Unexpected Eva (Triple Trouble #3)(50)
A bungee cord of silence bounces between us.
She audibly gulps. “You can be quite intense, Knox,” she says in a hushed voice. “Yes, to all of that.” She clears her throat. “You and me. It’s quite sudden. I have to admit, it scares me, but when I’m with you, I feel safe. Like we fit.” She pauses before looking me in the eye. “If you're my earth, my moon, and my stars, let me be your Sunshine.”
Blood rushes to my cock. Fuck yeah.
She’s mine.
“You excite me, Knox. I can’t wait to see what happens between us.”
“I really want to kiss you right now.” I clasp her face in my hands.
Making me jump, Eva projects her voice, saying, “Studio lights off.”
As quick as a bullet through the air, we’re immersed in a black cloak.
“Clever.”
“Stop talking and kiss me, Knox. Make me yours.”
For the next few minutes, in the middle of the heavy dark room, we kiss long and leisurely, slow, then hard, soft, then fast.
I can’t remember a time when I felt this accepted.
She’s got me. I’m hooked.
CHAPTER 12
Eva
Lights back on now, following our passionate make-out session which I find oddly addictive, I begin explaining to Knox the basic moves.
But he stops me mid-sentence with his confession.
With a mixture of admiration and confusion, my peep toe dance stiletto taps a synchronized beat of my heart against the sprung-vinyl dance floor.
To clarify, I ask Knox, “Let me get this straight. You can already dance?”
Innocently, Knox replies with a simple, “Yes.”
“Your mother sent you for dance lessons when you were a boy and you can dance the salsa, mambo, and rumba?”
“Yes.”
“You went to Greece last year to a dance retreat though, to learn how to dance the kizomba?” I love a man who can dance.
“Yes.”
“So, you don’t need dance lessons from me?”
“Oh, fuck yeah, I do. You’re going to refine my technique.”
I rub my head in confusion. “You went to lessons last year? After you saw me dancing? And you wanted to make sure if we ever danced together, you could impress me?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. I don’t know if I should admire you for going to lessons when you were on vacation in Greece last year, or be mad you didn’t come to learn from me in the first place, or be blown away by your eagerness to please me.”
I actually don’t.
Or be worried he’s a stalker.
He must like me. More than I realized.
His gesture, learning the kizomba, almost seems romantic. It doesn’t creep me out or worry me.
He’s been pining for me from afar.
Waiting for his chance.
I’ve yet to see him move, but my excitement picks up pace at the possibility of finally dancing with someone whom I feel connected to.
Kizomba is more than dance.
It’s about vulnerability. Trust.
Incredibly sensual.
Knowing he learned the kizomba makes me want to dance with Knox even more.
Ewan never danced with me. Not once. I’ve had many epiphanies since we split. His lack of interest in my career was always evident. But I was too close to see it. From over here on the bright side now, I’ve thrown those curtains open wide. They’ve highlighted everything it was. Vapid, one-sided, laborious.
However, this is new and exciting. Full-on 4D tactile, visual color. Knox is interested in me and my boys. He asked a hell of a lot of questions on the weekend about us all. He cares.
Knox waits for me to say something. He’s like decadent chocolate, wrapped in a simple white polo tee shirt, dark jeans, and pristine white leather designer sneakers. Effortless. I want to eat him.
“I’ll lead then, shall I?” He smirks, stepping forward.
“Sorry, yeah. You’re a little distracting. You keep surprising me.”
“Says the girl in jeans she must have jumped off the wardrobe to get into, and a tiny black crop top I can see the outline of her nipples through.”
Fair point. I smooth my fingers over my tight, slick bun on top of my head, making sure it’s firmly in place.
“Keeping you on your toes, Knox.” For the first time in my career, I’m nervous about dancing with a partner. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
Knox hugs us close together, joining our hands in a relaxed ballroom position, elbows bent, below shoulder height.
His strong body locks against mine as he threads his bent knee between my thighs, firmly positioning our hips level. The broadness of his thigh brushes against my pussy.
He wasn’t lying. He knows his positioning.
Finding my focus, I say, “There are many takes on this Angolan dance, Knox. There are no hard and fast rules. It’s open to interpretation. Depending on who taught you, will depend on your style. I will follow your lead. I can adjust your posture and footwork as we go. How does that sound?”
“Fantastic.” His shovel-size hand rests lightly on my back, tickling the space between the waist of my jeans and crop top.
“Head up. Relax your shoulders. Remember to keep your feet close together, and soft knees. Eyes on me to begin. I prefer temple to temple or forehead to forehead depending on the backward and forward movement of our feet. It’s entirely up to you.”