The story continues…
Dance
She is his remedy to cloudy days and nonbelievers.
It's taking superhuman effort not to move, not to acknowledge her presence at all. He repeats the words over and over to himself like a mantra, hoping the words and their dwindling meaning will stay stuck. If he ever needed composure, now was the time. Don't move... don't move... don't move.
She stands in the doorway, shirt hanging on her delicate frame several sizes too large and too long—his shirt. She stretches her arms and yawns—don't move. Her hair is a tousled mess and he wants to run his hands in it again, craving the feel of the soft strands as they slip through his fingers.
She finishes her stretch with a satisfied sigh and he continues to feign sleep, sinking back deeper into the covers. She doesn't realize and tip-toes over to the side of the bed. He finds the soft padding of her quiet steps comforting. She leans over him slightly, and he can feel her warmth, feel her hair sweep softly against his neck and collarbone, smell the flowers in her hair, the sweetness of her skin. Don't move.
She brushes back the dark curls from his face, letting her fingers linger a as they trace the planes and contours of his face. Back and forth, back and forth, the features she knows and loves so much.
Relaxing is inevitable and he melts with her touch. Don't move.
She leans in closer—the embrace of her warmth and her sweetness envelops him —leans in to kiss him softly. But her lips are generous and reach to graze his temple, his forehead, nose, and chin. He wants to kiss her back so desperately it's maddening. Kiss her everywhere, again and again, never to stop. Don't move.
She pulls away slowly and straightens; he misses her already. She is his remedy to cloudy days and nonbelievers. There is space between them and that should not be. It won't be long before he is ready to close it. Don't move.
Don't mo— The impulse is too strong and he can no longer hold it at bay, and he's already reaching out to grab her, dragging her over effortlessly. She gasps, surprised into laughter and he revels in the sound.
And then their lips meet, they are kissing, really kissing and it's amazing. Sealed together utterly inseparable and unbroken. He can hear the song, feel the dance. His heart beats against hers—rushing, pulsing, living—it is there. They are in sync.
This song, this dance, he wants to be locked in it with her forever.
He opens his eyes and her expression is soft and dreamy. He pushes wayward strands of hair from her face and wonders again what it is she sees in him. Amazed and grateful she sees anything.
He realizes they are nowhere near perfection, and it is an unbroken litany that encompasses his thoughts now, but this is where he is happy. Now it's his turn to trace the planes and contours of her face as he loses himself in her smile, in her eyes, lingering on her lips before replacing his fingertip with his lips to kiss her again and again. Never to stop.
More to come…