Heaven for Everyone (Queen/Roger Taylor)

10.

May 1992

My lips are already on Cassie's when the car door shuts behind us. We're giddy, drunk on each other. I forgot how much I fucking love this part, where you can't imagine the person not being there, can't imagine how you could possibly breathe without their presence and their touch. It's the time when everything seems possible—the moment when it's pure optimism.

We trip out of the car, laughing our heads off, and she struggles to find her keys. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I pull her against me. Her breath hitches when she feels me, and the hand rummaging around in her purse momentarily stops as she leans back into me.

"I'lll break down the door if I have to," I murmur against her hair, and she lets out a breathy laugh.

The moment we're inside, our hands are all over each other. I press Cassie against the door, my hands frantically trying to unzip her dress. She finally manages to get me out of my shirt, then grabs my hand to lead me through the darkened house.

We pause once again inside her bedroom, where I make short order of both her dress and my trousers. She's down to her knickers and bra when I stop for a moment to really look at her.

My eyes rove up and down, my body reacting to what I see. But it's when I look back up at her face, at the way that she's looking at me, that I realize I've been doing it all wrong for years. At that moment, I know that she's not here because I'm Roger Taylor; she's here because I'm me.

"You're so lovely," I say. She starts to slowly back away from me towards the bed, a come-hither look on her face. I quickly cross the room to stand in front of her.

"I thought we banned that adjective," she says with a grin.

I place my hands on her hips and push her back lightly until she's lying on the bed. I follow her trajectory, propping myself on my forearms and lowering my head until our faces nearly touch.

"Lovely," I whisper, lowering my head slightly to kiss the end of her nose. "I'm sorry, but that's what you are."

Cassie looks up at me, and I wonder if I've ever met anyone else whose eyes could portray so many emotions at once. She's both vulnerable and self-assured at the same time, her eyes filled with desire and wonder and, if I'm not mistaken, the slightest hesitation.

I reach down and wrap my arms around her, rolling to one side so that we're facing one another. Placing a hand on her cheek, I feel her leg interlock with mine.

"You're sure about this?" My voice is slightly hoarse. Years of random trysts while touring have trained me to check in before anything serious happens. But tonight, I'm not asking because of that. Tonight, the real question is, are you sure about me?

"You're having second thoughts?" There's a brief flash of panic in her eyes, quickly replaced by an eyebrow arch and a look that's just so Cassie.

"No, not that," I reply quickly. "I just know that all this"--me, my celebrity, the whole circus--"can be a lot to take on."

She reaches up to cover my hand with hers. "I'm the single mum of a recalcitrant 5-year-old, and I'm still recovering from a messy divorce. You think I'm not a lot to take on?"

I shake my head slightly. Her baggage seems so insignificant compared to the bullshit that comes with being in a relationship with me. Because that's what this is, right? A relationship?

Cassie watches me closely for a moment, then reaches out to place her palm on my waist just above the band of my boxers. I groan softly and pull her closer. We never got around to turning lights on, so the room is lit only by the moonlight filtering in through the large windows.