finding Reese.: a SAFELIGHT novel vol.2 (SAFELIGHT Series) Read online

  As our mouths breathe each other’s air, Catalina whispers against my parted lips, “Is this proper dance technique? I definitely prefer this method.”

  The way she says those words captivates me. With a soft chuckle, I reply. “No. It’s not proper technique, baby, but I’ve never been one to follow the rules.”

  Catalina grins, and replies, “Good to know.”

  We slow-dance until the song ends, and by then I’m more than ready to unwrap my Valentine’s Day present. Bringing Catalina to the living room, I light the fireplace. Its pops, cracks and fizzes inundate the room, and Catalina stands in the middle of the room playing with her hair as if she’s nervous.

  I excuse myself to run upstairs and grab our pillows and blankets. With them in tow, I fly down the stairs to find Catalina waiting for me, now wearing nothing but the black lace corset, apple-red garter belt, and black silk stockings I bought her, as well as her red stilettos. I halt in my steps, taking a moment to process the vision before me and commit it to memory.

  Her raven curls hang over the swell of her breasts, the vintage corset making them look rounder, and at the base of her neck is the star pendant I gave her earlier. Her body curves like a violin, and I’m eager to pluck her alluring strings. Silk stockings cover her shapely thighs, and when she moves, the garters stretch tantalizingly slow. All I can think is, fuck me. From across the room, Catalina seems confident, but upon closer inspection I notice she’s quivering under my gaze. That tinge of innocence mixed with confidence has me close to ending this party before it even starts.

  When I picked out the lingerie, I knew it was going to be perfect for her, but not once did I imagine she would look as gorgeous and as sexy as she does right now. I know a lot of guys say they prefer their ladies naked and sure, I do too but damn! Catalina looks smoking hot dressed up like this. I swallow hard, my mouth parched all of a sudden, and resume my strides like a man on a mission. Before her I extend my index finger and trace it over her heaving bosom. As I make contact with her skin, she lets out a raspy sigh, and I follow. Either my vocal chords have stopped working, or touching her fried my brain.

  I’m incapable of coherent speech as I watch Catalina’s eyes following the movement of my finger. I draw an imaginary line down the center of her corset, hooking my finger over the soft material of the red garter belt, and tug on it gently. Her whispered breaths have me groaning softly as anticipation builds in the narrow space between us.

  “Catalina . . . Baby . . .” I breathe her name like a litany.

  “Stryder . . .” she whispers my name in supplication.

  I hold the back of her neck with one hand, and tilt her chin up with the other, my lips claiming hers. Our kiss is urgent, filled with passion and laced with unmasked devotion. Her mouth is my temple and her body is my home, and I pray that never changes for as long as I live. I kiss her deeply, branding her mouth with my memories so she’s unable to forget me when I leave tomorrow morning. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, but seizing this moment is my top priority.

  Her hands clutch my waist as I swallow the soft moans she exhales, relishing her taste and affection. I release her neck and chin, and grip her shapely thighs, lifting her body onto mine and wrapping her legs around my waist. As I deepen our kiss, she wraps her hands around my neck in response. Apart from the crackling and hissing of the fireplace, it’s the sound of our ragged breaths that fill the air.

  I prop her against the nearest wall, pushing her hair to the side with one hand while the other pins us securely against the hard surface. Catalina breaks our kiss to catch her breath, and offers me her neck to kiss and lick it. Between the scent of her skin and her unmistakable need the air is filled with a heady combination that has me bursting quite literally at the seam of my pants. I’m eager to be naked, and I hope she is too.

  As I lower my head to the swells of her breasts, I have a moment of reckoning. I pepper them with kisses, then raise my head to see Catalina’s head thrown back with her eyes closed. It takes her a split second to realize I’ve stopped kissing her, and when her eyes snap open its impossible for me not to grin. Her eyes reflect bewilderment which makes her blush under my gaze.

  “What?” she asks, biting the inside of her cheek in an obvious effort to compose herself.

  “As much as I want to undress you, I have an idea,” I reply, slowly unwinding her legs from around my waist. Catalina slides down my chest, and her stilettos clink against the hardwood floor. She wraps her arms around her chest, shielding her body from me. “In Port De Soleil I took pictures of us and you gave me a hard time because I went through the trouble of a photo shoot when I could’ve just committed things to memory. Remember that?”

  She smiles, and a small giggle escapes her. “Yes . . . I also remember what I did after the last picture was taken,” she answers with a wink.

  “While I’m away, there won’t be a moment where I don’t think of you, but I’d like to have something to hold me over when I’m missing you a little too much . . .” I admit.

  “What? You want to take pictures of me? Dressed like this?!” she asks, gesturing at her body with an incredulous look on her face.

  I nod, pouting my lips like child, and Catalina laughs again, her dulcet tones filling my chest with indescribable satisfaction.

  “All right, get the damn camera, Martynus,” she mutters, resting her hands on her hips. “Go get it before I change my damn mind.”

  She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I bolt from the room, not caring if I look like a horny teenage boy. I race up the stairs two steps at a time, and after grabbing my camera I run back down. She’s standing in front of the fireplace, looking at the flames as if lost in thought, and her skin seems to glow. I power on the camera . . . Perfect.

  I adjust the lens to focus on her body, her right hand resting on her waist while the other plays with one of her curls. Her face is mesmerizing, and while this type of photography isn’t my forte I know without a doubt these pictures will turn out nice. I press the button, and the sound of the shutter startles her.

  Maybe I see Catalina differently, or perhaps I’m inspired by her love . . . What I do know is I want this night to perpetuate itself. I swear the time continuum is skewed when she turns to face me, her hair swishing softly, as if in slow motion. Her contemplative expression slowly transforms into a beaming smile, and as she approaches me, I readjust the lens to capture the garters, which expand and recoil with each of her measured footsteps. The non-stop sounds of the camera blend with the staccato clicks of Catalina’s stilettos against the floor.

  “Did you get your shots?” Catalina asks.

  Lowering the camera, I rest it against my chest in awe. I extend my hand and lead her towards the sofa near the fireplace.

  “Lay down on your side facing me, baby,” I whisper, while holding the camera.

  Shaking her head, she plops against the leather couch and props her head on her shoulder with a sassy glint in her eyes. Her free hand rests against her heavenly hips as her index finger pulls on one of the garters, allowing the elastic material to snap against her tanned skin. She does this repeatedly, and I twitch my neck to ease up the tension there, all while forcing myself to focus on getting the job done.

  “Look at me, Catalina,” I command.

  When she does, I snap away. I know my view of her is completely subjective, but when I see Catalina through the lens, I see so much beauty and potential, and I revel at the fact that this woman loves me. I feel like the luckiest bastard in the entire solar system. Picture after picture, frame after frame I’m left thunderstruck.

  Satisfied with my pictures, I rest the camera against the cocktail table, and sit on the edge of the wooden surface. I look at her long and hard trying to memorize everything about her, from the sound of her breathing to the way her pulse jumps at the base of her neck. Am I torturing myself here? Probably, but I don’t want to miss a single detail.

  “Thank you,” I croak, as I clear my throat. Looking in
to her sensuous eyes, I continue. “You look stunning, Catalina. I’m having a tough time here seeing you like this . . . propped on the sofa looking so sexy. You’re perfect. I want to rip those stockings off, unlace your corset, and trail my fingers over those beautiful breasts of yours. I crave nothing more than to rip that thong with my goddamn teeth and lap up your need for me.”

  Catalina exhales, her eyes darkening with heat at the sound of my blatant words. Through her long, black eyelashes she challenges me.

  “Then take me as you see fit.”

  I stand and adjust myself, but as I’m about to approach her, Catalina raises her hand, signaling me to stop.”But first, bring the camera.”

  I halt, taking a New York minute to process her words. With a shrug and a wicked smirk, I hand the camera over. She rises, and deliberately pushing me against the sofa, my back hitting the leather surface. I raise my hands to support her waist as she straddles me, gripping her hips as I caress her soft, naked skin.

  “What are you up to, Catalina?” I swallow hard.

  “I think you should have the memories of us,” she whispers with misty eyes. “I want you to remember us, and how beautiful and perfect this love between us truly is.”

  Her words cut into the deepest part of my soul, halting my need for her body and replacing it with tenderness. The simplicity behind her words overcomes me, and I’ll never get over how incredible and inspiring it is to find love when you least expected it. A simple favor for a friend truly changed my life, and this love has defied all odds and we’re all the better for it.

  Having Catalina before me, all of her protective barriers and self-defense mechanisms completely obliterated, her heart raw and out in the open, trusting and believing in me is the best thing that could’ve happened to either of us. She has no clue my heart is also open; I’m learning to give myself in other ways. I have to learn to ignore the nagging voice in my head screaming our relationship will fail during my absence.

  “Our love is . . .” I pause, feeling overcome with emotion. “Our love is nothing like I ever expected real love to be. Forgive me, Catalina. I’m at a loss here for words . . . just bear with me. I just . . . damn it . . . Our love has the ability to-”

  “Make us or break us,” Catalina finishes, her statement echoing my thoughts. Our eyes meet, and when she nods my grip on her hips becomes tighter. “I know, Stryder. It scares me, but when you think about it life is too short to be scared, or to hold back. I look back at my life now, and realize there were moments I was too worried and afraid to fail. As Tennyson once wrote, ’Tis better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.’

  “It’s scary to think you can trust someone with your heart at the risk of it being broken, but at the same time, imagine: if you don’t take the chance, you’d never discover the joy of finding real love. I learned that lesson with Blake and I’m revisiting it with you. Fight or flight. Isn’t that how it always goes? I’m choosing to fight for you . . . for us,” Catalina affirms, her beautiful eyes filled with tears.

  Exhaling loudly, I speak. “I’ve come to the conclusion that moments like these define us, Catalina. Like film, these moments are cut into frames, capturing the beauty and the essence of the things that play before us. They have the power to control our thoughts and define the things we do, and they’re inescapable and unforgettable. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  Catalina smiles and wipes her tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. With the other she positions the camera near both of our heads. Sighing, she leans in and kisses me sweetly, all while the camera clicks away. She breaks the kiss and smiles devilishly.

  “This camera . . . I have tons of ideas,” she taunts.

  “Yes? Indulge me,” I ask, squeezing her round hips and inching forward to nibble on her lips.

  Catalina giggles, and angles the camera to capture us smiling and kissing again. Hey, I don’t mind the pictures, but right now all I can think of is sinking my dick deep inside her again and again. Without a moment’s hesitation, I take the camera away, bringing it to rest on the cocktail table, and then busy myself unlacing the strings of her corset.

  My fingers work at a frantic pace, and when I lower the corset past her ribcage I kiss her breasts, nibbling, licking, and sucking. Her hands clutch my head, her fingernails scratching my scalp, and between the rolling of her hips against my thick dick mixed with her sexy moans, my hands and heart work faster. Once undressed, with the scorching flames of the fireplace as our only witness, we make love all throughout the night, taking turns to worship each other’s bodies. Losing, and rediscovering ourselves again and again.

  Completely exhausted yet incredibly satisfied, I pick her up from the sofa and carry her upstairs to bed. With each step I take, the more I know Catalina is the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, and be the mother of my babies. For many years I felt I was waiting for a bus that would never arrive, and just as I was about to call it quits−behold Catalina. As fortuitous as us meeting was, it was fate and Jackson who brought us together.

  With Catalina fast asleep in my arms, I decide to hold onto her for a minute longer. Her heart-shaped lips are curled into a small smile. Now more than ever I want to snap a picture, but like she’s told me before: Commit that to memory, so I do. Pulling the comforter back, I tuck her in and lean over to place a kiss on her forehead. She cradles into me, and a strangled groan leaves my throat. I fly down the staircase to put out the fire, and then gather our clothes making sure to bring the camera too.

  Curling beside Catalina, I snap a few pictures as I kiss her shoulder and back, praying the constant flashes of the camera don’t wake her up, and then I rest the camera on the nightstand and fall asleep with my cheek rested against the warmth of her shoulder. God, I’m going to miss her.

  THE ALARM CLOCK GOES OFF sooner rather than later, and when I reach out for Stryder’s side of the bed I come up empty handed. I sit up in and perk my ears for the shower, but I don’t hear a thing. As I scan the room, I notice his bags are lined up by the door, and my heart sinks to my stomach as I think every morning will be just like this during the next month. I try to choke back a sob, but it’s too late−a rivulet of tears trickles past my cheeks and onto my naked thighs.

  Inhale. Exhale, Catalina, I repeat in my head in a pitiful attempt to stop crying. I don’t want to upset Stryder with my gloominess; he cannot be aware of how much his impending absence will affect me. I vow to be strong and not to allow sadness to overshadow the happiness we have built over the past few months. It’s natural to cry don’t get me wrong especially when you’ve fallen head over heels with someone as kind, tender, and unbelievably romantic as Stryder. Yet the heart wants what it wants, and mine wants to wake up beside him every day.

  I swing my legs over the side of the mattress, and let them dangle there for a second. As I try to stand my ass lands right back on the bed. Holy shit. My body aches everywhere. It’s a delicious kind of pain, the kind that reminds you what you were up to the night before. I get up again and walk stiffly towards the bathroom, mumbling to myself when I hear his soft chuckles. I turn on my heel and see him leaning against the doorjamb; one hand resting against the door while the other is tucked in his front pocket.

  “Rough night, babe?” he asks smugly, with a knowing smile on his lips.

  My hands instinctively rise to cover myself, and my cheeks feel like they are on fire.

  “I guess you could say that,” I reply with a scoff.

  Stryder saunters to where I’m standing, and envelops me in a tight hug which I happily return. There is no place I’d rather be than wrapped in his loving embrace.

  “Does it make me an asshole to feel proud you’re walking odd this morning, and it’s all because of me? Hmm?” he mumbles against my lips.

  I nod into his neck, and take in his scent. He smells fresh, like right out of the shower, and the scent of his cologne mixed with the smell of his skin is a heady combination; it’s m
anly, but not overpowering; sweet, yet incredibly seductive. His hand lands on my backside and squeezes my ass cheeks like quite the caveman.

  “Are you feeling sore?” he asks, as he kisses my hairline.

  “Yes,” I mumble and squirm in place, which in turn makes him chuckle. I swat him playfully on the arm and continue, “Last night was absolutely beautiful. I loved every second of it.” I break our hold and walk towards the bathroom. “What’s your departure time?” At the last syllable my voice breaks, and I clear my throat as I wait for his response.

  “One o’clock, but I have to be there by ten thirty. Jackson just got here. The three of us will go,” he answers quietly, his hands fidgeting in his front pockets.

  I nod and quickly enter the bathroom. A part of me is undeniably sad, yet another is optimistic this separation could benefit us in the long run. I’ve been thinking a lot about our future, and there’s no doubt in my mind I want us to work. Let’s face it, we both have demanding careers, and our jobs require lots of travel on both short-and long-term assignments. If we cannot survive this separation, then at least I know we gave us a shot. I want this to work. No . . . I need this to work.

  After my shower, I wrap myself in a big fluffy bathrobe feeling more optimistic than I did. I’ve been thinking about picking up a hobby that will keep me busy while Stryder is away, plus I have Jackson to consider, too. He needs me now more than ever, and I’ll make sure he gets back in tip-top shape, and back on the slopes where he belongs. Having Jackson by my side will definitely make this upcoming month easier.

  After styling my hair into a suicide roll I get busy with make-up. My spine straightens as I watch Stryder, in the mirror, collecting his toiletries from the shower. The cherry-red lipstick I was about to put on falls from my hand, landing into the sink as Stryder embraces me from behind. His eyes are dimmer than usual, and his forehead is scrunched as if concerned.