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My lips get her forehead, and then her mouth. I kiss her gently, knowing that kiss comforts us both.
Kristine appears to crave it. She dissolves into my tender touches, surrendering to a desire wholly unanticipated.
“Do you want to get out of here?” I whisper against her mouth. She nods again.
I take her hand and head to the table. I leave the dinner money plus tip next to the empty plates and grab her jacket on my way out of the restaurant.
Kristine's fingers clench tightly against my hand. “I don't want to go home,” she confesses.
I look at her, noticing the worry on her face and the pain she hides from me. I understand her. Sometimes, ghosts haunt us without warning.
I guide her to the car. She lets herself be led without much inconvenience. I play classical music and drive to my apartment as she again loses herself in the city lights.
When we arrive, I get out of the car before she does and head for her door. Without warning, I take her in my arms and carry her from my car to my private elevator, holding her to my chest as we silently ride to my penthouse.
Kristine snuggles against my chest until I feel the warmth of her breath on my neck. “What are you doing?”
“I'm making sure you get there safely.”
Kristine laughs and it's as if it shakes the weight off her delicate shoulders. She buries her face in my neck and starts kissing me very slowly.
The elevator opens to my home, which occupies the entire top floor of my building.
I carry her inside, play soft music, and leave her in the middle of the living room. She removes her heels, and I take off my jacket before heading back to her.
I fold Kristine into my arms closer as we sway to the music, her body a perfect fit against mine. I can feel the rhythm of her heartbeat, a soft echo against my chest. She looks up at me, her eyes reflecting the dim light, a question lingering in their depths.
“Did you want kids, a family?” she asks.
I hesitate. Memories of Emily surge like a tide within me—how I once believed she was the one, how we had talkedabout a future filled with laughter and little feet pattering across hardwood floors. But that dream shattered, splintered into fragments of betrayal that left scars I never thought would heal.
“It wasn't a dream that suited me,” I admit, my voice barely above the music.
Emily's face flashes before my eyes—the curve of her smile, the warmth of her touch. But it's different now. The pain has dulled, replaced by something else when I look at Kristine—hope, maybe? Or something stronger.
I've spent years building walls around my heart, convincing myself that love is for fools. But as I hold her in my arms, those walls begin to crumble. It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
She is not Emily. She could never be. Kristine is a storm in her own right, one I never saw coming.
While we sway to the rhythm, a force lingers between us—a force that tightens its grip as we move in unison. The air crackles with restrained desire. It's as though we're stretching each other in ways never imaginable.
Kristine's fingers trace patterns on the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. The tenderness in her touch belies the strength in her grip—a paradox that sums up everything about her.
She's strong yet vulnerable, fierce yet gentle—a combination that draws me in deeper than I've ever allowed myself to go.
My hand slides down to the small of her back, pressing her closer still. Her breath catches, and I can feel it—the moment our barriers begin to bend under the weight of our increasing need.
“All along,” I find myself whispering without pretense, “I think I was waiting for you.”
Kristine freezes for a fraction of a second before melting into me completely. Her head rests against my shoulder, her breath warm on my skin.
There's no need for words. Our bodies are conversing in a language all their own.
The music envelops us in its melody as we dance—two people with pasts marked by pain and loss finding solace in each other's arms. It feels like coming home after years of wandering in darkness… alone.
With Kristine here with me now, everything seems possible again—the dreams I thought were dead begin to stir with new life. And as I look down at her face—so close to mine—I realize that all along, it wasn't just about waiting for someone like her. It was about being ready for someone like her.
I look at her, completely distracted and realizing that, in fact, my feelings for her go beyond what I can control or comprehend.
