82 | WORTH THE WAIT

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82

EMBER

THE AIR TASTES OF anticipation. I've been waiting, but I haven't seen Michael.

As I stand in the corner of the reception hall, gripping my black clutch close to my body, couples dance to the pop sounds of music from the ceiling. The room is filled with laughter and congratulations and balloons. Candice was here with two people who looked like her parents, but she's gone now, and I find it easier to breathe.

I reach for a platter of chocolate covered strawberries and eat a few of those, taking off my lipstick with a napkin.

My clutch buzzes. I wrestle the clasp until I pull out my phone.

Meet me at the piano?

My heart kicks into double time causing me to knock back against the wall.

I throw one more strawberry into my mouth and then kick off the wall, heading into the halls. I pass paintings and sculptures of Ancient Greek and Roman warriors and women, and a few vases of red roses. I look around twice, seeing no one, then pluck one out by the stem, continuing on my way.

With the gift behind my back, I click-clack through the empty halls until I find the music hall once more. I blow out a breath, then step in.

The lights are dim, but I can clearly see Michael sat at the piano, playing soft chords, still in his formal black and white tuxedo.

For once, I might be able to sneak up on him.

I quietly slip off my heels and hold them by my side, hiding the rose behind my back.

I walk around the back seats until I'm on stage, right behind him. Gently, I set my heels down and take out my phone. I type out a simple text and press send.

Turn around.

Michael's phone buzzes on top of the now-closed piano and he doesn't move to take it, just continues his little tune. I frown and wait, but he doesn't stop playing, so I take a small step forward—

"Hi, Ember."

I flush. He knew I was here.

"Come. Sit."

And so I do. He shifts slightly as he plays and I settle next to him, close but not too close, holding my hands behind my back.

Michael's fingers tap a slow, gentle tune. He turns to look at me, and smiles softly.

"Hey you," he says.

"Hi," I say through a barely contained smile. "You were...phenomenal, Michael. Really." I reveal the rose, feeling half-bad for stealing it, but that goes away when Michael's eyes widen and his music stops. "For you," I say shyly. "Because you like flowers." I snap the stem, leaving just a little, and reach up towards his hair. He stills, eyes closing. I tuck the stem above his ear, brushing my fingers over the velvety red petals. "There," I breathe. He opens his eyes, staring at me with such emotion that my heart almost stops.

"Do roses suit me?" He offers a crooked, boyish grin.

"Yes, you're beautiful," I whisper back, marking every smooth piece of skin on his face, his scars, the bow in his lips, and his jaw. My cheeks flush, But I don't care.

"Have I told you how stunning you are?" Michael murmurs, reaching up to brush a strand of straight hair behind my ear. "Because you actually stopped my heart tonight." He keeps his hand near my face, and I lean into his warm touch. He cups my cheek, and I smile.

"Does that make you a ghost?" I ask.

"It just might," he answers, grinning at me. "Maybe then, you'll finally believe they exist." He brushes his thumb along the plain of my cheek, watching my eyes. "How did you like the music?"

"I was shocked," I tell him honestly. "I didn't know you were going to play music from my favourite movies."

His eyes are apprehensive. "But did you like it?"

"Yes," I whisper. "It was so nice to remember. To remember Greyson as he was when we were young. In a good way. It almost felt...healing." I take Michael's hand from my cheek and hold it. "Can I show you something?" I ask. He nods. I turn around and take my hair off my back. "Unzip my dress."

Michael doesn't move. I chuckle.

"It's okay. It's just a tattoo. I'm not going to corrupt you, blondie."

Michael's fingers brush at the top of my neck. "Hmm. Feel free, though. To corrupt me. Anytime."

I blush wickedly, my mind flashing through exhilarating scenarios. I don't usually think so vividly, yet here I am.

I squirm on the bench, muttering, "Just unzip my dress."

Instead, I feel two warm lips at the top of my spine and my eyes close at the feeling.

"You're not good at following instructions," I mutter.

"I don't think you mind," he says cockily, breath against my skin.

Oh...the feeling...He kisses down my back, pulling down the zipper as he goes. My breathing kicks up and I fist my own green dress.

"Michael," I pant, "you're straying from the task at hand..." I bite my lip to prevent a small moan from slipping past my defences. Oh, who am I kidding—I've never had any defences.

"You're exceedingly distracting," Michael whispers against my back, kissing me again.

"You're the one distracting me," I remind us both, but doing nothing to stop his hot lips on my back.

Once my zipper is all the way down, he kisses back up my spine, slowly, torturously. Don't stop. Ever. I'm breathing hard now, too hard.

"What's next, Ember Amora?" he murmurs, hands finding my hips as he kisses across my shoulder blades.

"Left side," I say breathlessly with my eyes closed. "My ribs."

Michael moves my dress enough, then stops.

"Up is down," he murmurs, surprised. "How long have you had this?"

"Years," I tell him, finally opening my eyes. I'm faced with thousands of empty, red fabric seats. It's so great to be alone with him, finally. "Okay, zip me up," I say, swallowing my conspicuous lust. "Please."

Michael leans forward and kisses my bare shoulder. "Do I have to?" he asks between kisses. I nod, and feel him pout against my skin.

"Up," I laugh breathily. "Come on, you can do it. Will power." At this point, I might be talking to myself.

He groans and very slowly zips my dress back up. It gives me a chance to blink away the red haze across my eyes. Keep it together. I un-fist my dress and straighten my back. Turning around, Michael's eyes immediately falls to my cheeks and he gives me a knowing grin.

"Greyson and I would watch those movies on repeat," I tell Michael, explaining the tattoo. "When he disappeared...I kind of went off the rails a bit. This tattoo was part of it all." I set a hand to my ribs, looking down. "I like it more now than I did then. Reminds me of the good times. So thank you. For the music. And for choosing me to be your date tonight." I look up and he's smiling.

"I watched the movies."

"And?" I hold my breath.

He beams. "One of the best soundtracks I've ever heard. I liked Jack Sparrow."

"Captain Jack Sparrow," I correct him, raising my chin.

"You're a bit of a nerd, too, aren't you," he murmurs, smiling at me with pure warmth.

"Embrace that which you cannot change," I whisper, moving closer on instinct. My eyes fall to his lips. Pink and wide, full and probably soft. I should really find out.

Michael makes no move to touch me.

With only inches between us, I feel the heat radiating off his chest. I run my eyes over the curves of him—his wide shoulders, defined chest, sharp jaw. His tux is cut to every line.

I take a moment to meet his eyes, really searching. I think he wants what I want—to be closer. But he won't move. Is he waiting for me to decide? There's definitely a challenge in his stare. Will I do this? Will I show him how I feel? Or do I lack the courage?

I want to be strong and brave, but I'm hurt. Hurt by so many things and so many people. So many times.

When was the last time I took a leap of faith? I can't remember. But this—him—feels like a very big leap. My feet are itching to make the jump.

My fingers reach upwards to trace the scar above his lip. He's still as I go, letting me touch him. I brush the pads of my fingers over the thick line, and then to the curve of his cheekbone, his sharp jaw, then to touch the red rose behind his ear.

I close my eyes. I need a minute to breathe. Every second of this feels like total intoxication. I take a deep breath in, the forest and the sea invading my lungs.

I open my eyes and see him. Everything fades—it all melts, leaving only the violent beat of my bounding heart, slow and hard, creating a dizzy feeling in my head.

"Ember," Michael whispers. His voice is soft; a plea.

My eyelashes flutter as I lightly graze our lips. My limbs turn to water.

As quick as I did it, I lean back to gauge his reaction. His eyes are closed. He licks his lower lip into his mouth, sighing.

My cheeks flame up like a bonfire.

"You haven't touched me," I barely whisper. He opens his eyes. They're dark.

"Can I?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

I flush once more at the intensity in his eyes. He seems scared to make a move.

"What's wrong?" I ask. "Should I not have...kissed you?" I could have sworn I was reading this right, but maybe not.

His eyes drop down to my thighs and he clenches his jaw.

"Michael?"

He doesn't answer.

It takes me a moment, but then I understand.

"Chemistry class," I whisper, brows pinched. "What I told you at thanksgiving." And just like that, if I focus really hard, I can feel it. That intrusive, sickly skin to skin contact.

Michael tilts my chin up so I see his brown eyes. "Don't," he whispers. "I'm sorry. I don't want you thinking about it."

"You're not him," I say. "I like it when you touch me." My cheeks might melt off my face, now.

"And I want to," he says, voice taking on a husky tone. "Everywhere, Ember. Believe me. But you have to set the boundaries."

"Just don't take my dress off," I joke lamely, gulping.

Michael's eyes darken further, and he stands, walking around the bench to offer me a hand. Once I set my palm to his, he pulls me up and places his hands on my hips, moving me to the side of the piano. Then I'm lifted onto it, my palms splaying out behind me so I don't fall.

Michael steps back and just looks at me as my chest rises and falls in quick succession.

Oh god. I'm hot everywhere. Why is he looking at me like that? Why do I like it?

Michael steps in, slowly parting my knees, eyes on me. I nod. He presses into my lower back with a spayed palm. I let out a breath as we connect, chest to chest. A shiver wracks my body and I'm pressed closer.

Michael leans in and waits, expectant. 

"Worth it," he whispers, lips brushing against mine. "So worth the wait."

I bite my bottom lip. "You were waiting for this?"

"For you," he says. He has one hand on my back, the other sweeping the hair off my shoulder. I shiver.

"Really?" I whisper, staring at him, cracking in vulnerability. Michael buries his hand inside my hair to hold me still.

"I don't think I realized how long," he says softly. "How long I'd been waiting for you."

My chest opens to reveal my heart. "You've had me for a while," I confess in a whisper.

He pulls me in and slowly captures my bottom lip between his.

In all its newness—it's painfully slow beauty—I feel unexpectedly safe. Something wild in my heart ignites and something heavy lets go, like I'm suspended in the arms of hope itself.

Michael turns his head slightly, moving his mouth with my own in an open kiss that's hot against my lips. He tastes like champagne and oranges and...him. The pace is tantalizingly slow, and every time I try to speed us up, he pulls back and I feel him smile. Toying with me. But oh, do I love it. I want to give up control, to trust him with myself, to feel everything I've never felt before.

I'm vaguely aware of the rose falling to the ground beneath us.

Michael runs his tongue along my bottom lip and when I gasp, he deepens our kiss, claiming my lips with his own. I move my hands to his neck, aching for him to be closer and closer, crushing him to me. His body molds with mine, hard and hot.

And then finally, our embrace quickly changes. His hands are in my hair, pulling and pushing. I move my mouth against his, breathless, as he claims me. He kisses me so hard, so deeply, that I don't think I'll want to taste anyone else's lips on mine, ever again.

I pull back, panting. "You single?"

Michael blinks at me, wide eyed with swollen lips, then bursts into a laugh. His hands drop to either side of my thighs on the piano. I thread my hands into his blonde hair, messing with the gel. Oh, it's so soft. I'll never tire of this.

"Ember...what?" He shakes his head, still laughing, almost dropping his head onto my lap. Honestly, I'd like that.

"Are you single?" I ask again, smiling like a weirdo. He slowly raises back up to his full height and his hands snake up my body, one burying into my hair. He seems to like doing that. He tilts my head up to kiss me.

"Not single," he says.

I pull back with wide eyes. "WHAT—"

He covers my lips with his, still laughing. "It's you," he chuckles, kissing me. "You, Ember." His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I gasp. Boy, does he ever take the opportunity I give him. I sigh as he burns me, completely melts me.

"So...you're...mine?" I ask between kisses, pulling him in by his lapels.

"I'm yours," he pants, pressing us impossibly close.

"Wait." I break away. We're both panting. "Hold up, blondie, there are two sides here. Aren't you going to ask me the same thing?" I raise an amused brow at his presumptuous behaviour.

Michael bites his lip, breathless. "Okay, I'll indulge you." A confident smile splits his lips. "Will you, Ember Amora, be—"

"Yes." I smash my lips to his as he laughs, chest to chest with me.

If only I could breathe him instead of oxygen, then I wouldn't have to let him go. But my lungs start to burn and my mind is getting foggy.

As I pull away, Michael's teeth gently catch my bottom lip. I gasp as a jolt of electricity starts at my lips at travels down my body in a shiver.

I keep my arms around his neck and set my forehead against his chest, lips tingling and breathing in air as though I've just run a thousand miles. Michael's lungs are struggling to find a breath all the same.

"Wow," I breathe.

"Agreed."

He sets his head on mine, wrapping his arms around me. I pull him closer, my fingers playing with the ends of his hair by his neck. I press my lips to his chest with watery eyes.

Please don't break my heart.


THE LIMO TAKES ME back to Arkwood, and Michael tags along. The entire ride is us asking stupid questions like what's your favourite colour or what did you want to be when you grew up. Michael's favourite colour is black because it goes with everything. He wanted to teach when he grew up, but only when he was young. Now, he has no idea, and I don't think I do either.

Snow falls outside the windows as we're driven around the Toronto nightlife. I'm in Michael's arms in the leather back seats, feeling so content it's scary.

I keep getting these emotional bubbles growing in my throat like I might cry, but I swallow them down. It's a fun, beautiful night, and I don't want to ruin it.

I shift and look up at Michael, patting down his messy blonde hair.

"Thank you," I murmur, holding his face. "For everything."

"Thank you," he whispers with nothing but genuine warmth in his eyes. He takes my chin and presses yet another kiss to my lips, which I promptly deepen. He groans and accepts, reaching a hand around to hold me to him.

We get lost all over again, only breaking apart when I remember that our driver is, in fact, present. I pull away with hot cheeks, pointing to the front. Michael grins and leans back. Then, his hand lands gently on my knee, the one exposed by the slit in my dress. I let out a sharp breath, my body flaming in heat.

Leaning into my ear, he whispers, "I can't believe we spent so much time not doing this." As his thumbs strokes my skin, I find it hard to form any kind of coherent thought, which Michael seems to really like. "We have so much time to make up for."

For a split second, I'm scared of where his hand might end up. Scared because I want him to touch me, and scared because I don't feel ready for...that. But he doesn't move his thumb any higher, so I relax back into his frame and just let the heat run through my veins.

Michael kisses my temple. I lean up to kiss his perfectly soft, perfectly warm lips.

And then we start the whole cycle over again.



SAYING GOODBYE IS BITTERSWEET. On the bright side, it's one hell of a winter's kiss. Michael holds me like I'm the sun, and I can't help myself from pulling at his hair, loving the sounds that rumble in his chest when I do.

Michael and I will see each other soon, and I look forward to it. But then I have to let him go and walk upstairs to my ugly, crowded dorm.

When I make it back to my bedroom, my roommates are sleeping, so I discard every fancy piece of myself—the makeup, the dress, the shoes, the coat, the clutch—and I fall into my bed with a stupid smile. I take out my phone and text Michael. I can't help it.

I feel like I'm fifteen. What is this sorcery?

You're not the only one.

Good.

This was the best day I've had in a long, long time.

Me too, ghost girl. More to come :)

I smile so wide my cheeks start to burn.

Goodnight, Michael.

Sweet dreams, Ember.

It's not even a minute before a calm darkness sweeps over my tired frame like I'm a kid again.


OH MY GOD FINALLY

Wow...82 chapters. And here we are. 😬 😃

Thoughts?!?!?!

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-Laurel


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