Thanks to my team, who make writing easy. Harddaysknight is my mentor and gives me critical review. SBrooks103x also gives me a prepost read. My editors are Girlinthemoon, Hal, Norafares, and Pixel the Cat. Thanks to the folks over at Sports Illustrated for their support.
*****
Fallon's words, "I do know who you are," filled me with a sense of foreboding that nearly paralyzed me. I had zero understanding how she could really know that, but if she did, what would that mean? If she didn't... what could she be thinking?
Whatever the case, it seemed it was going to wait. "Let's not do this now," she said. "God, Canton, I'm just so happy to be here with you, that you're alive and healthy, that I'm done with my case. Let's just enjoy the moment, shall we?"
I nodded, in spite of every nerve in my body being as tight as the strings of a violin. "Sure, Fallon. I'm fairly pleased you're here and everything has turned out as it has. What do you want to do?"
She looked at me with her head cocked, quizzically. "Is my blue dress still here?" She asked.
"Everything that you left here is still here," I said. That was the truth. The idea of throwing away anything she had worn, or even touched, was anathema to me.
"Take me to 61 Legian," she said. "Feed me, take me dancing. We'll talk after."
We went to get dressed, and I felt clumsy. There was an unsteadiness to my hands that made buttoning my shirt difficult. I had never suffered from anxieties, but there was something in me that wanted to run to her room, throw open the door and say, "Tell me now!" I managed to restrain that impulse, somehow, got my shirt buttoned and my tie knotted. I walked to the entry and told Francis we were going out, poured myself a little nerve medicine and she came down the stairs.
She took my breath away, each time I saw her. That dress made the blue of her eyes pop, embracing her dramatic curves like a second skin, creamy shoulders bare. She saw my eyes, and did a slow pirouette. The dress was backless, all that silky skin glowing with health and beauty. It plunged down, giving the same hint of cleavage at that incredible butt that the front gave of her breasts. "I'm okay?" Her eyes sparkled.
"You don't need me to tell you that," I said. "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever encountered, Fallon. I'll tell you, anytime you need to hear it."
She crossed the room to me, athletic, even in four-inch heels. She put her arms around me in a hug, for just a moment, her cheek pressed into my chest, then looked up at me. Her hand cupped my cheek, long slender fingers caressing me. "Always, from you," she said.
Francis pulled the car around, and we were off for a night of decadence. It was a little drive, and she snuggled up; we talked about nothing, and everything. I cherished every moment.
Sky Garden was as opulent as ever. We browsed the buffet, several times, availed ourselves of the free drinks, if you consider the $100 cover charge free, wandered to the roof-top where we danced casually, a drink in hand, and wound up in the Skydome, her pressed against me, her head on my shoulder as we moved languidly to the music. It was sheer reveling to me.
I had no right to that much joy. My life was a wasteland of bad memories, bad people, choices no one should make. The sole ray of light was Fallon. I had no right to her, no right to be that happy, in that moment, no right to even be alive. I had accepted death, but she made me live.
I think she sensed something in me, because she was clinging, never losing contact, at any moment. We were both floating on a sea of good feeling. The drinks flowed and we were laughing and lit up like beacons. At 12:30, she looked up at me, the liquid pools of her eyes haunting and shadowed. "Take me home, Canton."
The drive was quiet; she seemed to be lost in some inner reverie, her head on my shoulder with my arm around her. When I looked down, just before we arrived, she was asleep.
She awakened when we stopped at the door. We went in and she held my arms. "Tomorrow," she said. "We'll talk tomorrow."
Her lips brushed mine, and she was gone. I floated up the stairs, the spell lingering, undressed and went to bed. I fell asleep, quickly, and dreamed of blue eyes and angels. The dream became erotic, at some point. I was enveloped in love, heat, moisture, and I swam slowly to consciousness. I was lying on my back; the room was filled with a soft shimmering glow as the light that illuminated the pool dimly shifted with whatever ripples disturbed the surface.
I saw her, and the moment was frozen in time. She was stunning in her beauty, the passion she was feeling on her face, that heavy lidded, slack, but almost painful expression of sexual pleasure. She was naked, her breasts slowly moving with her motions over me. They were spectacular, not so much in size, though they were full and heavy, but in form.
I had seen her in a bikini, of course, so I had a good idea of what she would look like without one, but the reality was not something for which I was prepared. Her breasts were high and heavy, with all the resilience of her youth, firm and moving as she moved, with a little bounce at the end of each motion. They were perfectly formed, round and a little fuller at the bottoms, golden skinned, with her areola a little puffy, thicker than the surrounding skin and a little crinkled with her arousal. They were just a little higher than the center of her breasts, making them point upward a little, and her nipples were small and a slightly darker shade, golden brown.
She was broad shouldered, her torso tapering to a small waist, her belly flat and ridged with muscle. She very obviously worked out, and it had paid dividends, as her body was toned and athletic. Her hips were slender, but rounded with those glorious female curves. This was a goddess! It was my daughter!
I began to awaken to the situation and began to move to disengage. "Fallon..." I began.
She moaned, low in her throat, cutting into my words, and her slender warm fingers covered my lips. She leaned forward onto me, her breasts now flattened onto my chest, rubbery nipples scraping mine, and her lips replaced her fingers. She tasted like mint toothpaste and hungry girl.
"Don't say another word," she whispered, fiercely. "The only thing I want to hear is 'I love you, Fallon'. We will have time to talk about everything, in the morning. I love you, Canton. I'm doing this. You just hang on for the ride."
