Dancing with Time

and then I met you

Dedicated to silverlycold

'If you live to be a hundred red, I want to live a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you' ― Joan Powers, Pooh's Little Instruction Book

The intoxicating aroma of freshly brewed coffee, sizzling bacon, and fluffy scrambled eggs wrestled Juliet from her sleep-filled haven. A dull ache throbbed behind her eyes, coaxing a groan from her lips. Despite only a single glass of punch, it felt like a betrayal by her tolerance ― or lack thereof. Her eyelids remained stubbornly shut, yet vivid images of her and Keith after the party flickered behind them, igniting a blush that heated her cheeks.

"I don't want to go all the way," her whispered words of consent from the night before echoed in her mind, a tormenting reminder. What had she been thinking? Thinking? More like not thinking at all! Drowned by Keith's undeniable charm and the Adonis-like physique showcased beneath his clothes, a primal need surged through her. She'd craved, no, needed the feel of his solid form pressed against hers. Her traitorous heart ached for his warmth, the intoxicating scent of his cologne lingering in her memory. A desire for something new, an intimacy so intense it eclipsed all rational thought, had overwhelmed her senses.

"Oh God," she whispered, mortification flooding her cheeks. Her heart pounded franticly against her ribs, a swarm of butterflies erupting in a chaotic ballet within her stomach. Embarrassment clawed its way up her throat, a constricting vise. How could she possibly face him after such a vulnerable encounter?

Cracking open her eyes, the indentation beside her held the faint echo of his warmth. The comforting hiss of the shower was absent. Propping herself up against the headboard, the sheets cascaded down, revealing the flimsy state of her attire - just Keith's shirt, barely clinging to her form with three buttons holding its modesty together.

A frantic scan of the room yielded no sign of him. Relief, a sweet wave, washed over her, only to be dashed as the door creaked open. Keith entered, a breakfast tray balanced in one hand. He looked like a vision - a casual white shirt stretched taut across his broad shoulders, hinting at the defined muscles beneath. Blue and white patterned boxer shorts peeked out from the waistband of his slightly rumpled khaki pants. His hair was a mess of tousled dark brown locks, contrasting with the steely grey eyes that held an unreadable emotion swirling within their depths. "Good morning, beautiful," Keith greeted, his voice a husky rumble as he placed the tray on the nightstand and brushed a lingering kiss across her cheek.

Despite his clothing's shield, her mind couldn't help but flash back to the memory of his bare form from the night before. A heat rose to her face, painting it a vivid crimson. Instinctively, she let her cascading brunette hair fall like a curtain, hiding her burning cheeks from his gaze.

The bed dipped beside her, and she felt the warmth of his presence as Keith gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Don't hide from me, beautiful," he whispered, his lips brushing hers in a light kiss. A genuine smile, soft and alluring, played on his features.

The morning light seeped through the curtains, painting delicate stripes across Keith's face. He was a vision, sunlight glinting off his eyelashes like scattered diamonds. Juliet couldn't help but stare, mesmerized. With every word and gesture, this man played her like a master violinist. Her emotions were his melody, and she swayed to the rhythm, a helpless captive to his music.

Clearing her throat, Juliet broke eye contact, a blush creeping up her neck. She had no regrets about last night—not a single one. In fact, with a little liquid courage, she might even do it again. But the awkwardness of the morning after... that was a different story. She peeked at the clock—10 a.m. "Uh, what time did we need to leave for Sperlonga?" she mumbled, hoping to shift the mood.