The end of the show brought us to our feet, along with the rest of the crowd, and we stood and applauded and cheered as the dancers, actors and actresses, and orchestra took their bows. We were both still bouncing and talking a hundred miles an hour as we spilled out into the streets of Chicago with the rest of the audience.
“And her voice,” Belle said, mouth wide open. “I mean, I couldn’t hold my shit together that second half. I was crying every other song.”
“Their chemistry was so believable.”
“And the dancers.”
“Incredible. The design, the colors, the songs. Although, as much as I loved the mashups with all the familiar songs, I think an original score could have really set this show on another level.”
“Yeah,” Belle agreed with a click of her tongue. “I agree. I think it was lacking a bit there. But, otherwise?” She did a chef’s kiss, smiling up at me. “Perfection.”
I smirked, taking in the sight of her, the pavement wet from the evening rainstorm, lights playing off of it and sparkling in her eyes, too. Her hair was still matted to her head, and the hoodie fell down past her knees, a hilarious contradiction to the bottom grandeur of her gown and high heels.
Belle followed my gaze, covering her face with the sleeves of the hoodie — her hands completely hidden inside now — and shaking her head. “Ugh. I look like such a mess right now.”
I shook my head, too, pulling her into me and tilting her chin up so I could see her eyes. “You look perfect.”
Her eyes flicked back and forth between mine, and when they fell to my lips, I knew what she wanted without her asking. And I was eager to answer.
I tilted her chin a bit more, pressing my forehead to hers before I bent to capture her lips. They were warm and tasted like wine, and I leaned into them, soaking up every last drop.
Belle’s hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer, and by the time we broke the kiss, we were both breathless, panting, tugging at each other’s hoodies like they were the only things tying us to the Earth.
“You know, that big, fancy California King bed you ordered for my bedroom got delivered yesterday.”
Belle snaked her tongue out over her bottom lip. “Did it now?”
I nodded. “Mm-hmm. Sure did. Complete with that plush, memory foam mattress, and the buttery-smooth, one-thousand-thread-count sheets.”
She hummed. “That so?”
“Comforter, pillows, the whole shebang.”
“Well, I did put in a rush order on all that,” she confessed, pulling me closer, her lips dancing over mine. “Couldn’t have you sleeping on an air mattress any longer than absolutely necessary.”
“So thoughtful,” I mused, thumbing her bottom lip.
She bit it as soon as it was free from the touch, and I inhaled a breath that stabbed my chest like a thousand tiny needles.
“So…” I said, caressing her cheek with my knuckles. “Wanna come see all your hard work?”
A devilish smile spread on those perfect lips of hers, and then with a brief, hot kiss and a wave of her hand in the air, we were in a cab on our way across town.
Belle
We crashed through Makoa’s condo door like we were bursting into a burning building to save a dozen kittens.
My back hit the wall with a loud thud, stealing my breath just before Makoa’s lips were there taking whatever was left of it. He shut the door behind him with his foot, dropping his still-damp suit jacket on the floor, along with his top hat.
His hands were in my hair next, gripping and tilting, his mouth claiming me with every kiss.
I was perfectly warm, thanks to the massive Moulin Rouge! hoodie Makoa bought for me, but still, I trembled in his arms. Every new kiss elicited a new wave of chills, racing from every point of contact until they covered me head to toe. Makoa was a completely different man with his hands on me. It was like touching me brought out every carnal urge that lived inside him.
It’d only been a little over a week since I met this man, and somehow, it felt like I’d waited a lifetime for this moment.
As if he read my mind, Makoa’s hands snaked under my hoodie, and he groaned when his hands palmed my breasts. “God, do you know how badly I’ve wanted to touch you all night?” He nipped at my bottom lip, trailing a line of kisses down my jaw line, my neck, until his next words were whispers right in the shell of my ear. “These tits, those legs, your perfect fucking mouth — they’re all I’ve thought about for days.”
I moaned when he hiked one of my legs up over his hip, my dress coming with it, pressing his erection into the heat of me. I remembered all too well how firm and thick it felt in my hands, and all I wanted was to free it from the fabric that I’d damned for separating us.
Makoa kissed me again, hard, and I shoved my hands into his chest until he bounded backward. Then, I lifted my hands with a smile. “Take this off.”
Without hesitation, Makoa grabbed the hem of the hoodie and slipped it up over my head. He did the same with the one he wore, and I had about two seconds of appreciation for his Italian suit before I launched myself at him again.
We were a cluster of hands deftly making work of fabric, our lips fused together in a heated, almost hateful kiss. I unbuttoned his vest, he unzipped my dress. I tore open his dress shirt and he pulled every bobby pin from my hair, casting it down in a damp, curly, mess of waves over my shoulders.
“I can’t figure this thing out,” I cursed, yanking at his belt.
“That makes two of us,” he said, panting as he tried to figure out the straps covering the back of my gown.
We exchanged
