"Absolutely," I say.
"Are you saying this because you're afraid I might not let you eat your waffle if you don't?" His tone is playful, but his frown doesn't dissipate entirely.
"Maybe." I play with the top button of his shirt. "Or maybe it's the truth."
It is the truth. At least I think it is. It's hard to think about my time with Michael. Not because it hurts, but because it seems so distant, so elusive. It's as if there's a veil between those days and my present. I know what that veil is made of: the intensity of every minute, every hour I spend with James. Everything before it vanishes in a mist of meaninglessness.
"It'd better be," he caresses my lips with his thumb. "Because I'm all in in this."
It's me who's all weird now when his lips touch mine, and I pray that he can't tell there's something wrong. That he can't feel the fear on my lips, instilled by the wonder of his words.
Words I want so badly to believe. Maybe it's the sound of the rivers around us, the cinnamon and honey in the air, or the fact that I seem to be lost in a fairy tale of my own tonight, but I find it a little easier to believe him now than back at the club.
"You aren't going to eat that waffle any time soon, are you?" he says when we break off.
"Why? Are we in a hurry?" I turn to my waffle. "What's next? A trip to the moon?"
"I was thinking of something less ambitious," he murmurs in my ear, perusing his hand over my thigh, pulling up my dress, "like making love."
"Mmm… I thought that might come up," I tease, leaning my head on his shoulder. "Am I allowed to take more waffles with me for later?"
"If that's the price," he says.
“I’ll be faster if you help me. Come on, grab a waffle.”
We both head to the river carrying one. I also take my plate with me. “No chance for you to taste the chocolate?” I ask as I dip my waffle in the chocolate.
“Nope,” he says, and though his head is lowered, I can see the corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. I set my waffle aside on the plate on top of the old one.
“Not even if I put it here?” I say, lowering my dress so one nipple shows. I smear chocolate around it with my fingers. He raises his head slowly, biting his lower lip. His eyes are already that shade that tells me he wants me. I dip my fingers in chocolate again and do the same with the other nipple, looking him in the eyes the whole time. A rivulet of sweat oozes on his temple. I lower my eyes to his erection, and the craving inside me awakens instantly, with an almost unbearable urgency. I’m the one biting my lip now, though he hasn’t moved one inch closer to me. I start lowering my dress more and more. And now he does step closer. I let out a moan when his tongue comes in contact with my nipple. He circles it again and again, until all the chocolate is gone and I’m more aroused than ever.
“So you do eat chocolate,” I tease, though my voice is nothing more than a whisper.
“Depends how it’s served,” he utters against my skin.
He moves over to the other nipple and I cry, pulling at his hair, “I want you James.”
His fingers trail up on my inner thigh.
“Touch me, please,” I beg.
“You’re so wet,” he says, touching my sex through my panties. I press against his fingers, in a silent imploration for him to remove the damn panties.
He doesn’t. He removes his fingers completely instead, rising to meet my lips. Not in a kiss, in a brush. He is trembling, his erection against me. I lower my hand and he swallows hard when I touch him.
“No, Serena,” he breathes against my lips. “I don’t want to have you here, like this.” He covers my hand with his, but doesn’t remove it. “I want tonight to be different. Special.”
I look up at him in surprise, then smile. He removes my hand, a sign that whatever plan he has for us is one touch away from crumbling. I take a step back, pulling up my dress.
“Let’s go, then,” I say.
He takes my hand. I grab the plate with waffles with my other hand as he drags me after him.
"Where are we going?" I ask, struggling to keep my plate from bouncing too violently. The last thing I want is my waffles to land on the floor.
"Somewhere where we'll be comfortable."
"The floor between the rivers looked comfortable enough,” I say, feeling my face getting all hot.