Connected (56 page)

“
Can I take your picture?” I’m a little nervous asking because I really have no idea what she will say, other than calling me a pervert probably.

She slowly walks over to me and takes the glass of champagne I put the two strawberries in. She takes the berry I pushed onto the rim, dips it in the liquid, and bites it. “Maybe we can barter?”

Swallowing at the sight of her, all of my nervousness is gone instantly.

I take another berry from the bowl, dip it into her glass, and press it to her lips. “Oh yeah. What did you have in mind?”

“
I want a picture too.”

Furrowing my brow, I ask, “You want a naked picture of me in pearls and boots?”

Giggling, she says, “No, silly. I want a picture of you . . .” She sets her glass down and quickly unbuttons my shirt, tossing it aside. “Wearing only your jeans and . . .”

Moving my mouth to hers, I lick the champagne off her lips. “And?”

“
Your picture first,” she says, sucking on my bottom lip before moving back.

Shrugging my shoulders, I reach into my front pocket and pull out my phone. The ‘Touch Me’ pick is in there as well. I smile as I pull it out. “I’ll save this for later,” I say, raising the tab before placing it on the table.

She starts to make all sorts of absurd poses, and I pretend to be a fashion photographer telling her what to do. We do this for at least five minutes as her poses go from nice to naughty, and my horny meter rises off the charts from the site of her in just those boots and her beautiful pearls.

“
Okay play time is over. Time for the real picture.”

“
Okay, bossy pants,” she says with her hands on her hips. “Where do you want me?”

“
Right there,” I point to where she’s standing as I lean over and gently kiss her. “Thank you.”

She gives me a soft smile, and I hit the camera button three times to ensure one of the pictures is good. I scroll to the camera roll and look. “You really are so beautiful Dahlia,” I say, handing her my phone to look.

“
I don’t want to see myself naked you pervert,” she quips, and I start full out laughing. I grab our glasses and handing her one, I toast, “Happy Valentine’s Day, beautiful girl.”

“
Happy Valentine’s Day, River. I love you.”

We both take a sip and I grab another berry from the bowl and dip it in her glass but his time I don’t run it over lips, I trail it down her chest. Then with the tip of my tongue I follow the path I made with the champagne. Her nipples harden instantly as I circle one then the other before sliding my tongue back up her chest, her neck, and to her ear where I whisper, “I want you now.”

“
Ah ah ah,” she says, waving her finger at me.

Walking over to the bed where she threw her purse, she pulls out a tube of lipstick and smears it on her lips.

“
You don’t need that, you know. It’s not like we’re going anywhere,” I tell her, confused as to why she’d put that stuff on now.

“
I know. It’s for my picture.”

“
I already took your picture, Dahlia.”

“
No silly, the one I’m taking of you.”

“
Oh no, I’m not wearing lipstick,” I warn. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

Walking back over to me with that tube in her hand she says, “Oh you’re wearing it, just not on your lips.”

Standing in front of me, she starts firmly pressing her lips all over my shoulders, chest, and stomach. When she finishes, she pushes me over to the bed. “Lie down.”

“
Who’s the bossy one?” I laugh.

She ignores me and grabs for her phone. If I’m lucky, she would have forgot to charge it again.
Shit. I guess not.
She starts snapping pictures of me.

“
I’m not posing,” I say as I just lay on the bed with my hands behind my head.

“
Suit yourself.”

I love how easy going she is.

“
Done,” she says.

Now, finally we can do what I’ve wanted to do since I saw her in those boots, well actually, what I want to do every time I look at her. And since it’s Valentine’s Day, I’m going to take it slow and make love to this beautiful, fun, sexy, and simply amazing girl.

So with that in mind, I stand up, shove my jeans and boxers off, step out of them as quickly as I can, and tell her, “Good, because I’m not.”

DIAMONDS

I hold one in my hand

It’s waiting for you

I know the time is right

I can see light in your eyes

So please say yes.

River’s POV

June 2012 - 6 months later…

Grabbing a fist full of his preppy ass shirt, I jerk him toward me and get right in his face. “She’s mine. You don’t deserve her, you never did.”

He stares at me, unfazed, before angrily shaking me off. Then almost laughing, he says, “Is that how you see it? I see it a little differently. You filled a void I left behind, but that’s all you’ll ever be; a substitute for the real thing.”

Lunging at him, a punch him square in the jaw. He doesn’t move to hit me back, in fact he doesn’t physically engage me at all, but the pain he causes is deeper than any physical impact could have ever been.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes narrow on mine. “Believe what ever the fuck you want, pretty boy. She was mine first, and she’ll always be mine. Nothing you ever say or do can change that.” Then he turns and fades into the night.

Yelling, “She’s not your anything!” I feel a tug at my arm. I open my eyes and pop up on my elbows immediately. The room is pitch black. I can’t see anything. She shifts in the bed and a flicker of a switch has me instantly squinting. The light from the lamp shines on her golden hair as she sits next to me and strokes my cheek. “Are you okay?”

Breathing heavily, I try to shake it off. It was just a dream. It wasn’t real. I will never loose her. I swallow a few times before answering. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

When I lay back down, she rests her head against mine. Settling onto the pillow, she kisses just under my jaw. “Want to talk about it?”

“
No. I can’t even remember what it was about,” I lie because I remember it well. I’ve been having these dreams almost every night for the past week, ever since I bought her engagement ring.

“
You sure?”

Inhaling deeply, I push back the dread that makes its way up my throat. I don’t need to answer her. I’d rather show her I’m okay. I look over to her, she is on the left side of the bed, and I think about how much I love that we don’t care what side we fall asleep on as long as we’re together. Running my still slightly trembling hand down her back, I roll her on top of me.

A small smile quirks at the corners of her lips as she says, “Are you sure you even had a bad dream? Or did you just want to have sex in the middle of the night?” She leans her head down to my mouth and runs her nose over my stubbled jawline. I inhale her citrus scent; feeling thankful she is here with me.

I give her a small laugh and wish that were true as I brush strands of her hair out her face. “I didn’t think I had to fake a bad dream to have sex with you. But now that you mention it, I certainly like the idea. And I figure since we’re both up, why not?”

Connecting my lips with hers, I roll her to my side. Sucking on her neck, I roll my tongue along her skin as my hand glides up the inside of her thigh. Slipping my fingers inside her, a small moan escapes her lips as her body bows up, preparing for what I hope to be able to give her forever.

I had to approach the subject cautiously. I knew she had to go back there to see the place itself wasn’t a symbol of death. Yes, death had claimed her father too soon, but The Greek was the place where he enjoyed life to the fullest. It was where they both loved to be together, connected by their passion for music, concerts, and all that came with it.

I feel that before I can ask her to move forward with me in life, she has to accept her past. The fact that she refuses to go back there tells me she hasn’t. My father used to say that scars are the roadmaps to one’s soul, but her soul is beautiful and I don’t need a roadmap to find it; I am able to reach it every day that we’re together. What bothers me is what he said about scars that can’t be seen—the emotional ones. We all have them but hers are deep. Hers are from having endured a lifetime of sorrow; from being cut at such a young age. I want to be the one to help her heal those wounds. This is why I want to take her back there. It’s not only so she can see my band perform, although of course I want her to be there. It’s more for her and for the benefit of our relationship as it moves forward. But, I know I can’t help her with the scars
his
death left on her. I can’t even talk about
him
with her. I know it’s wrong and I try, I really do. I just can’t. I hate him and can’t get past that. I can only hope that loving her enough and being there for her has already started the healing process for those open wounds.