The doors to Melody’s apartment open and she’s floored with the changes that occurred while she was graduating. The faint sound of Lindsey Stirling’s Mirage plays on the radio from the kitchen, her favorite. The candles light the way for her and the balloons congratulating her on her success float amongst the apartment walls. The dinner from earlier still smells and fills the air. Romance is written all over the apartment.
“Did you do this?” she’s shocked as she takes off her rope and hangs it over the back of the couch looking around the apartment.
“Yes,” I softly say in hopes she wouldn’t be mad but instead appreciate the gesture.
“It’s beautiful,” she hugs me tight as her eyes still expect every little detail.
“I would hope you’d think that,” I smile, “You hungry?”
“How long can you stay?” she’s curious.
“As long as you’d like me to,” I inform her as I pour us each a glass of wine.
“Forever,” she mumbles.
Under her rope, I couldn’t see it before; she wore a gorgeous blue dress showing off every curve of her body. She’s gorgeous and I can’t seem to keep my eyes off her. When did I get so lucky to meet such a beautiful person? Not just on the outside does she radiate, but her soul, her mind, it’s all perfection. She sparkles, twinkles, brighter than any star could. She’s perfect. Her personality captures my heart. And I could go on day dreaming about her even across the table, but instead I have to make conversation.
“You were absolutely gorgeous today,” I start by saying while we try to eat the lasagna I had prepared, from scratch of course.
“Oh, just today?” she teases trying to escape the moment we might be creating. I’m hoping we aren’t going too fast for her because one thing I would never want is to pressure her.
She makes my heart stop, drop, and roll. She has me on fire when she touches my soul. She has my heart in her hands. I’m hers. She’s my undoing. And I feel dangerous around her. She has a power over me, an unstoppable control over me. I want her more than I did in the tree house. The mood is set. The room lit by candles is set. She’s in the bathroom changing into something more comfortable. Code for sexy, code for sex, right? I’m not one to pressure her, but I can’t wait to taste her, taste every inch of her body. There’s passion between us. It’s through phone calls, texts, and Skype calls. I know there’s some desire and want between us. I just hope I hadn’t read it wrong.
“Hello sexy,” her voice sounds hoarse as she stands by the bathroom door facing the living room. She’s timid. Shy. And a bit reserved. You can tell she’s nervous about the situation, so clearly, I do the one thing that I do best.
“Come here,” my fingers waving for her to sit on my lap on the couch as she appears in her gorgeous rose camisole covered by a satin while robe. I hand her the violin I noticed lying in the corner on a table, to loosen up the nervousness between her and I, “Play for me,” I demand to hear her.
“Now?” she’s perplexed.
“Yes. Now,” I lie back to let the sound fill the room.
“I don’t know,” she tries to argue with me, but I demand hopeful she will see where I’m getting with all of this.
She stands with a smile and her usual composure, placing the violin on her shoulder and starts to play without even thinking twice. She’s fully engaged into the music and I decide to close my eyes letting the music take over my heartbeat. I could listen to her day and night, but only when we’re not kissing. Sometimes music is the only thing that gets your mind off everything. The glee she feels when she plays is written all over her face. She’s smiling and you can tell just how happy she actually is.
Slowly I ease towards her as she continues to play. Her notes become longer than they should and she’s hesitant about continuing to play. I inch closer and closer to her letting my presence be known. The notes become fewer and fewer as the heat between us rises. Licking her lips, you can tell she wants it. And I’m ready and willing to give it to her. Softly and gently I kiss her lips as she slowly forgets about her violin and only concentrates on me. The passion between us undeniable. The heat rises. And I remember a quote I once read, -from a little spark may burst a flame- and she definitely lit a fire inside of me.
I’m falling in love, there’s no denying it, “You’re making me feel things I’ve never felt kissing a woman,” I’m honest and raw.
“Music can do that to you,” she tries to blow it off as if it was nothing, but it’s something.
“I’m serious,” I lean in and kiss her again, this time harder and more passionate, “Do you feel it?”
“I do,” she sighs.
“It’s not the music, Melody, it’s you. I’m attracted to you in a way I can’t even describe.” I’ve never told a woman just how I felt from any of the butterflies I feel. I’m a guy. I shouldn’t feel these silly butterflies, as women call them, but I do. I’m weak in her presence. I’ve become vulnerable, a side of me I had no idea even existed. With only her smile and the adoration in her eyes, I’m hooked and faint.