on her hip. She placed her hand at his jaw and strong neck, lost to him as he breathed her in, his lips dancing with hers, their tongues insatiable. His body loomed over her as she sunk back into the pillows, her hand holding him to her as she brought him on top of her. His hand moved from her hip to her back, holding her to him tightly.
She moved her hips forward, pressing her body to him, and his fingers tensed on her in response. She felt so small and feminine against him, knowing he was strong enough to throw her around but treated her with such tenderness. She loved the energy she felt through his muscles, his fingers, like he wanted to hold her tighter. She wanted him to.
She didn't know how long they laid there, their hands exploring each other slowly, their lips hardly ever parting. She took her time feeling his muscular back, his toned waist and hips. He groaned when she touched his belt, pulling on it so their bodies met there. His thumb grazed over her breast as his hand went around her ribcage and she thought she would be undone.
She bent one knee, cradling him against her, and his hand moved down her thigh, his fingers moving around her ass. She arched into him harder and his lips moved against hers more eagerly, leaning into her more. The weight of him was bliss, the strength of his arms around her was addictive. She thought she would burn alive from the inside.
She wanted to touch more of him; she grabbed the bottom of his shirt and began to pull up when a growl came from her belly, both of them pausing.
He pulled away from her, smiling breathlessly. "Hungry?"
"For you," she breathed, grinning wickedly as she tried to pull up his shirt again.
He laughed as he stopped her hands and she felt happy, for the first time in a long time, as he leaned down once more to kiss her, as if they had done it a million times, their lips fitting together effortlessly.
"And for pancakes?" he murmured against her.
She felt a chill go up her spine and out her fingertips as his thumb rubbed the exposed skin above her pants. God, she wanted his hands everywhere.
"Ravenous," she answered, loving the feeling of his face close to hers.
He grinned wider and they untangled themselves. He pulled on his sweater and she went to one of her dressers, the tall framed mirror next to it showing his tall figure behind her, watching.
She kept her eyes on his reflection as her hands went behind her neck to the choker clasp of her top, snapping open. She smiled wickedly as he turned around, his hands going through his hair.
"Am I torturing you, Jack?" she teased as she changed into teal silk sleep shorts and a loose knit cream sweater.
"Every damn day," he said darkly to the window.
He was framed by the window, his silhouette dark and inviting, and he didn't jump as she came up behind him, her hands snaking up his flat stomach and chest.
"Something tells me you like it," she purred.
"Too much," he said as he took one of her hands and pressed his lips to her palm, his fingers splaying hers open. She shivered and he turned around, his face playful and teasing as he looked down at her.
"Let's go wake the party-goers."
