By Jules

Special Thanks to Kel, my creative consultant. ;)

I don't like the way he's looking at me. He makes me feel…unsafe.

The limo stops. He's grinning. I'm laughing. No—that was a most distinctive giggle. I'm giggling. I don't giggle.

Do I?

He opens the door and spins out of the limo. He's good. He was born to spin out of limos.

And then he holds out his hand. Really. Who does that anymore? That's so Fred Astaire ala Ginger Rogers. I meet his eyes, and they twinkle just for a moment.

I wonder where the band is hiding.

He laughs uneasily. I think he's second guessing himself.

So I put my hand in his.

I swear, I hear Dancing Cheek to Cheek playing in the distance.

Maybe I'm going insane. He squeezes my hand. I think he knows.

We drop hands.

The dark window rolls down and the driver looks at Nick expectantly.

What to do. What to do. My toes tap with my head.

He tells him to wait. He's walking the "lady" to the door. I hide my grin. I am Ginger tonight.

I look at the rising numbers as we ascend closer and closer to her floor. She looks amazing in that dress. Peripheral vision is a dangerous thing.

It's okay to look. I'm still safe.

But it feels like the end of a date.

For a second, I wonder where we would have gone. If I would have told Simon to go home instead of wait.

Because our first date would have been that good.

She's looking at me. Those blue eyes narrowed. She knows something.

Are you coming, she asks. The elevator has stopped, and I am standing inside it like an idiot.

This would be where I take her hand. Walk her to the door. Tell her what an exceptional night it's been.

This would be our first kiss.

But instead, I nod and follow her to the door, my hands safely in my pockets.

We've been standing at this door a thousand years. I always know what to say, and right now, I can't say anything I know.

He's Nicholas Newman. And I'm me. You can't mix that.

We equate to nothing.

So I guess this is goodnight, he says. I think the band left. It's too quite.

I guess so, I say back. So much guessing. Is that a bass I hear? No, it must be my heart or something in that cavern I ignore too much.

I don't want him to leave.

I don't want to leave.

If she turns away, I can go. But her eyes are wide, like a little girl's, fixating. Wanting.

I know what she wants. I want it too.

I stop thinking. Wishing. Wanting.

I just take.

And for a moment, our lips come together as if they are reconnecting. And I wonder, where has she been?

It is thrilling, terrifying. I pull away, unable to reconcile what just happened.

I feel like he's tied my hands behind my back.

I can't reach for him again. But how can I not? I know Fred never kissed Ginger like that.

So I wait for him to step forward. I wait for him to untie those bothersome knots, to release my hands.

And he kisses me again. All I can do is hold on and let him lead.

This is his dance, and I have to follow.

And she is mine in a single moment.

It isn't supposed to be this easy, this natural. But she walks backwards in step with me as if she knows where I am going, as if she knew where we have been going all along.

I hear her sigh as I take more, removing barriers of clothing we do not need. I need her closer. I need her.

I know I am in danger, but I can't stop. I want to take him inside, every desperate moan and kiss. Every day of suppression. I want it all inside of me.

I tear his belt off, letting him know he doesn't have to hold back with me. I want him. I need honesty, no matter how brutal.

His kisses become deeper as he covers me, and I know he understands.

I open my eyes for a moment, and hers follow. But we do not slow down. We can't. I tangle my hands at the bottom of her shirt, and she lifts her arms for me, letting me see the rest of her.

I do not take her for granted.

But I think she does as she mirrors my efforts, removing my pants and boxers. Not taking a moment for granted.

I want her to feel what I feel.

I've never kept my eyes open before. But something about him compels me to watch, to see something I haven't let myself.

I feel like I've been caught.

We don't need foreplay.

I open myself to him, and he's ready to take. When did I become so unselfish?

But as he leans his forehead against mine, as his eyes look right into mine, as our bodies begin to dance, I know it's nothing like I thought. Not a damn thing like I thought.

She can't look at me now, but her body is still shivering against mine. I try to hold her, but she pushes against my chest and spins off the couch. She looks good doing it too.

I turn on my stomach and follow her shadowed form all the way to the kitchen. I can see the refrigerator light glowing.

Water would be good.

I roll off the couch and stop immediately. She's standing there watching me.

I don't have any appropriate words with this beautiful, married man standing stark naked in the center of my living room.

So I hold out my half-drunk glass of water.

He walks the length of the room towards me. Our fingers brush against the cup, and his eyes flash towards mine.

He doesn't want the water anymore.

The cup drops to the floor, forgotten.

We're stumbling now. We didn't mean to stumble on to this in the first place, and now, we're in the dark, trying to find our way towards the stairs.

I lift her against me as we hit the first step. She's panting, whispering something I can't understand.

We aren't going to make it to her bedroom.

Perhaps it's punishment for feeling so good. Something this wrong shouldn't be this right.

I take her hard against the table. It's not what either of us want, but we can't stop it. I have to have her now.

I can't let go of him this time. My limbs have given out. They're only alive if they're a part of his.

Maybe we can stop now. Maybe it's over.

But my wrists are joined around his neck. It's not over. I need him.

Slowly, he lifts me in his arms, holding what he broke, what I let him break.

I don't tell him where my bedroom is, but somehow he knows.

I push the door open with my hand, and she slowly slides out of my arms. Her room is more like the person by my side than the person I've known all these years.

My hand finds hers. If I go inside, things will change. Intimacy crashes down on us as our fingers caress each other.

Maybe I should go, I say, trying to salvage some bit of our morale.

Maybe, she whispers. Not the answer I wanted.

My room has never felt so empty. I can't move from the place he left me.

But I didn't have a choice.

I couldn't ask him to stay. To destroy his wife more.

At least I don't have a husband to destroy.

But I look up.

And there he is, in my doorway. And I can't think of one thing in my life that isn't about to be destroyed.

I told Simon to go, he says. And he comes inside.

She makes room for me on her bed. We don't touch at first; we simply look at each other.

Her eyes shutter, then close.

Slowly, I trace the outline of her body, memorizing it in case this is our first, last time.

Her face flushes as I affect her, and I wonder if she's ever been touched like this.

I've never touched a woman like this. Like her.

I don't know what I'm doing, but with her, somehow, I do.

I'm afraid to open my eyes. He can't know what he's doing to me. He can't understand what he's making me feel.

Two soft lips cover mine, and I cannot stop myself from crying out into his mouth.

He pulls me closer, and whispers something in my ear I will never repeat.

I don't believe in them.

But I wonder if he's right as we begin to make love.

Side by side, we don't move.

Her hand rests beside her face, and I want to reach out for it, but I can't.

I shouldn't have said what I said.

I can't disqualify it though. There's too much truth in this room. So I say nothing, and watch her for one, two, three hours until she finally falls asleep.

I fall asleep with his eyes.

They say the same things mine do. He doesn't know what tomorrow will bring.

And I can't help but wonder—will he be here in the morning?

I want to kiss her goodbye.

But she wouldn't remember it. I want her to remember everything.

I can feel the light on my back. The guilt that morning brings.

So I ease out of her bed. Like what we did didn't feel right. Like what we did was wrong.

I walk down her stairs and see the spilt water and cup.

I pick it up, as if I had never been thirsty.

I pick up my clothes and dress slowly, remembering how easily they came off the night before. I look down at the couch. There. My remnants were gone.

My eyes glance over to the discarded wine glasses. I won't clean those up. I want her to remember.

I know I am wrong as I leave her apartment.

I am wrong as I accidentally press her floor again instead of the lobby.

I take the stairs instead and hail a taxi on her street corner.

I look up to her floor, finding her bedroom window. I shut the door, trying to remember the address of the ranch. But all I can remember is her eyes before she fell asleep. How safe I felt in those eyes.

And I know I am wrong because I should have kissed her goodbye.