He swept me from my feet so swiftly, my stomach swooped, and he carried me to the bed, our bed, working my clothes from my body between slow, hot kisses.
I closed my eyes, needing some defense against his beautiful face and the sensations that threatened to overwhelm me. He was an ocean wave, the high tide, and I was drowning in happiness and physical pleasure.
I raised my knees, a thrill of anticipation lighting my body as he paused to kiss my thigh, breathing deeply as he nuzzled my mound. His warm, wet lips met mine, and he circled my clit with his tongue, tasting and touching, exploring intimately. Then a moment later, he pressed his hipbones against my inner thighs, and the heat of his beautiful, powerful flesh was inside me.
We both paused, our breath coming in short pants as we stared at each other, acknowledging together that this was real, that we were real.
And then he started to move, showing me exactly how much stamina a professional dancer had, so far above that of us ordinary folk. Twice. He really was an overachiever. And I enjoyed every second.
We fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, happily post-coital, Ash’s arm curled around my left boob. It seemed to be his new favorite place, and I saw no reason to complain.
It was so wonderful to sleep in. And we finally woke at the crack of noon.
Telling the rest of my friends about our sudden marriage was awkward. I FaceTimed Vanessa, cringing as she reamed me out for not inviting her. She swore that she’d seen a connection between me and Ash—more than the threat of imminent death, apparently. I didn’t argue. I had to promise that I’d visit as soon as possible, with Ash.
Jo took it better, claiming that I sounded happier with Ash than she’d ever heard me, and couldn’t wait to see us both.
Then I told my closest work colleagues, but I guess the message got a little confused, because my boss sent me a card congratulating me and Collin. I’d sort that one out when I saw him in person at our monthly meeting.
Mom handled telling my extended family and they were all desperate to see Ash.
So was I.
For the last week, he’d hardly been in the apartment. He’d trail in the door after hours of rehearsals, shattered, with barely enough energy to eat before collapsing into bed and passing out.
But then the one time we actually had a whole evening free together, we ended up fighting.
The argument was over the stupidest thing. Well, I thought it was stupid, but Ash didn’t.
We were watching re-runs of ‘Dancing with the Stars’. When I’d first persuaded him to watch it, he’d been quite snooty, saying it was about amateurs and he wasn’t interested. But it only took a couple of dances before he was hooked—and annoying—talking through the whole show, explaining what the pro-dancers were teaching. Well, until I offered to tape his mouth shut.
His eyes were hazy with tiredness, and we were watching the program cuddled up on the couch, a blanket thrown over us. He was tired and a bit moody. On the TV, they were showing some video tape where the actress was saying how much she missed her dad who’d died nine years ago, and this dance was for him. And then she got all weepy. I rolled my eyes.
“What?” Ash asked sharply.
“It’s so manipulative! ‘I’m sad because my daddy died. Vote for me!’ It just bugs me, that’s all.”
Ash’s jaw clamped shut and I could see a muscle ticking by his eye.
“It’s not manipulation. When you dance, you have to feel the emotion. It’s like a . . . a muscle memory, pulling the emotion into the dance.”
“Oh, please! It’s a cheap ploy to get votes. It’s tacky and unpleasant.”
He stood up suddenly, surprising me.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Then he stamped out of the living room and I heard the bedroom door slam behind him.
I blinked. What the hell had just happened? We were fighting over a TV show?
It was hard to dodge his emotional landmines when I didn’t know where they were. It was tiring. I was tired.
He reappeared twenty minutes later, damp from the shower and apologetic.
His way of apologizing was to take me to bed for some more athletic sex. The man was a machine, and if he hadn’t been so exhausted from long days of rehearsing, I’m not sure we’d have gotten to sleep at all. Although Ash rarely slept well. Most of his nights were disturbed. Demons still chased him through the darkness of his dreams.
When the day of the first performance finally arrived, Ash was brimming with nervous energy, despite swearing that the show was going to be a disaster.
I tried to calm him, but he was too on edge.
“You’ll be amazing out there,” I whispered with the low voice only lovers use.
He leaned his forehead against mine.
“I’m amazing when I’m with you. Without you . . .”