Page 11 of The Breaking Pointe

candlelight

NOELLE

So conveniently, the power just had to go out.

Right as I thought I could make somewhat of a move, too, now that I have a bit of liquid courage.

Colton found one candle to light, then left to go on a manhunt for an apparent stash of them that he has hidden somewhere around the loft.

As time passes, I’m becoming increasingly curious again about what the rest of the place looks like.

Only way to find out is to see for myself. So, I stand up from the couch to start my exploration.

I can see the rain getting noticeably more aggressive on the patio flooring through one of the windows.

Passing it, I turn down a dark hallway that is hardly a hallway at all.

Five steps into it and there is a door, barely cracked open.

Holding my candle up, I hold one hand out, using a singular finger to push open the door, mentally begging for it not to creak and give away my whereabouts.

It would be just my luck that he’s either in here already or will be here to scare me momentarily.

Pushing the door all the way open, I see dust and what looks to be old clay in random places on the wooden floor.

There is paint in other places—little drops of different colors as if they were accidents.

I follow them, slowly entering the room, taking a few steps before I’m met with a giant, coiled vase.

The clay is a burnt orange color, unpainted, but dried.

It has to be made up of over seventy coils, if not more.

I could stare at the vase for hours, except the corner of my vision is more colorful and attention grabbing.

Following the colors with my gaze, I find myself smack dab in front of a canvas that stands on an easel.

I squint, trying to see the vision better, only to realize it’s a woman.

She has dark hair that’s long and kind of gray.

His attention to detail is quite creepy. I can see every single strand coming out of her head.

I still want to believe that he’s not a real person and I’m being disgustingly punked right now.

His qualities are just too genuine.

It all seems like a set-up.

Every time I think he might take off the mask and give me a big reveal, he only gets sweeter and funnier.

He gets better at making me feel like I can be myself. He has no idea that’s an inhumane feeling for me. I haven’t felt like myself in years since I left Chicago. Daniel pretty much stole the last of that quality from me, and I’m still trying to find it.

The more I browse this room, the more artwork I’m faced with.

Sculptures of different sized angels, or people that I can only assume he’s seen somewhere in his lifetime.

Some paintings are the same, with the same muse, only doing a different action.

It’s like being at the museum all over again, only this exhibit is Colton’s mindset.

It’s a beautiful mindset. An extremely creative one, indeed.

Walking along the wall, I come up to a canvas on another easel, this one partially covered with a sheet.

Taking a look over my shoulder to check for any sign of company, I find nobody, then snap my head back to the picture.

Lifting the sheet, I hold the candle slightly closer, making out the scribbles that were formed into a giant black aura of a human.

He has no face, but he has limbs and a mouth.

There are dark specks all around his head, too.

Almost like firework sparks.

He’s screaming and holding something up to his head that resembles a hammer in a way. This one isn’t beautiful like the others. I step closer, looking at the aura-like creature’s hand.

The specks aren’t specks anymore—they’re blood. The ham- mer isn’t so hammer-like, either. It’s more like a gun”

Noelle?”

A deep, formidable voice rings behind me”

You in here?”

I drop the sheet, spinning around”

Yeah, just browsing,”

I respond.

He stands in the doorway, luring me closer with his presence until I’m standing directly in front of him.

“Find anything you like?”

he asks, leaning on the wall”

Only the thought that you could’ve brought me here, instead.

You have half an art museum right here in your home.”

He makes a whimsical facial expression, telling me he doesn’t agree with his eyes.

“That wouldn’t exactly be a proper date, if I did that, now would it?”

He bites his bottom lip briefly.

“I’m not sure if it means anything, but if I knew that this was what you were about, I would’ve accepted the date a lot sooner.” I shrug”

You didn’t have to think about making anything romantic tonight. You just…did it.”

His quirky smile goes soft while he lets his empty hand rake through his thick hair. The floor has caught his attention again, helping him hide the fact that I’m successful in making his

cheeks turn cherry red. His smile is one of the most compelling ones I’ve been graced with, and so is his jawline. And he’s so unaware of it.

“Why don’t we go in the living room. I got a hell of a lot more light in there, now,”

he says, grasping one of my shoulders as I follow him.

I want him to believe me.

I wouldn’t think I would be someone to boast about a man’s greatness ever again, but I have to.

So far it feels like he takes every compliment as if it were one of those rain droplets outside.

He lets them all roll off his body like he’s made of steel.

It’s sweet that he’s humble, and that’s beyond the bounds of attractiveness to me.

But he doesn’t believe a damn thing I say, and it’s self-evident.

We walk over to the casement part of the window, and I sit down, pretzel style, leaning against the window.

All that’s visible is smog and smoke.

You can still see the city lights and all the buildings shining from how high we were.

It’s mesmerizing when you’re looking at it in real life, but he looks at this every single day.

I don’t ever want to leave.

It’s quiet, and calm. He has an amazing view, and for once, I’m not distracted by how homesick I always am. I don’t have Lauren or Tony being cringe in the corner of my eye, either.

It’s pushing around eight o’clock now; we must have spent most of our day at the museum it seems.

I lost track of time there, and now here.

My next concern, out of the thousand that I have already, is overstaying my welcome.

“This view is so crazy. I can’t believe you live here alone,”

I say, looking at him.

He’s opening another bottle of wine, eager to pour me a fresh glass, while also replenishing his beer. I’m already guilty of drinking most of the previous one. He’s being too nice now, and this wine is different. Something with a maple leaf.

“Oh, I’m not that alone. I got Bonnie.”

He chuckles softly, holding the bottle and beer in one arm and picking up my glass with his free hand.

“Haha,”

I say sarcastically, smiling”

You know what I mean, though…”

He bounces his shoulders, approaching me as he sits next to me.

He sets my glass between us on the windowsill”

I do. Trust me, I’m not your happiest camper,”

he says, cracking open the fresh beer.

“What’s that?”

I pry, scooting a bit closer to him as I point to the bottle.

“It’s called ‘Chateau La Mission Haut Brion’,”

he answers. So, it’s French. Time to embarrass myself even more.

“I got it in Canada a few months ago,”

he adds, averting his eyes from me.

“Canada.”

I grin, nodding”

So, it’s French?”

I ask, needing to confirm that I’m not a dummy.

He nods”

You get it.”

I think I get it?

“You’re really generous for sharing it. Are you sure it’s fine?”

I ask, feeling like any second he’ll change his mind.

“It’s fine, sweetheart. I brought it out for you. I’d never end up drinking it on my own time. I love my beer.”

He takes another gulp from his can.

I do get it. You’re unreasonably cultured, hot, and you call me sweetheart.

“So, y’know, I feel like I should apologize for imposing. It doesn’t seem like the storm is gonna get any better,”

I shamefully say, looking out the window.

“I can get you a ride? Am I making you uncomfortable?” he

asks with a boat load of fear filling his tone.

“I’m extremely comfortable. That’s why I feel bad,”

I say in amusement.

“Feel bad? That’s what I want. You don’t have to stay here; I wouldn’t force you. Just know that there is a guest room.”

He waves a hand as he speaks”

I don’t do pressure. I hate being pressured.”

“It’s awful,” I say”

That’s all dancing has been for me, recently. It makes me miss Chicago so bad.”

I reach for my glass, staring at the darkness of it before I sip it. That one sip is the turning point. I’m officially wine-drunk in Colton Kennedy’s condo.

“Were you raised there?”

he asks, turning to face me slightly as he rests his back on the glass of the window.

“Yeah. Born and raised.”

I nod then give a small smile”

And you’re from here? ‘Cause you sound like it,” I query.

“Staten Island,”

he admits”

Is it that bad?”

He chuckles”

No. You just don’t sound out the letter R and it sounds

aggressive.”

I smile more, poking his bare bicep. He chuckles more, accepting that perception.

I sigh, relaxing again”

Sometimes I wonder if staying here was a mistake, you know? I made a lot of bad decisions in a short amount of time.”

Letting my arms fall back into my lap, I glance at him, catching him staring again.

He leaves a bit of silence between us for a few moments. Maybe trying to find the words—then he does.

“I am a firm believer in the idea that everything happens for a reason in life. You have to trust that instinct or decision. Trust the process,”

he says gently.

I nod sheepishly”

Yeah—yeah I guess you’re pretty right about that. But what about you? You seem to travel often.”

His face tightens briefly”

Eh, sort of. I went to a couple of different countries before I graduated college. Now I just travel when I can or if I feel like it. But I love it here.”

“A lot of people love New York. But why do you love it?”

I raise my brows, sipping more wine.

“Being in Brooklyn, specifically, is what I love the most because the people are so diverse and welcoming,”

he professes”

It’s also very homey to boot. Something about it to me is scary to leave forever.”

His voice steers in a more passionate direction.

I tilt my head slightly”

It seems like you found your niche here, too.”

“I think so,”

he agrees”

Then sometimes I wonder if I’m telling myself that as a facade.”

He looks at his beer”

Don’t get me wrong. I adore all the other places, but there’s something about home that’s different. Staten has homes. You can’t find the beauty in the city the same way you can in a full house—with family.”

He finally looks at me again, with a more restrained gaze”

I sometimes wish I had that life. With a regular house.”

“Me too,”

I whisper.

He licks his lips, looking down again. I scoot forward, readying myself to say something, but opportunely, he does as well— shooting my wineglass right onto his perfect, white t-shirt.

“I’m so sorry, Colton—oh my God,”

I panic, gripping the stem of the glass.

Any second now I’m due for an earful. His nice, possibly expensive shirt, has now been dyed, I’ve wasted wine, and I’m overstaying my welcome for sure now.

“Oh no,”

he says, sounding rather entertained by the situation”

That’s too bad. It’s okay, though, I swear.”

He’s smiling about it.

“You aren’t mad?”

I hesitate to speak.

“Mad about a shirt? Noelle, I have a million of these,”

he scoffs, reaching for the bottom of it, lifting it over his head”

Hope you don’t mind. The wet spot is gonna drive me insane, rubbing against my skin.”

He dabs the shirt against his stomach, balling it up in his hand.

I wanna rub against him and share more physical affection.

He’s so olive and smooth looking.

I spoke ill of his staring habits earlier, but he’s making me eat my words.

I could stare at his chest all day, down to the veins protruding from each muscle, all night.

And with drowsy eyes, he looks nearly monstrous compared to me.

Deep down, I want to find out how he sounds when he’s breathing over the top of me.

It wouldn’t be scary with how sonorous and warm his voice is to me. I want him to tell me all the sweet nothings he can think of. Drunk or not.

My hand is developing a mind of its own at the sight of his bare body, up close.

I can’t hold myself back from just a little touch, right on his shoulder, as softly as I can.

His eyes bat at my hand, then my face”

Your hands are freezing,”

he says, mock annoyed.

“You’re warm. Really warm. And so smooth,”

I say, pushing myself closer to him, flattening my hand on his shoulder fully.

I have to keep going. I’m not done admiring his perfectly sculptured body. I need to see if his chest feels the same.

“You’d be warm, too, if forty percent of your body was covered in hair,”

he hums, watching my fingers wander against his chest hairs.

He sets his beer down, and his large fingers wrap around my hand while he takes the glass from the other, setting it on the wood next to his beer. Both his hands are holding mine now, massaging them.

“Lemme warm you up.”

He continues to speak, holding each hand firmly in his and pulling me into him, face to face.

“I just wanna look at those big, green eyes a little more,”

he mumbles, topping it with a half-smile.

Here we are, back to our unfinished situation from earlier.

He’s still charming, but even better while he’s shirtless.

My heart is beating out of my chest.

He set the candles up just right, like he knew it would woo me, and I’m becoming less shocked about how he’s so good at this game.

I’m drunk, sure, but I know he deserves a kiss at least.

I thought I knew what the goal was here, but it’s crystal clear that I’ve lost sight of the plot since making out with him right here, right now, is all I want.

I can’t not kiss him this time. There’s nobody here, and nothing that can pull us out of the moment.

His warmth is spreading to me, buoyed with the drinks and anticipation that we had been building all day over our countless glances and lingering touches.

The power outage turned our world into a cozy cocoon, where nothing exists but the two of us, and the glowing candles casually dance with our loud heartbeats.

That’s it. I’m seizing it.

“Can I try something?”

I whisper into the space between our faces.

“Try it,”

he whispers back.

Looking in his eyes, there’s a blend of excitement and ten- derness reflecting back at me.

My heart is steadily pounding, and I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks with a mix of embarrassment and exhilaration.

We both sit with a brief moment of hesitation, as if the entire universe has paused to witness this moment with us.

I graze my lips against his, tentative at first. My senses are heightened by the wine, and everything is starting to feel like ecstasy.

With charged air, I can almost hear the murmurs of unspoken words swirling around us.

His hand moves to my cheek, tucking my hair and cupping my face.

I press my lips against his fully, letting the rest of his warm aura envelop me.

Despite his love for beer, he tastes sweet from his glass of wine earlier, and his beard smells succulent, like oak.

His skin has a scent of musk and cinnamon.

Possibly the most delightful thing I’ve ever smelled when it’s all together.

And all I want is more of it to consume me.

Like that feeling when you hear a song and it gets to the bridge. The part you’ve been waiting for the entire time. The best part. And then, finally, you just go crazy. Fireworks, special effects, and all.

I move my hand to his thigh, gliding it up to his waist and back down, squeezing it.

Everything feels fuzzy the more we deepen the kiss—my insides, my hands, my feet.

Everything.

I don’t know anything about science or why these things happen.

I’m not even sure I wanted things to go this far, this fast.

How can one man make me this unsettled? This is desperate.

I just want him on top of me, and that’s it.

Not in a lusty, Fifty Shades kind of way. But in a Noah and Allie in the house he built for them sort of way. He could take me right here. I wouldn’t decline it.

Before I can get too encapsulated in his lips, he grabs the small of my neck and pulls away, abruptly, breathless and laughing softly.

I can see the surprise and delight dancing in his eyes as he examines my face.

“Did I do something wrong?”

I breathe out my nose, batting my eyes open to see his.

“Not even. That felt so right.”

His chest pumps as he looks back at me, still beaming.

“So don’t stop yet,”

I demand, smashing my lips into his again.

He gets sucked into it, just like before, humming against my mouth as he starts to mumble through the kiss.

“Then you tell me when to,”

he breathes, pulling my legs around his waist, wrapping one of his thick arms around mine”

I don’t want you to stop at all,”

I say against his lips as I wrap

my arms around his neck”

I want more. More of this.”

He pulls away again, causing me to chase his face with mine as I grip onto him, feeling us rise into the air.

We float over to the couch, my back colliding with the cushions as we crash onto it.

His hands grip onto my thighs but he keeps distance between our waists.

The hair on his face continues to tickle mine as his kisses lead to my jaw and down my neck.

I can feel him resisting, even though I told him not to.

He’s putting forth this immense effort to keep his hands in all the respectable places and his crotch far from mine.

I slip two fingers in his sweatpants, pulling his hips closer”

Mmm,”

he hums, softly grabbing my hand, “I wouldn’t touch that. I mean, you don’t have to.”

He chuckles against my skin, sounding uneasy.

“Well, why not? I wanna,”

I whisper as our hips collide, shoving his half-hardened boner right into my lower half.

“That’s why,”

he says in a throaty voice, hovering over me as he starts to adjust himself in his boxers.

I lift a finger to his chin, making him look at me.

“You obviously want me in more ways than just staring at me, Colton.”

He glances at my lips and then my eyes”

Doesn’t mean I’m allowed to have you in other ways. No matter how bad I want you,”

he responds.