Sinful Abandon(8)

By: Jeannine Colette


“Everything about you is interesting.”

I look down at my glass, the ice melting in the clear liquor. Nothing lasts forever, including this night. I might as well see where it takes me.

Kicking off my shoes, I rise and let my stockings dig into the plush carpet. As soon as I’m erect, I notice how tall Ryan is. Looking up to him now, I feel dwarfed and vulnerable.

He grabs my waist and pulls me toward him but not in a sexual way. He’s pulling me toward him, so we can actually dance in the same vicinity of each other. When I am close enough, he releases me. The chorus kicks in, and so does Ryan. He sings the words to the song. I know them, too, so I dance.

A huge smile christens Ryan’s face as he sings. My arms rise above my head, and my toes sweep across the carpet. I’m not so much dancing as I am jumping, but who cares?

I don’t.

Ryan doesn’t.

It’s quite liberating.

My boobs bounce, and my ruffled bottom flounces, yet Ryan doesn’t seem to notice. I hold my hand up to my mouth, like it’s a microphone, and start lip-synching the words, outstretching my other arm and pointing a finger toward Ryan, as if he is the man the words are meant for. He acts out his hurt expression but keeps dancing. His eyes meet mine, and I find myself lost in them, singing to them and dancing to them. And I like the way it is making me feel.

The song ends, and there is an awkward silence as the track changes. My heart is racing from dancing, and I’m slightly out of breath, but my lips curve into a smile.

When the next song comes on, it’s a slow song. Ryan grabs my hand. I don’t fight it. Instead, my head lands on the sculpted curve of his chest. My hand clings to his waist, and my other is being tightly held in his. He rests his chin on my head, and the act feels oddly intimate.

For a second, I contemplate pushing him away. This is super weird and uncalled for. Yet, when he snakes his arm fully around my waist, I realize that I’ve never been held before. Not like this. Not by anyone.

Wrapped in the arms of a stranger, I feel more protected than I ever have in my life. I close my eyes and nestle into his embrace as our feet move in harmony to the music. With my ear to his chest, I can feel his heart beating. At first, it was wild with excitement, but now, it is slow and steady, as content as mine is.

A mirror by the dining area catches my eye, and I see a glimpse of us together. His magnificent body is holding mine, like I’m the most cherished thing in the world. My small frame is nestled into him. His eyes are closed, so I can appreciate his beautiful face—from the perfect slope of his nose to his broad chin and full lips.

Wouldn’t it be magnificent if he were actually a rich mogul? I could live with waking up to a face like that every morning. Maybe he moonlights as an ordinary guy in non-designer shoes because he doesn’t want to meet a gold digger. Wouldn’t that be something?

It’s obviously not true, but, hey, a girl can dream, can’t she?

The song ends, so Ryan steps back, releasing me from his hold. My skin tingles with goose bumps. There must be a draft in here because I am suddenly cold.

I look up to Ryan, and those cobalt blues are open and bearing down at me.

His hands are raised, as if he wants to reach out and grab me. I take a tentative step forward, inviting him to do so.

His mouth parts slightly, inhaling a breath. A shiver runs down my spine.

His tongue darts out and skims his lower lip. I bite down on mine.

His eyes are on my mouth and then continue to travel to my breasts, which are heaving with anticipation, and further down to the piping of the corset. They stop just at the edge of the ruffled bottom where skin meets garter.

Those dark brows furrow, and his mouth falls.

But then his eyes dart to the side.

With the clearing of his throat, he says, “You must be uncomfortable in that thing. Why don’t you change?”

My eyes widen for a second as I try to decipher if he means change into something more comfortable—wink, wink—or if he actually means to change into something more comfortable.

While I’m standing here, deciding if I should get naked or throw on some yoga pants, Ryan backs away and then turns toward the balcony door. When he opens it and steps outside, I come to the conclusion that I should ditch the boudoir ensemble and throw on some sweats.