Page 47 of Time After Time
“Oh no, no, no, Gen.”
Sebastian glanced around comically, looking confused, as if he had no idea what to do. He muttered something under his breath, running both hands through his hair before hitching his shorts up—so high I couldn’t help but wonder if he wasn’t hurting himself. Then he bent his knees, stuck out his pelvis, and placed his arms at his sides, humping the air while swinging his arms along and rocking from side to side on the tips of his toes.
Before I could even ask what he was doing, he suddenly threw himself backwards onto the ground, and I gasped, thinking he’d fallen. But then I noticed his right hand was behind him, holding his weight, as he kept shaking his hips with his left hand waving in the air. And just as quickly, he was back on his feet, repeating the whole absurd movement.
“What are you doing, Sebastian?” I asked, sniffing a little as I chuckled. The tears in my eyes were now from laughing. His ridiculous dance had nothing to do with the music playing in the background, and a few people were starting to glance our way, but Sebastian didn’t care. He just kept going.
“The Steve Urkel dance,” he said, completely serious.
That made it for me. I doubled over, hands clutching my stomach as a deep, aching laugh tore out of me. My eyes shut tight, tears slipping down from the force of it. When I finally caught my breath and looked up, Sebastian was standing close, right in front of me, adjusting his shorts with a sheepish grin.
“Gosh, thank God you stopped crying,” he said, a little breathless himself. His hands found my hips and stayed there, rubbing, pulling me in. “Why were you crying?” he asked, quieter now, his brows drawn with concern. “You scared me.”
“It wasn’t crying, just a few tears, Sebastian.” I chuckled and then lowered my voice to a whisper as my hands slid from his wrists up to his shoulders, letting him sway us. “I was just… content. Happy. Safe. I always feel that way with you.”
His breath hitched, and my gaze naturally fell to his lips, drawn to the texture and the fine lines that most wouldn’t notice unless they were looking closely.
“I feel the same way with you, Geneviève St. James.”
Hearing my full name on his lips was like music, violins, maybe even a whole orchestra, swirling and dancing around every syllable.
I hummed, pulling him closer, not sure why but wanting him near, to study every feature of his face, to feel his warmth more. I needed it. Craved it for reasons I couldn’t explain.
A wave of dizziness hit me.
He leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. “What are we doing?” The warmth of his breath brushed against my skin, sending a shiver through me. Each word drew us closer, the space between us shrinking as the pulse of our dance quickened.
Sebastian’s proximity was so overwhelming that our heartbeats merged into a singular, rhythmic melody. The dance, both in movement and emotion, had brought us closer until our chests lightly brushed against each other. Tension crackled in the air, and as I let go of his hand, my arms instinctively slipped around his neck, pulling him somewhat closer.
He looked handsome, as always.
I traced the freckles dusting his nose and cheeks, attempting to distract myself from the urge to close the distance between us. The world around us faded away, leaving just the two of us in our own little universe.
“I don’t know,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, struggling to keep my eyes from drifting to his lips and the faint reddish spot on the left side from biting it too often.
“I might do somethingyoumight regret.”
As his gaze settled on my lips, I felt a shiver run through me. I tightened my arms around him, trying to steady myself as he drew closer. When his bottom lip brushed against mine, it sent athrilling rush through me. With his arms around my waist, I felt anchored, even as my knees wobbled beneath me.
“Like what?”
“Like kissing you,” he replied, as if saying the words out loud made them feel real.
The first brush of our lips was cautious, hesitant. Every breath we let out was charged. We stayed there for a moment, lips barely touching, unsure whether to take the next step. Sebastian whispered something I couldn’t quite catch, but the way his lips moved against mine made my knees weak. Then the kiss deepened. Slowly at first, like we were still testing the waters, but something shifted. His mouth pressed harder against mine, and suddenly there was no more hesitation. He kissed me like he couldn’t hold back, biting and teasing like he needed more. That same need surged through me, pulling me in, making my heart race. I wanted everything, even if I didn’t know what I was doing or whether I was doing it right.
My hands drifted to the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his soft hair, almost like I needed something to hold onto. Without thinking, I tightened my grip, aching to be closer to him.
His fingers, warm and possessive, traced invisible patterns on my back. I could sense the delicate fabric of the dress under his touch, and for a moment, I wished it would disappear, allowing our skin to meet without hindrance.
Breathless and a little dishevelled, we finally pulled away from the kiss, our heavy-lidded eyes locking with the same urgency. Our clothes were rumpled, and Sebastian’s lips, red and swollen, were proof of just how intense it had been. I wondered if mine looked the same.
“Fuck.” His chest rose and fell heavily, matching my own struggle to catch my breath. The flush in his cheeks, the state of his lips, and that hazy look in his eyes stirred something in me—a desperate force to kiss him again, pushing aside any thoughts of what had just happened. In that moment, all I wanted was the feel of his lips on mine, our heartbeats syncing, his hands on me, as if that could somehow make it enough. “What are we doing?” he asked again, his voice faint. I just shook my head.
“I don’t know.” Biting my lower lip, I finally admitted, feeling overwhelmed by it all, “But I want more.”
The walk back to the hotel was thick with silence, the only connection between us the tight grip of our entwined hands. Holding on wasn’t just a choice any more—it was a need, something neither of us could let go of. We didn’t care that our palms were slick with sweat.
We had moved briskly along the streets, our long strides driven by urgency or desperation, barely having time to notice the star-studded sky or the lights and colourful banners decorating the streets for the upcoming festival. And then, we had made a stop at the pharmacy, hands sweating profusely because buying what we needed felt almost illicit, like we were doing something forbidden, and neither of us could meet the other’s eyes or even the cashier’s.
