Reunited?

The_gladiator

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Mar 1, 2007
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Reunited
by The_Gladiator and Showdolly
(The authors would like to thank you for reading, we have not written together in over 10 years, this will be a welcome reunion in more than one way, please enjoy our story)

He ran his fingers through his short dark hair, the black of it making his dark blue eyes look even darker. Those eyes were busy scanning the front page of the local paper. “Sexy Author comes home for high school reunion.” The headline read and a picture was below it taking up most of the page.

The words of the article started off with, “New York Times bestselling author Chloe Morrison, famous for her erotic and darkly mysterious novels is to return to raven’s Bluff Senior high class of 2003’s fifteen year reunion. Morrison is famous for the novels…” The man’s eyes stopped reading the words of the article and moved back to the picture. It was her alright. Her red curls cascading down her back in waves, the green eyes almost seeming to follow you from the page. The name rang in his head; it wasn’t the name on the paper but the woman’s true Name. Cleo Morris, pen name Chloe Morrison, a name and face he knew all too well.

Strong hands crumpled the paper, he didn’t want to see her face, and he would be damned if he would let even thoughts of that bitch ruin his night. He was going to see a lot of old friends and to let Hannah see a little of his past.

He had been surprisingly closed mouthed about his past to Hannah, telling her very little. It was a chapter of his life he had closed the cover on long ago. He had moved away, had made a career as a band director, and orchestra conductor, and now as a record label executive as well. His past was just that, in the past to him and he didn’t speak about it.

That’s why Hannah had been surprised when Ryan had invited her to his reunion. The Raven’s Bluff class of 2003 was hosting a formal in honor for their 15 year reunion and Ryan had made the commitment to going. Their class was small enough, and enough of the class were still local that rather than getting together every 10 years, they got together yearly. However they had held a formal every 5 years so far. Ryan had avoided the 5 and 10 year formals as they fell during band competitions. However they were having it earlier in the summer and suddenly Ryan had no excuse to avoid the formal.

Abandoning the crumpled up newspaper he moved to get in the shower to get ready to go. He passed Hannah who was doing her make-up playfully swatting her ass as he passed her. He received a stern glare for it. “Behave yourself Ryan.” She said.

“Relax Honey,” he encouraged with a smile. Even the smile didn’t soften her stern glance.

A half an hour later he stood in his suit, letting Hannah straighten his tie, smooth the wrinkles out of his white shirt and generally otherwise fuss over his appearance. “Come on babe we’re going to a reunion not a flipping funeral.” He said as she insisted on running a lint brush over his black pants. “I live with a dog that sheds, I don’t really care if I take a little of rocko with me.”

She only gave him an I will kill you if you don’t shut up look for that. When she finally deemed him fit to go into public they headed out of the hotel room they were staying in and got into Ryan’s truck to head to the formal.

Ryan drove in silence, despite himself he was a little nervous about the evening, and what would he do if he encountered Cleo? What could he say to her? He stamped out the thoughts. He had sworn he was done thinking about her and the hurt she’d caused him 5 years ago. For 4 years before that he had pored over their love letters, their photos, the erotic stories she had written for him, and the songs he had composed for her, plotting his revenge. That had all ended five years ago when Ryan had decided he was done, he had boxed it all up, he literally had file folders of it. He had sent it all to her. The only things he had not included were the nude photographs and his copy of the electronic archives of their instant message conversations. He had sent her printouts of the latter, but had held onto the former not so that he had a piece of her but encase he needed them. He was not above blackmailing her with them after the things she had done to him in the past. Now five years later he could possibly run into her and the thought made him grit his teeth.

“You’re as tight as a bowstring sweetie.” Hannah said her hand rubbing his forearm, “Are you ok?” she asked softly. Ryan just nodded as he pulled them into the parking lot of the upscale hotel the formal was being held at.

Ryan walked in and collected his name tag. Hannah got a guest name tag which she could write her name on. Nametags in place they moved to find a table.

The evening passed pleasantly enough a group of Ryan’s old track buddies and band mates had joined them with their wives and girlfriends and they chatted and laughed throughout dinner. After dinner came the dancing and Hannah and he danced together a number of numbers, mostly slow dances and line dances. She was not really one to just cut loose to a fast song.

It was during one such slow song that it happened. A slender hand with perfectly manicured fingernails touched Hannah’s arm and a familiar smoky voice, a voice that was just made to sound sexy, spoke asking to cut in. He would know that rich contralto anywhere. The number of times he had heard it saying…. He stamped down those thoughts. He could swear his heart actually skipped a beat at hearing that voice.

Hannah’s eyes looked up at Ryan and Ryan forced a smile, “Chloe.” He said using her pen name for Hannah’s benefit. “Hannah, this is Cleo err. Chloe Morrison.”

“You can’t mean the author I love so much, right?” his girlfriend asked her severe frown lightening to a puzzled expression and then something that was supposed to be a smile.

“Yeah, that’s her,” Was Ryan’s less than heartwarming response.

“You never told me you knew anyone famous, dear.”

“She’s an old friend.” He offered somewhat lamely.

“Well go ahead and dance with her, I’ll go use the restroom,” she leaned up whispering in his ear, “Maybe you can get her to give me her autograph.”

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem.” He said dryly, biting his tongue when he wanted to tell her he not only had her signature but he could show her naked photos of her that he had taken that first year of college. As his girlfriend slid out of his arms and his full attention settled on Cleo, his blue eyes narrowed as he took her in, from the way that her red hair barely brushed against her pale throat, almost inviting a man’s lips to kiss it, to her strappy heals. He had always preferred her hair down; it was more fun to run his fingers through. His hand twitched almost as if remembering the feel of it or as if he wanted to take it down as he almost always had tried to do whenever possible, even as his eyes slid down her body. Encased in the little emerald green dress, which matched her eyes, it contrasted with her porcelain skin, making the milky swells of her large breasts stand out, instantly attracting the eyes of all the men.

She didn’t look much different than the last time he had seen her. A little older, a few more pounds, perhaps which only made her curves softer and more inviting in his opinion, doing nothing to detract from her beauty. Her hair also seemed shorter; unless he missed his guess it might only go down to her shoulder blades or mid back, not all the way to her waist as it had before but with it up, it wasn’t easy to tell.

His visual scan completed his eyes swept back up to meet hers. It figured she would make her move during this song, it had been so important to them. He had never forgotten its significance, but if he had said no to Hannah to dancing to this slow song she would have asked too many questions.

Finally he spoke after clearing his throat, “Cleo.” He said, finally using her real name. His word wasn’t exactly a question, wasn’t exactly a statement just one word, one name that meant so much. It felt weird to him even after all those years to not even use the short form of her name he always had, ‘Chlo’ which had probably helped to generate her pen name, come to think of it.

As he spoke he extended his hand taking her strong yet delicate hand into his. He could feel the soft skin that covered strength; these were talented hands that could do so much, she had given wonderful massages, to say nothing of her hand jobs—“Congratulations on your success as an author. You’ve come a long way from the cheerleader in high school, forced to be an exotic dancer in college just to pay her way through school.” His words were pleasant enough, conversational, but the wording made it sort of a backhanded compliment.

He swept her closer his left hand sliding around her waist his right still holding hers as they began to dance together. She had forced his hand, and unless he wanted to make a scene, which he didn’t not in front of so many people, he would have to dance with her. That being said, his posture was stiff, and he did not move with the fluidity that she knew him capable of, all of his guards and shields were up, not that it would help him much, or so he feared, they never had in the past.
 
Cleo wasn't sure who'd leaked to the stupid newspaper. The whole hometown was proud of her accomplishments, or at least they pretended to be. The stigma of exactly what "kind" of author she was still stung at the edges of any compliment she received from any of them - ever.

Since leaving town, her life was a whirlwind. After that first novel had been picked up by a major publication, Ryan's leaving was only the first crazy thing to happen. Cleo still hadn't fully understood that whole thing, and after all this time she still loved him. It was Ryan she thought of when she had what most authors would refer to as writer's block....

And there he stood. He was every bit as gorgeous as she remembered. The dark hair, his tall and muscular frame, his broad shoulders... and those eyes. The bluest, sparklingest... was that a word? No, it wasn't a word. Words failed her just now, her vocabulary set adrift on a raging ocean of angst, anxiety, and anticipation.

The music. It had to be now. She had to say hello, petite blonde on his arm be damned.

"Excuse me, but, may I cut in?"

****

But what else had she expected, exactly? She was certain there was resentment in his voice, positive that she'd heard an insult behind the compliment. Indeed, this was the same Ryan. She curbed her hurt and disappointment and pretended to only hear the niceties he spilled at her.

"Yes, I suppose I have, haven't I? In some ways, at least." Cloe's mind attempted to delve into the self-pity and loathing she'd felt as a dancer, into the pit of mud she remembered finding herself tossed into back then. She'd found her outlet and balance for that part of her, but some things about how it all started still penetrated her to the very core of her being.

"But it's just so good to see you again, Ryan." Her best smile. It truly felt wonderful to be in his arms, as stiff and cautious as they seemed to be, moving her across the floor as though she belonged to him. "How have you been?"
 
Ryan cleared his throat as he listened to her voice. He had always loved it. She could always make him melt with words on the phone, in person it did not matter. He cleared his voice to answer her.

“Fine,” Was all he said at first. He soon realized that he needed to say more than that, had to at least give her something, “I went to college for music as you know. I direct bands and orchestras, and gig on the side.” He shrugged a little, “Even dabble in the business side of music these days. Nowhere as successful as you, but it suits me.”

Ryan made no mention of how boring he found everything about his work that wasn’t work related. How he had another fiancé who he just did not click with. He kept all those things to himself, and sacrificed something that she might already know about him.

There was that little space between their bodies, a space that was bridged by her full breasts, brushing his chest. He tried to ignore the feel of her, ignore that she still wore the same perfume even, a scent he’d never forget. Her hand was so small in his. He almost wanted to lace fingers with her just to see if it felt as good as he remembered, but he didn’t. He needed to remember how much he hated her. No, hate took effort; he needed to remember how much he didn’t care about her, right?
 
Cloe longed to press fully against him, to press her nose against his neck and smell him, to wrap her leg around...

Earth, Cloe! Keep both feet on the ground!

"I always knew you'd go into music. And fame doesn't always equate to success, nor does success equate to fame. I have to keep to myself. It's lonely when everyone thinks they know you, but no one truly does."

Her mind started to drift, and as disengaged as her thoughts became Cloe accidentally managed to close the gap between them. It was comfortable, and natural, and effortless. Keeping the space required effort.

Within seconds, Cloe rehashed the memories she'd tried to suppress in order to function in real life. He'd hated her novel. He'd not spoken to her, avoided her. Then one day all of her things and all of their correspondence - from, literally, ever - it was all on her doorstep. It was absolutely over for him; he left no room to doubt that.

But the message of threat, of what he knew about her and how vulnerable she was to exposure had entirely escaped her. Devastated, all Cloe knew was that Ryan was angry with her about her book and he was finished. And she was alone.

Destined to always be alone, it seemed. No one would ever come close to knowing her the way Ryan did. She shivered, and pulled in closer to him before realizing exactly where she'd ended up. Immediately, she stiffened in embarrassment at having lost herself in memory instead of living in the present. How many of her characters had missed their chance for that very reason?

Did she even have a chance?

The chorus to the song, their song, began to fade.
 
He listened to her words; they were pretty wise and reflected on a pain, “I would have expected you would have hundreds of lovers.”

The silence after her and his words faded stretched. He watched her green eyes close and felt her press closer. He should have pulled back but damn she felt good against him. They moved much more smoothly when she closed the gap. They had always moved well together, both in the bedroom and on the dance floor. One of the few things their high school class had done for fun was have dance nights. He naturally had rhythm due to music, and it hadn’t taken much for her to develop that into dance skills.

She seemed unaware of what she had done until she suddenly seemed to stiffen. He leaned in closer, “Don’t pull back, it’s kind of fun to have people staring at us enviously again.” Not only did they dance exceptionally well together, better than most, but they also looked nice together. “You realize this is going to be on the cover of the paper tomorrow, right?” he asked wryly. “Bigtime author reunites with high school sweetheart.” Will be the headline, I’ll put money on it. He flashed her the first smile he’d given her that wasn’t faked. It was somewhat sardonic, but it was still a smile.
 
Cleo had forgotten. She always forgot.

Damn newspaper reporters.

But then she glanced around and saw Scott, the long-time newspaper photographer and practically only journalist. His dad had owned the paper and Scott had inherited it; Cleo imagined that he probably ran the whole enterprise by himself these days. He had no ill intention toward her, she was sure. People just weren't aware how intrusive those damn articles were.

She looked back and caught Ryan's smirk. She couldn't help but release the tension in her shoulders and laugh. He was right.

"But how's your... girl... going to feel about that? Because you realize what that would imply, right? Old Maid Morrison and Hunky High School Sweetheart make beautiful music on the dance floor and who knows what happens after....

The woman he'd been with when she walked in was making her way across the room now. Cloe's smile turned fake, her cheeks turned red, and her body stiffened once again.
 
“What happens next, then?” he actually asked, he knew he shouldn’t but yet he still asked.

He felt her stiffen and looking where her eyes were saw Hannah’s approach. He pulled away from Cleo with a small nod of appreciation that she had been respectful of his girlfriend. “She uh, you know, sort of let me dance with you because I told her I could get your autograph.” He said. He paused, “Don’t look at me like that, you were the one that asked for the dance I had to do something.” His arms felt empty. She was far closer to his height than Hannah and seemed to belong there much more than his blonde girlfriend.

“Why did you want to dance with me anyway?” he asked as Hannah approached, needing, wanting an answer.
 
Cloe blinked quickly, out of both forming an answer she couldn't then vocalize and out of quickly coming up with something intelligent to say to the blonde.

"Thanks for letting me borrow him, dear."

She took the girl by the elbow and eyed Ryan with meaning as she glanced over her shoulder, leading the blonde away.

"I hear you're a fan in need of an autograph, and I have just a few pictures here in my purse. What was your name, again, sweetie?"

Cloe signed the photograph.

To Hannah, timeless beauty, flawless friend.

Smiling, she handed the photo back as the girl swooned and chuckled. She glanced over at Ryan and raised an eyebrow. When he caught her eyes she rolled them and stifled a laugh complete with snort visually enough for Ryan to see how ridiculous this fandom thing had gotten.

She put her arm around Hannah's shoulder, squeezing her in a friendly way but guiding her away from Ryan and towards the open bar.

"Here, sweetie. Go have a drink. I don't know if there's a charge but if there is just tell them to start a tab for me." As Hannah walked away, Cloe motioned to her old friend behind the bar, signaling him to double-shot her so she'd get tipsy just a bit faster than she'd expect.

Then, swirling quickly to look Ryan straight in the eye, she let her voice drop an octave and into the sultry tone she used to narrate the sexiest portions of her books-on-tape.

"I don't know, baby. You're the one here with... a... date, or whatever. What does come next?"
 
Ryan watched Chloe go into author mode. It was actually somewhat impressive. She handled the stern blonde like a true pro and even had her smiling and chuckling. Then, just like that, severe Hannah was off to the bar to drink. The woman who yelled at Ryan whenever he so much as had a beer was going to go have a drink because Chloe her favorite author told her to.

He didn’t miss her laugh when Hannah wasn’t looking and did smile at that. However, much more quickly than he expected again he was again alone with her. Her words in that tone made him visibly shiver. “Girlfriend of 2 years.” He muttered in response to her words. He tried to look stern but mostly looked flustered as he spoke again, “You know what that tone does to me, what do you think you’re doing?” Ryan was lost to her. He just didn’t know it yet.
 
She used it again, only exaggerated this time.

"Oh. I know what it does to you. Prrrrr."

She snaked her fingernails at him, imitating a cat's clawing motion. Then laughed uncontrollably. It was unbelievably freeing to hear that this wasn't Ryan's wife. He wasn't tied down, not completely off limits. All hope was not lost.

"Oh! I just wasn't sure if it still worked." She choked down another laugh or two, took a deep breath to compose herself, and spoke again. "I'm surprised it did. You seemed kind of distant when I got here."

She looked at the floor, and then raised her manicured fingertips to brush what looked like dog hair from his sleeve.

"I never understood what happened between us."
 
He shivered again. Even knowing she was teasing him it still worked, dammit. He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah apparently it works.” He didn’t laugh with her but he didn’t seem offended that she laughed. It was clearly a release of tension.

“Yeah I was tense around you, still am. I….” he trailed off “Dammit Chlo,” he said, “We’ve gone over this, you got famous humiliating me and still I can’t get you out of my head, what the fuck is wrong with me?” he ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand up briefly. Her touch had been gentle on his arm, and he wanted that, wanted more. Despite his frustrated sounding words he still craved her. He had spent a lot of years addicted to this woman and it was clear she had never worn off. They just had such a chemistry that once around her he couldn’t resist touching her.

He briefly reached out towards her before he drew his hand back seeming to think better of it, “I’ve had 2 failed marriages and at least as many failed relationships. None of them even lasted as long as you and I did.” They’d been together for all the years of high school plus a year of college so about 5 years.
 
Had she remembered that? If he'd made it plain before, she'd forgotten. Maybe it was her fault. Maybe she couldn't explain herself well at the time and it all got lost in translation. Or maybe he just never did believe her?

Anger and hurt so old didn't surface quite as easily. Maybe now, finally, she could respond to him without crying like a baby. It had taken her years to master that, years to finally understand that so much of her crying and blubbering was out of anger. And how many more years to realize that anger was simply a fear of rejection?

"But - oh Ryan! It was never about you! Sean, the character in that first book -- he was physically based on you, yes. I wanted other people to be as attracted to him as I was to you. Some of his personality traits were based on yours. But, Ryan. The sex wasn't."

She couldn't tell him back then; it would've been breaking a promise. But now, 14 years later, what did it matter? Shannon had moved across the country over a decade ago and Cloe had lost touch with her even before that. Shannon knew the truth all along, and it was Shannon that commiserated with Cloe after Ryan left.

"Ryan. The sex was based on Shannon's first time. With that guy from the Bay Area? It was miserable!"

Cloe waited for Ryan to truly internalize what she was saying, and reached up and brushed another hair from his collar. "No. My first time was amazing. Memorable. Sweet. And is something I... still..."
 
Ryan wasn’t really listening to her, until suddenly her words registered. “Wait, what?” she had gotten his attention. “I think you told me that story once, but I thought you said she had a nice time…”

He couldn’t believe her, could he? She seemed sincere. “How could I not believe that though? I mean you said he resembled me but so then how could I not believe that the rest was based on me too.” He looked a bit shocked and hurt, and generally felt a bit stupid. “Fuck, I need a drink.” He muttered and headed towards the other bar, fortunately not the one his girlfriend was camped out at.

When he got there he ordered jack and coke. He was normally a beer a week kind of guy, so it was rare when he wanted to drink. Had his entire life been fucked up by a misunderstanding? As he took a long pull from the drink he looked at his watch, he gave her less than 30 seconds to catch up, this conversation was far from over, and there was a part of him that didn’t want it to end. What could this mean for him? It begged the question did she still care for him? Her gentle touches had suggested yes, but could that just be old habit? Too many questions were running through his head and so he drank.
 
Cloe let him walk away. He obviously needed a little space, and time to think. She motioned to the bartender serving Hannah to serve her up once again, but in doing so she attracted the attention of a few other reader fans from the class. She hugged them all, passed out fake-sentimental autographed pictures to people she barely remembered (if at all), and took one or two of the men up on a dance.

The entire time, though, she was on auto-pilot. All she could think about was Ryan, and how it was apparent by his reaction that he must not have ever understood that the sex never was about him.

She wondered if he'd ever read any of her other books. There were more than a couple of books where the sex was based on her experiences with him. Those always sold best and got the best ratings. Cloe was never certain how much of that appeal was about the actual sex and the writing, and how much of it was simply that her passion and emotion about the events in her memory caused her to write so much deeper than her usual style.

She sat at a table in a dark corner for a couple of songs, her eyes on Ryan as she thought of the best seller she'd ever had. That first novel had done well, to be sure, but her ratings were best on the seventh novel, which was the third in a trilogy. Every sexual encounter in that book was based on her experiences with Ryan; at that time, the only true lover she'd known.

The plot was entirely made-up, but it was an allegory for some of their old escapades in the sleepy town where they now sat. Raven's Bluff didn't have a lot to offer in the way of entertainment, but the two had found a way to entertain themselves - even back then. Maybe it was easier back then, she thought.

Some things were definitely easier back then. No one had any baggage. No one had any second thoughts, nor did anyone hesitate with trepidation at what tomorrow may hold. All bets were off, the top was down, and the night breeze felt wonderful. The heat between Cloe's thighs pulled the woman out of her reverie.

The redhead shivered, swallowed the rest of her drink, and headed up to the bar where Ryan sat. She motioned the bar tender as she approached, and sat next to Ryan. Gently placing one hand on his back and the other on his thigh, she used her sultry voice on him... but not intentionally this time.

"Ryan? You okay?"
 
Ryan was drinking alone, his glare dissuading most of his old friends from approaching. Hannah was in the group they had hung out with during dinner. He knew he would catch hell from her later for his absence but he wasn’t sure at least for the moment that he cared. He glanced at his watch again, he had been exaggerating earlier but he knew she would be there in moments.

It was no surprise when she came to him. What was surprising was how easily she touched him, one hand sliding to the small of his back, the other on his thigh. His body’s reaction to her touch and then her sultry words was instant, his cheeks turning pink and he shifting in that telltale way he had always had when he grew hard and his pants were uncomfortable.

“My whole life seems to be based on a misunderstanding, so, no not really,” he said as he waved for a second drink. “What is happening,” he asked, “You know I still know you well enough that I had it predicted within minutes when you’d come over here, and I waited wondering if you really would. I actually wanted you to. Five years ago I said I was done with us, after I gave up on revenge, and now what, I’m like a puppy starving for your attention.” He shivered again at her touch. Surely she had to see the affect that she still had on him.
 
A knot formed in Cloe's throat as she recognized his squirm. What was happening here?

The redhead had to swallow twice before she was relatively sure that her voice wouldn't crack when she spoke. She wanted to crawl up into his lap, wrap her arms around his neck, beg his forgiveness - and make up for lost time. Right here. Right now. Room full of people be damned.

"Ryan. I don't... I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry! You... you know me better than anyone ever has. You always did! But even after all this time....

I guess...? I guess I never really let anyone get close after you left. I had no idea what had really happened, never understood why." She lowered her voice. It had been a point of media-driven rumor why she had no apparent love interest. they'd come up with every explanation under the yellow sun, but none had guessed that the beautiful and well-spoken woman was just heartsick.

"Even after 15 years, no one knows me like you do. I've never let go of hope that some day... one of these bright and beautiful days... one day we'd reconcile."

Cloe began running her fingers slowly through Ryan's hair. She tilted her head away from him, and bent down and towards him just a little, trying to look into his face and gauge his reaction. Was he angry? No... the squirm wouldn't combine with angry. But what about the girlfriend?

In that moment, Cloe's author brain went into full force as she quickly sped through all of the possibilities. Would he push her away? Ryan had never been the violent sort, so if that was his choice she knew it would be quiet and solemn... and that she'd never see him again if he walked away.

Would he cry?

Would he wrap his arms around her and just hold her?

Or maybe he would unzip her dress and carry her to the hallway where the bathrooms were, and sneak into that closet that was really more like a stock room because of how big it was. Take her - right here and right now - with all their classmates dancing and his girlfriend at the bar across the room.

Well, that seemed a little brazen for Ryan. But it's what she'd write if it were a novel....

But it wasn't. He was really here, and so was she, and the tension was so thick it was suffocating.
 
He let a little of the pain show on his face, “I’m not sure that this is something that sorry can fix.” Despite his words he did not push her away. After her next words he nodded, “You don’t think that you know me the best still? I haven’t even told Hannah about our history, about any of my past, none of the things we did.” Here he blushed his mind going to some of the things they’d done. Their passions had run so hot, so high, she had he had been involved in some pretty crazy sexcapades.

He didn’t quite nuzzle into her touch as slender fingers combed through his hair, but it was damned close. He actually caught his breath in an indrawn hiss of pleasure that he couldn’t hide from her. He turned his head slowly to actually look at her. “It’s too late for all this, isn’t it? He asked her it was a tentative question not the emphatic statement that it could have been. “It’s been 14 years Clo.” Suddenly he broke off his eyes widening.

He pointed over her shoulder, “Are all those couples still together? I could have sworn at least Ed was married to a city girl not still with Emmy.” His eyes met hers, “Is it take your old flame for a turn, or are they back together, maybe it’s an affair?” His words came out in a rush, anything to take the focus off of their situation; classmate gossip seemed a welcome distraction he’d latched onto.
 
Cloe glanced towards the dance floor where couples were cuddling close and making goo-goo eyes at one another. She smiled, a bit of sadness hinting at the corners of her mouth.

"I've no idea, Ry. I've not kept in contact with anyone... not anyone at all. The town likes to make a big, public deal when I come to town but individually they all treat me with a hint of disdain. I'm the town's famous slut to most of them."

How many times Cloe had wished that she'd come up with a more cryptic pseudonym for herself! How many times she'd wish that in her youth she hadn't bragged so often and so loudly about her newly published book(s). It turns out that not everyone in small-town America really thinks very highly of people who write what they call "smut." Big cities were a great escape, but Cloe's life still reeked of loneliness.

"I honestly wouldn't be surprised if it was an affair, though. People like to judge anyone who's missteps are well-known while quietly reveling in their own secret sins." It was a good quote for a future book.
 
Ryan nodded as Cleo Spoke. He found his hand dropping to cover hers on his thigh. God her touch felt so nice. “The town just can’t handle that much sexual openness. They’d be lining up if they knew that not only can you write it, but you’re damn good at doing it too.” He flushed, “Err. Sorry Clo, that was out of line. Even if it was true. Well I assume it still is, or probably even better now with more experience.” He actually covered his own mouth with his free hand, “This is why I don’t drink.” He said with a laugh as he pushed himself to his feet.

“Since I’ve already embarrassed myself with my mouth, will you honor me with another dance, for old times’ sake? It being take your old flame for a turn and all that.” He teased referring to the other couples they saw. He extended a hand to help her off the stool, though didn’t step back very far so she would probably rub against him as she stood, something he did not do on purpose but would get a secret thrill at if it happened.
 
Cloe grinned from ear to ear.

"For old times' sake!" She nodded in the affirmative and stood to take his hand. As she did, her body rubbed against his - thigh past his hip and down his leg... breasts near his chin and then across his chest... stomach in line with his and then...

"Oops!" Cloe's form-fitting emerald dress had scootched up just a tad as she slid off the chair and into Ryan. Still pressed against him and stuck with the chair directly behind her, Cloe stuck her tongue out to one side and touched her upper lip with it as she wiggled her hips one up and then the other, pulling down with her fingers to get the dress back into position.

"There. Now.. I believe we were going to dance, just like all the other couples who were not-as-hot as we were back then!" She winked and kissed Ryan on the cheek, her weight shifting to one leg to move toward the dance floor.
 
Ryan didn’t step back. He should have, but he secretly could admit to himself how good she felt pressed to him. His eyes tried not to look down her dress and stay on her face, but failed more often than not. “You’re not wearing underwear, are you?” he said finally, pretty sure he’d almost seen a nipple under the tight fitting dress, and the way she pulled the dress down suggested no panties, or if they were there they were tiny things.

He took her hand in his and finally stepped back backing towards the dancefloor leading her by the hand.
 
She didn't answer his question, not directly. Just lifted her eyebrows as they moved toward the dance floor. It was a slow-ish number; slow enough to allow some great movement and teasing, but not so slow as to arouse suspicion from onlooking spouses-and-significant-others. One of the class's two class songs, so almost everyone was dancing and laughing.

Cloe laughed at everything Ryan said, unless it was a question, in which case the answer was a sultry "mm-hmm," with that tale-tell glint in her eye. She moved against him every chance she could while still letting him lead, her left hip tucked in snugly against his - her left breast mimicking that action. Cloe dipped, pretended to dip, swirled, and pressed. She did her best to tease this long-lost lover with her body.

Except it wasn't a tease. Everyone had had a bit of a nip of alcohol - even Ryan had, if one could believe it. No one glanced sideways at them or sneered in her general direction. No one gave her cause to shrink back or clam up in a sudden moment of self-awareness. It was pure, very adulterated fun. Her heart was pounding, her throat tight, and she began to recognize those things a woman notices when she becomes aroused.

Suddenly, it felt more amazing to rub her chest against him. Suddenly, it became a focal point to move his leg between hers. Suddenly, she kissed him.
 
Ryan moved onto the floor with her. He gave in and this time danced properly with her, just as she knew he was capable of. She felt even better this time than the first. He became more and more aware of her breasts especially.

He tried speaking for a bit, nonsense about her work, about his, but finally shut up just feeling the moment. He felt her press closer as they entered one of the shadowy corners. Suddenly his leg was between her legs, her breasts against his chest. He involuntarily held her hand tighter, unconsciously lacing fingers with her rather than just palm to palm as they had been. Before he could say anything her lips were on his.

It was magical, just as he remembered her. She had always been such a good kisser. It was a lost art for some people, but they had spent much time when they first dated when all they did was kiss before they discovered so much more. Rather than push her away as he should have, his right arm clamped harder around her waist pulling her closer head dipping more so she did not need to stretch so high to kiss him. Even if her going up on her toes a little to do it had pushed her harder against him and that felt so good. He did not want her to be uncomfortable. The seconds stretched the kiss continuing, deeper and deeper.

Only when he realized his tongue was plundering her mouth, tasting the sweetness of the coke, the warmth of her mouths heat, did he come to his senses and pull back. His mouth had fallen open with shock and his breaths were clearly ragged. It was only a kiss, but it had never been just a kiss for them. “Fuck Cleo,” he whispered, tucking his head into her neck to hide his blush. A move that did absolutely nothing to improve the situation, as he got a full whiff of his favorite perfume when he was this close and his lips skated along her skin, not on purpose, but brushed pale flesh all the same. Just her scent sent jolts of desire through him. They said that scent triggered more memories than any other sense. Ryan could attest to that as he actually shivered.
 
Where did this light cloud of air come from? Who picked her up and carried her off to where there were no distractions, no peering eyes, no judgement? When did the night become so fresh and clear, and when did Cloe's outlook on life and the future and everything become so much brighter?

Ryan.

It was always Ryan, wasn't it? It's not that the grown woman hadn't realized where her needs and thoughts lay; it was simply that she'd denied them for so long, thinking their fruition to be impossible, that allowing them to rise up in her and be free was so illuminating, so enlightening, that Cloe felt like a completely different person.

She felt like herself again, in Ryan's arms.

She couldn't help but kiss him. He didn't pull away, but melted right into her kiss. With one body and mind they fell together into the depths of both the past and the future, into the nothingness that stands outside of time when one is in the throes of passion - in the clutches of love being born... or, reborn, as the case may be.

He broke the kiss, and cursed. She wholeheartedly agreed. Internally, she screamed. Get me out of here!! Let's run, and run, and run, and never return!

"Oh, Ryan. This feels right. It does. I think we have some decisions to make. I don't know about you, but if we don't decide those things now I don't know if I'll ever come up for air again. Not ever."
 
She slapped him. Not with her hand of course, but with reality. With that word decisions. He knew he had to be rid of Hannah. That sounded so harsh, but like a man waking from a long sleep Ryan realized how unhappy he was with her. Just those few touches from Cleo had opened his mind to all that he had been missing.

But, how to make that happen, did she expect him to do that right now? The kiss changed everything. He wanted to just bury his head in the sand and resume kissing her but she was right if they kept going it would end with her pinned to a wall, or on her knees...fuck, that thought made him so hard.

Before he could say anything another couple ran into them, "So sorry." The man said and suddenly grinned, "Ryan Barns and Cleo Morris, I didn't know y'all were still together."

"We're uh..." Ryan started and then shrugged, "Hi to you Billy," the class president frowned, "I'm William these days Ryan,butthat's ok, it's been years. So, what do you say, you two are coming to the afterparty, right? We have a whole wing reserved at that new resort a couple towns over."

Ryan wasn't sure what to say so turned his eyes to Cleo, putting the ball in her court. Did they come clean and say they weren't together but thinking about it, did they just say yes. Ryan wondered what her response would be.
 
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