fiction friday 33: secret admirer. part 11.

Posted on 15 July 2016 by what sandra thinks

fiction friday.

This is part 11 of secret admirer. ♥
[Previously posted: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10]

part 11.

With a deep breath, I opened my eyes. I couldn’t have dreamt a more wonderful way to wake. In the arms of a beautiful man. Against his warm chest. Hearing his heart beating… feeling his heart beating. I sighed as I slowly moved my hand over his chest.

My God, he is perfect. But I should get up. I should stop touching him. Shouldn’t I? But I can’t. I can’t move. His arms are around me. If I move, I’ll wake him. I don’t want to do that. I know I’m rationalizing. I don’t care. I’ll just close my eyes. I have no idea what my hand is doing while I’m asleep. That’s believable, right?

When I felt his arms tighten around me, I smiled. But I still didn’t want to lift my head. He probably felt my smile against him. He knows I’m awake. He must know. Slowly, reluctantly, I began lifting my head from his shoulder. But he stopped me.

“Greg…” God, he doesn’t want me to move either.

“Shh…” He pulled me closer still.

“But Greg… I should…” I moved again, and he squeezed me again.

“Amy… shh.” He laughed softly. “What you should do is be quiet. God, I think it’s adorable that I cannot get you to stop talking. But please shut up.” I laughed with him. And I said nothing.

For long, beautifully peaceful moments, I listened to his breaths… his heart. I almost fell back to sleep… until I felt his lips on my head. That woke me up. And made me gasp. God, I want more of that. More kisses. Maybe a little lower.

“Greg? May I speak now?” I whispered my question.

And he laughed. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to tell me you have to leave… and I’m not ready to let you go.” He sighed and softly mumbled his next words. “I may never be ready.”

sleep

Oh God, what can I possibly say to him? I may cry. I’m not ready either. God, he feels good… he smells good… and I adore him. The way he talks to me… listens to me. He always wants to help… to take care of me. I forgot what that feels like. I don’t think I ever felt that with Dan. He never cared about me like this. Oh, he was charming. And I was young and stupid and I don’t want to think about him anymore.

“Amy?”

“Mm hmm?” I wasn’t sure I was allowed to talk.

“Why are you crying?”

I touched my own cheek and felt tears. But I admitted nothing. “I’m not crying.”

“You are a terrible liar.”

I sighed and smiled. “I know.”

“Honey, look at me.”

I took a deep breath and slowly lifted my head. When I turned my eyes to his, I wanted to kiss him more than I ever had before. Until he wiped tears from my cheek. Then I wanted that kiss even more. More than anything on earth.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone cry so beautifully.”

“Greg…” He made me blush. Again.

“No. I am sure. There is no one.”

I laid a hand on his face, my thumb slowly running over his perfectly unshaven cheek. “You need to stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Being perfect.”

“Amy, I am far from perfect.”

“I’m not so sure about that. I think you’re pretty damn close. And I’m having a very hard time not kissing you.”

“Ditto.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“Kiss?”

I smiled as did he, and I softly mumbled his name. I pushed myself up against him until I reached his cheek with a sweet kiss. But it wasn’t just sweet. Not for him or for me.

“You missed.”

I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he was smiling again. I nestled my head into the curve of his neck. “You’re adorable.”

“You’re sexy as hell in my shirt.”

“You’re sexy as hell without a shirt… which is why I really should go.”

He squeezed me in his arms again. And he kissed my head again. And with a dramatic sigh, he spoke. “Fine…”

dots.

As I approached my own house, I slowed my car to a crawl. If Dan was home, I wasn’t stopping. When I saw the drive deserted, I pulled in and parked. I hurried inside and ran up the stairs to the bedroom. All I wanted was a suitcase filled with enough for me to avoid that house… at least for a while. I dreaded the conversation I knew I would have once I showed up at Mom’s. But I couldn’t stay in that house.

I barely began filling my bag when I heard the doorbell. It startled me in my anxious state. It can’t be Dan. He wouldn’t ring the bell. I couldn’t imagine who was on the other side of that door. And I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know. My hands were shaking as I let the bag go and walked to the door. I took a deep breath and pulled the door open.

“Amy Elliott?”

I stared at the two rather large police officers and said nothing.

To be continued…

This post is part 11.
Previously posted: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10.

About what sandra thinks

Sandra is a writer, sometimes blogger, poet, artist, emotional disaster. She thinks far too much and sleeps far too little. Sandra lives in the Northeastern U.S. but dreams of an oceanfront home in Italy, but she would settle for a non-oceanfront home in Italy. She loves books, brutal honesty, coffee, and the color black. She hates insincerity, beer, whipped cream, and facebook. And she is uncomfortable talking about herself in the third person.

View all posts by what sandra thinks →