Wicked Dance [Editing]

Seventeen

Contessina

The air is thick with the smell of freshly brewed coffee and bacon, it's filled with a sweetness that I can almost taste on my tongue as I wait for my waffles.

Sitting in a booth all the way to the back of a small, old yet wonderful dinner, I just sat there, waiting for no one or doing anything. I just sat, needing a break, to think clearly, away from everything and everyone, needing to understand myself and him.

I needed to understand him.

It was like everytime we fell to understand each other, something happened, he stepped away or I did. It was like we were both trying to not fall, to keep at bay from all that was twisting us together.

After the kiss- almost a week ago- I couldn't look him in the eye without thinking of that kiss over and over. I couldn't see him in the eye without thinking of how his lips had tasted, how his hands had felt roaming across my body, how his breath had felt against my skin. I couldn't even talk to him without wanting to ask for another kiss and more.

I wanted more, I was aching for more, for him. My body ached each time I was around him, my heart thumped for more, my head... It was a wagging war that kept telling me to give it all. It was like he did something to me, switching a flip inside of me, making me question my morals, making me want to take that step with him. But I couldn't, not when we weren't married, not when he didn't talk to me, not when he didn't trust me.

I knew trust took time to build and we had only been together for a few short months, three to be exact but we were trying, we were supposed to be trying and telling each other what the tattoos marking one's skin meant was part of it.

But he didn't. He snapped at me. He...

Walking into that tent, I was breathless and struck. I never doubted that he had muscle, I had felt it. I had felt the hardness but seeing the real thing, seeing every inch from his shoulders to his waist?

I was blushing at the mere thought.

I hadn't ever seen him workout but that glimpse I had of his body, it told me he did, it showed me each dip and hard muscle. It showed me what I could only assume was years of refined work, sculptured, carved, it was art, especially with that dark ink that marked his skin.

I wanted to know what it was, what it meant, I wanted to trace it and explore every inch he'd let me see and touch.

I'm so lost in those thoughts that I don't hear the bell, I don't hear the footsteps or see the silhouette until they're close, standing across from me. "Where are your bodyguards?"

Looking up, away from the bottles that line the middle of the booth, I have to blink, once, twice, a smile crawling up my lips as I see him. "Jackson," I breath out, moving to stand, to hug him but Jackson takes a step back, holding up his hands.

"Is it appropriate to hug a married woman?" He asks, his voice a deep rumble, holding a hint of playfulness.

I scoffed. "Engaged to be married," I corrected him. We were less than two months away from that day, from me being a married woman. "And even if, we're friends. Friends hug."

We were friends, he was my only friend, well him and his sister, outside of my world, outside of The Outfit, Jackson and Wendy were my friends.

Jackson looks at me, "Yes but-"

I take that step to him and cut him off, hugging him like I would hug my brother, if I had one, Jackson hugging me back as if any second, someone might walk in the dinner and kill him for touching me. Thinking of it, if Matteo found out, he would. But he wouldn't know, he thought he did, but he didn't.