Thursday, January 7, 2010
BABY STEPS.
For us, the concept was almost comical. We’d either barreled head first, or taken our sweet-ass time. The thought of us taking our time and being cautious was kind of funny. I wasn’t exactly sure what he’d meant, but he sounded like he knew what he was talking about. And honestly, if he wanted to put the brakes on things, all it did was make me want him more. Who knew that was even possible?
It wasn’t only his body I sought, it was his company. I wanted both, but sadly, time hadn’t always been on our side. And when we were against the wall, time wise—well frankly, I was usually against a wall with him inside me. Our chemistry always monopolized our minutes. Here, we didn’t have to be desperate. Amongst everything else at the incredibly lavish hotel, we had the beautiful new luxury of time.
Also, this new and improved Casey was showing me he was taking this seriously. Taking steps in our relationship with care, to protect it. Hell if that didn’t turn me on, too.
He’d chosen the dress I wore. “I like this one,” he said from the bed as I put lotion on in front of him. If he was trying restraint on for size, then I was going to test it. He could tell me to do anything and I’d do it. It was a paradox: my need for independence and my desire to hand pieces of it over to him. It had almost always been like that; he just never took advantage of my instinctual surrender to him.
My mind.
My body.
My heart.
They were all merely puppets waiting for their turn to be played with by him. I’d never handed more than some of my body and mind over to Grant. Mainly because he didn’t understand me. He didn’t know where to find the rest and I never had a soul thirsty need to show him. With Casey, he looked for every part of me. I trusted him with all three.
We walked through the restaurant, which was the size of a small ballroom. It was incredible how tall the ceilings were in the Bella Flechazo. Music played quietly, a guitarist and a pianist. The chatter of cheerful conversations soaked into my ears as we walked to a table that was close to the small dance floor.
I’d always loved dancing with him.
The first night. The night in Georgia. The little we danced on the pier in Chicago one hot summer night so long ago. All of those times that once seemed not so long ago, now seemed like eons past.
“Hermosa jovencita,” the maître d’ said politely to me as he pulled out my chair. Then he tipped his head to Casey and said, “Señor.” As soon as I began to sit, so did my date. He had some manners, that guy.
Then I thought about it and realized that this might actually be our first real date. Like a real date. My heart almost climbed up my neck and out of my mouth to do cartwheels at the thought. But after a moment, I decided not. We’d had many dates and sweeping them under the rug would be like erasing all the good times too.
It didn’t matter. After everything, maybe it was all going to be okay.
The host left us, but it was only a moment until a server came to get our orders. “Nos gustaría dos pintas de cerveza y dos tragos de tequila. Cerveza local, por favor,” Casey said slowly. I didn’t know everything he was telling the woman, but I could have listened to it all night.
Cerveza. Beer. I knew that. And tequila was easy enough, but had he always known Spanish? Who was this guy?
The woman who took his order left to get—what I was guessing were—our drinks.
I leaned in to ask conspiratorially, “Do you know Spanish?” I couldn’t help the small laugh that fell out after I asked.
He smiled and said, “No. Not really. I just memorized a few things that I thought we might need.” Then he winked at me and took a sip of his water. “I said I’d take care of you.”
I sat back, corrected. Shocked and a lot turned on. That wink might soon be the death of me.
I was still revved up from the plane, the almost shower, and then hearing him speak Spanish and ordering for me? I knew that Casey, but it was just so different having the man I craved so much in the bedroom act that way while sitting across from me at the table.
“What else did you learn, Señor Moore?” I teased. Laughing came easily. My bones poured themselves into the chair and with my legs crossed tightly I relished looking at a miracle. How could he still want me? How could I be that lucky?
His laughs came easily, too. He pointed a serious finger at me. “It’s no joke, Blake. We don’t speak the language. How did you figure we’d get along?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t really think about it. People do it all the time.”
“Well, I’d just much rather know how to say a few things so I know what we’re getting.”
“Okay, tell me what you know and I want to guess what you’re saying.”
Our drinks arrived. A draught and a shot placed before each of us. The server also came armed with a beautiful crystal dish with what looked like candied limes. Then the woman left.
Casey considered the limes and said, in sexy Spanish, with a gleam in his eye, “Lame. Bebe. Chupa.”
It was a terrible game. How was I supposed to know what he was saying? “Okay, maybe this wasn’t a great idea. I have no clue,” I admitted.
“I said lick. Drink. Suck.” He was ripe with mischief.
“Ohhh,” I breathed and the temperature in the restaurant went up ten degrees.
“Shall we?”
I reached for a piece of lime and his hand slid over mine, giving it a quick, tight squeeze. I caught his eye and saw warmth, fun, adventure, and something so Casey that I’d never been able to put my finger on. Blue-green eyes sparkled brighter than the beautiful glass chandelier in the lobby.
I brought the lime to my lips but waited for his cue.
“Lame,” he said and we both licked at our limes. It was a lot of sensations to handle at once. First, watching his masterful tongue sweep over the fruit. Lucky lime. Then, the taste of sour, salty, and sweet took over my mouth. I mimicked what he did next, lifting the shot glass to my lips.
“Bebe,” he said with a quirked eyebrow and we downed the shots.
My tongue reached out and tasted my briny lips as the tequila touched rock bottom. Alcohol and Casey heated my chest.
He bared his teeth after swallowing the liquor and the tendons strained in his neck as he accepted its burn.
“Chupa,” he hissed and our limes once again found our mouths. I was hesitant to bite at first, knowing it was going to be an assault of flavor, and I watched him sink into the green citrus. His eyes squeezed tight and when he opened them, he looked like he’d just come out of water. Alive and ready.
I bit into mine and it tasted remarkably good in contrast to the tequila.
As I stared at him unapologetically, my legs rubbed together under the table, aware of his peculiar brand of seduction playing out. Or maybe I was just really horny from him teasing me the whole day. The strapless, gray dress he’d chosen for me suddenly felt uncomfortable on my skin. I wanted to be naked, disposed of the clothes that kept me from him.
I began to tell him how good the shot was when he stood and stepped around the table grabbing my face. He kissed me there in front of everyone eating and mingling at the bar. His impatient consumption of me took me off guard, but as his bittersweet tongue swept across mine, I no longer cared who watched. And just as suddenly as he’d kissed me, he stopped and said, “Beso.” Then he quickly kissed my lips once more before retreating to his side of the table.
I went from overwhelmed with sensation to senseless in seconds.
When he sat down and straightened his dinner jacket, he said, “Beso. Kiss. I forgot that part.”
I laughed. How could you forget something like that?
Without missing a beat, he told me, “I can also ask where the bathroom is, how to get a taxi, common pleasantries, and I know how to ask for two more of anything. I think there are a few others, but that’s mostly it.”
I was still a little dizzy from the kiss and the shot, but it was hard to remember when I’d been on a date where I had zero expectations of what would happen. I loved how wild he was at times. He always kept me on my toes.
We ate BLTs, which he’d prearranged to be available for us. There we were at a gourmet restaurant eating bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches—one of the best I’d ever had, mind you—and we laughed. We drank beers and shared stories about the funny people we’d met traveling for work.
Then we drank a little more.
Lame. Bebe. Chupa. Beso.
I loved taking shots with him. He was such a good kisser.
After three, I got up and went to him instead. The bartender clapped and gave a little, “woo,” catching me. By then the dinner crowd had cleared out, but we stayed as bar-goers began filling the space. Less and less, people were eating and sitting, and more and more were they dancing to the two-piece band.
“Let’s dance, mi abeja.”
That was a new one and tipped my head in question.
“Let’s dance, my honeybee.”
“Okay,” I said, but I was already floating.
We swayed. The alcohol had made our bodies loose. I clung to him and during slower songs I laid my head on his chest and listened to him hum along to music he couldn’t possibly know. His deep rumbling, in time to the tiny band, sounded so damn good.
“We need a new song,” he said looking down at me.
“No, we don’t,” I disagreed.
“I shouldn’t have danced with her to that. It was a low blow. I ruined our song.”
“No. Sheryl Crow ruined it way before you did,” I joked. “I only liked it because I danced to it with you.”
He pulled away and stopped, shocked. “Are you kidding me?” He smirked.
“It was kinda sad. I mean, I don’t think that song has a happy ending. It just sounds sexy with all the ohhhs and ahhhs. It isn’t a good love song,” I explained.
He wrapped his long arms around me and we started to move again.
He kissed the side of my forehead. “Then we needed a new one anyway, didn’t we?” he asked.
“I don’t want one song, Lou.” My feet shuffled parallel to his shoes. My left leg was between his legs. Our bodies coupled naturally, it felt like home. Like my other half was connected. Like Heaven.
“How many do you want? Do I need a pen and paper?” he jested.
“I don’t want just one song to remind me of you.” I tipped my head up, but in my heels I was already closer to his mouth. “I want every song to be our song. I want every song we dance to be ours to keep. I want thousands of songs with you, Casey.” Either tequila had magical powers or I was finally learning to talk with my heart. Both stood a good chance of being true.
“I can’t deny that I like your logic.”
“And if every song is our song, and we don’t dance with anyone else to our songs, then we won’t ever have to find new ones.” I had it all figured out. Me and the bebe. I wasn’t really jealous of him dancing with Aly, at least not the way I imagined he thought I was. I hated the very thought of her hands touching him, and what was worse, his hands touching her. But more than jealous, I was scared. Scared that I would lose him to her.
It was a damn good thing I didn’t allow myself to think about them being together. It was wrong of me to feel hurt by it, but maybe not. If it hurt him when I’d been with Grant, it was only fair I’d felt the same pain knowing he turned to her for what I couldn’t give him when he needed it most.
But it didn’t matter anymore and certainly not at that moment. All that mattered was wrapped around me, in a fairy-tale location where shots came with kisses and every song belonged to us.
That night we kissed without worry of being caught by my guilt and his insecurity. We didn’t have to hide. We were Casey and Blake, two people simply trying to figure out the second chance we’d always been fighting for.
“Let’s go upstairs,” he whispered in my ear and it was almost like we transported there. As if we thought about it and then all of a sudden we were there.
The room was dimly lit with the few lights we’d left on. It was late, and even though I was tired from travel and just life in general, I craved the feel of him.
Our suite was warm, void of chill or worry. In the bedroom, we didn’t bother with a light, knowing where everything was by memory. He guided me to bed. He let my hair down and brushed it off my shoulders, and then he held me close and pressed his lips to mine. Casey laid us down so softly I barely knew we were moving until I felt the fluffy pillow under my head.
I deepened our kiss and moaned when his body pressed against mine.
“We’re not going to have sex tonight, Blake,” he said breathlessly around my lips. Why? I wanted him so badly. Just like that. Slow and easy.
I tried to evict thoughts of uncertainty from my mind, but they snuck in with his words. His behavior was contradictory. He’d shown me nothing but affection and care since we saw each other in the airport. Why wouldn’t he make love to me?
Old demons felt the need to speak up.
What if he doesn’t want you after the chase? What if he only likes the thrill?
I felt my body begin to tense for the first time since we’d arrived. The hands that had been wandering across his back stilled. The leg I had started to wrap around his waist slowly began falling to the side.
“Hey, where are you going,” he said, as he kissed my neck and ran a hand through my hair to the nape of my neck.
“I don’t understand,” I contested. “I want you.” He shifted his weight and I felt how hard he was against my inner thigh. He was definitely turned on. So what was his deal? “Don’t you want me, too?”
“Mmmm,” he breathed near my ear. “God, I want you.” His big right hand hitched my leg back around his hip and he palmed my ass, bringing my dress up to my waist in the process and exposing my pale pink underwear. “I’ve wanted you day and night for so long now. I don’t know how to not want you.” He spoke between kisses and rubbed his nose along my clavicle. Then he bit me gently at the crook of my neck. “But there’ve been too many times I’ve let that need for you cloud my focus.”
“But I—”
“No, Blake. Not tonight. Tonight, I’m going to make you come and then I’m going to sleep next to you. I’m going to fall asleep with you in my arms. All those nights I missed out on holding you and feeling you next to me. I stole them from both of us being scared and stubborn. I have to be better this time. I see all that you’re doing and I’m so damn proud of you, honeybee,” he said calmly. “But I want more than just physical things from you. It isn’t that I don’t want you. Fuck, do I want you. But I need all of you. Not just this.” He moved against my center and I knew I had to change his mind. After hearing those sweet words, I had to have him and I wasn’t going to fight fair.
“Please, Casey. Fuck me.”
He growled and pressed his forehead to my chest. “You’re evil.” He laughed. I wished he sounded defeated, but mostly he sounded amused. “You’re not making it easy for me to be noble.”
“Don’t be noble then,” I said as I wound my arms around him and pulled him closer to me.
“If you knew what I was thinking about doing to you, you’d know I wasn’t.” He rolled partially over toward the center of the bed and ran his hand under my dress and up to my breast.
“Then tell me,” I shamelessly suggested.
The tips of his fingers roamed down my stomach and my pulse sped up. His fingers slid under the sheer fabric of my underwear and my breaths came in spurts as I mentally begged him to keep going. I was so wound up.
“Don’t worry. I told you I’d take care of you.”
Casey’s hand moved over me and he delicately pressed into the exact spot where I wanted him.
“I love how much you want me, Blake. I can feel it.” He kissed my shoulder. “Sit up.”
I rose up. There we both sat on a bed I’d hoped we would be messing up by then. I loved that he wanted to show me he appreciated me for more than just sex, but at that point in our relationship, I’d kind of figured. What guy hangs around this long, going sometimes months without any physical contact and keeps coming back?
He wrapped his arms behind me and lowered the zipper on my dress, then pulled it over my head. I wore only my strapless bra, which was on a little sideways from his wandering hands, and my panties.
“Lay down and put your hands together like you’re holding them, like I hold your hand.”
I interconnected my fingers together and laid them on my stomach while smiling at him expectantly.
“Blake, I want to be someone who gives you more than I take. That’s what this is about. Giving to you. But I’m still just a man, so keep your hands together. When you touch me, I lose focus and all I can think about is being buried inside of you. Which is going to happen, just not tonight,” he reassured in a matter-of-fact way.
“Okay,” I said softly. Just as always when he instructed, I followed. My hands were clasped and they wouldn’t part until he said. I loved when he possessed me. I was confident he would give me what I needed. I didn’t have to make any decisions. I didn’t have to worry about what I was giving him to show him how much I cared. It was freeing.
He sat above me on his knees. The twilight shining through the windows backlit him in the dark room. Tauntingly slow, he unbuttoned his dress shirt and then took off his undershirt letting them both fall on the plush carpet. I felt his eyes on me, but I didn’t know how much he could see. Still, his touches were so precise that either he had great night vision or he just knew his way around my body in the dark.
His hands found my breasts and he masterfully removed them from the strapless cups. His thumbs rolled over my nipples. His mouth covered one then the other. Hot and wet, he sucked and gently bit at them until my back began to arch and my ass pushed into the bed wanting more of him.
I always wanted him to declare himself, to show me he actually wanted us. And now he was. I loved him. I loved that he was doing it for us. I knew he was capable of giving more now, and in that, felt a sense of peace and safety. And now, thank God, sexual release at the hands of my sexy man.
It was wonderful receiving all the things he had to give me. I wanted it all.