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Is there a difference?
"Someone was threatening you." She sighs and walks over to me on bare feet across the length of the dance floor.
"Adriano, I'm fine. You’re going to make yourself sick with worry.” She sighs. "Dance with me?"
I don't want to argue with her, and I don't want to miss an opportunity. So, I do. I gather her in my arms and hold her as we dance to the music, chest to chest. Her cheek rests against my shoulder, her hand soft and trusting in mine. And as the music fills the room, my heart expands.
I might love this woman. I don't know if I've ever loved anyone. My brothers, maybe. I'm loyal to them, and they mean the world to me.
My parents, but it was so long ago now it's but a distant memory.
"Are you in pain?" she asks quietly. It's a question I don't always know the answer to.
"It's better. You?"
"I'm fine," she lies.
We dance until the music fades, and then I hold her in the middle of the dance floor.
"Adriano?"
"Yes?"
"I want to go home." This means something to her. Quinn isn't someone who has a home, and she has said over and over again that the club is our home.
"Tell me more." She knows exactly what I mean.
"I know you say we’re safest here, but even here things happen. There are more people here, but I trust you, and you've taught me self-defense. I want to have privacy with you. I want a place that we can call our own at least for the next couple of months." I try to hide the tremor that runs through me at those last words, at the thought of being separated from her.
"Let's take a break," I tell her.
A look of panic flips across her features.
"A break?"
"A break. From the lessons," I clarify. "I don't know if I'm quite ready to do another self-defense lesson."
She breathes out and nods, obviously relieved.
"What did you think I meant?" I hold her at arm’s length.
"Us."
Us? Jesus. "You thought I wanted to take a break from us?"
"I don't know," she says softly, obviously uncomfortable with this conversation.
I cup the back of her head and bring her closer to me until I can look directly into her eyes. I want to tell her I love her. I want to tell her that there will never be a break between us. I want to tell her that the six months is a fucking joke, and I'm not going to leave her when it's over.
I want to tell her all these things, but I don't want her to feel like she needs to fly.
Instead, I kiss her. When my mouth meets hers, everything else around us fades. She’s safe here, in my arms. She sighs into me, and I deepen the kiss, holding her against me. Even drugged up and exhausted, I love the way she feels in my arms.
I want more of her, and it’s not long before I’m laying her down on the dance floor and wordlessly kissing her. I hold her wrists above her head, just like she likes it. I nibble her earlobe, taking my time to relish her shuddering breaths, the way her back arches, and all the glorious signs of arousal. And then I arrange her just how she told me she likes it, on her hands and knees, my eyes holding hers in the mirror in front of us.
I take her, right there in the dance studio, surrounded by mirrors and bright lights, which reveal the look of adoration she gives me right before she throws her head back and screams in bliss.
Adoration.No one has ever looked at me like that before, and I already know no one ever will again.
