We lay together in silence for a while, the movie we were supposed to
catch conveniently forgotten. We can do this for hours, just be quiet
and peaceful and not have to say anything at all. I've never had that
with anyone before.
“Your heart is beating really fast. I can feel it beneath my
cheek.” My voice, though quiet, seems absurdly loud and I
immediately wish I hadn't said it. It feels a lot like one of those
lines we just don't cross.
“Shut it,” he drawls, wrapping his long fingers around my small
wrist to feel my pulse. “So's yours.”
Even though we haven't really said much at all, this is still the
closest we've ever come to talking about or feelings for each other,
the romantic ones we pretend not to have.
When I tilt my head up to see his face, I find he's already looking
down at me. Gone is his usual smirk, his playfulness, his carefree
nonchalance. His eyes are hooded as he watches me, filled with want
and lust and suddenly I'm finding it hard to breathe. I'm surrounded
by him, totally and completely. His heat, his very presence, even his
smell. Spicy cologne and smoke and the faint hint of antiseptic from
working in the tattoo shop and Twinkies, because he found my secret
stash earlier and ate them all. I'm surrounded by him and I like it.
I adore it, way more than a friend should. No other friend has ever
made me feel the way Reid does. No other guy has made me feel the way
he does, not a single one of my past boyfriends.
“Jemma,” he murmurs desperately, pressing his forehead against
mine. He drops my hand and cups the side of my head. His hand is so
large that the bottom of his palm touches my chin and his fingers
still thread through my hair.
Reid's breath dances over my lips, warm and tempting and sinful. All
I want is to let go, to let him in. Our lips brush, just the tiniest
of secret whispers.
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