Dancing with Time

Rekindling Love

"It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy;—it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others." ― Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility

Three weeks later. 

"Babe!" Abigail's voice echoed with a touch of anxiety as she twirled a curling iron through her sun-kissed blonde hair. A sigh escaped her lips, a soft whisper against the quiet hum of the curling iron. This day had not been her friend—not at all. "Neal, honey! Have you seen the sapphire necklace?" she called out to her boyfriend of nine months.

Neal, the handsome devil she'd met at another wedding – Juliet and Keith's, to be exact – emerged in the doorway, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He was a vision in his open blue dress shirt and trousers, his sculpted chest bare, his blue eyes twinkling with a heat that mirrored her own.

Abigail, clad in a lacy bra and thong, couldn't help but return his gaze with a seductive wink. "My dear," he drawled, his voice a caress, "you are a temptress." He closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her waist and nuzzling her neck. "If you wanted to indulge in a bit of pleasure, all you had to do was ask." His voice dropped to a husky whisper, and she could feel the heat of his arousal against her.

"Neal!" she scolded playfully, though her pulse quickened at his touch. Her blue-gray eyes, usually bright with mischief, held a hint of worry in the vanity mirror's reflection. "I'm a bridesmaid! I can't be to Stephanie's wedding."

"I'm well aware, my sweet," he murmured, his lips trailing fiery kisses along her jawline. "But there are far more interesting ways we could spend this weekend."

"After the party," Abigail moaned, trying in vain to resist the delicious shivers he sent through her. Neal was insatiable, a man whose passion knew no bounds. She could feel her resolve melting as his hand ventured lower, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin beneath her thong.

His hand drifted lower, teasing the hem of her thong. "I'll be quick," he promised, his voice a husky whisper against her ear.

A breathless laugh escaped her lips. As if Neal Heartman ever did anything quickly. But the truth was, she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. With a sigh of surrender, she turned in his arms, their kiss deepening as he lifted her off her feet. Neal smirked, knowing he'd won this round. He carried her towards the bed, their laughter mingling with the unspoken promise of passion to come.

Stephanie stood before the full-length mirror, her ocean blue eyes sparkling with an ethereal light as she admired her reflection. Her long, honey-colored hair, swept into a graceful updo, cascaded in loose tendrils around her face. A radiant smile played on her lips, reflecting the love and excitement that filled her heart.

The A-line wedding dress she wore was a masterpiece. Its ivory silk flowed like liquid moonlight, clinging to her curves before flaring out into a graceful skirt. Intricate floral patterns were embroidered across the bodice and hem, each delicate stitch a testament to the artisan's skill. But it was the sapphire-like gems that truly stole the show. Nestled within the embroidery, they shimmered and danced with every movement, catching the light like dewdrops on a spider's web. They were a symbol of something old, something blue, and something borrowed from her beloved grandmother.

Her veil, a delicate cloud of tulle, lay on a nearby chaise, waiting to be draped over her head. But for now, Stephanie stood transfixed, taking in every detail of her bridal ensemble. She was a vision of timeless elegance, a bride brimming with joy and anticipation, ready to embark on the most magical journey of her life.