Graeme supposed he’d deserved a solid punch to the face, but he thought that a broken jaw would have been over doing it. He wanted to be angry with her but she was shaking with anxiety and her eyes were huge, staring up at him like he was both the sun and the moon and she couldn’t understand how he could be.
“You had me fu*king terrified, you fu*king as*hole. I don’t know whether to kiss you or kill you.”
Maybe it wasn’t the invitation he’d been looking for, maybe it wasn’t the slow acquiescence to their mutual chemistry that he’d wanted, maybe it wasn’t ideal – but he’d take it.
He stepped in, already concerned she'd reject him, pushing it out of his mind, feeling it again, ignoring it again. The anxiety filled his lungs with the oxygen he breathed in, it burned when he held his breath, caught fire as he slipped his hand to rest against her jaw, burst through his entire body as he leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers. Pain throbbed along his jaw where she'd punched him, he could feel the bruise forming, but he ignored it. It didn't matter. She caved against him, the palms of her small hands flat against his chest, her eyes closed as she sighed against his lips. He took it as allowance and wrapped his other hand around her waist, pulling her tightly against him. He deepened the kiss and she responded, it was all he needed to know that everything was going the way it needed to go. He'd never believed in prophecy, in destiny, in the idea that his life was pre-ordained; but ever since Gabriel entered his life, it was as if he couldn't refuse it. She was walking, talking, destiny. She was his crux, his touch stone, his shooting star. He felt he'd known her for lifetimes, and he wondered if he had. He wondered if she felt it too, if she could feel a connection in them that went deeper than the desperate physical chemistry that ate them alive, if she could tell it went deeper than bone marrow, deeper than DNA. He thought it must have been woven into the fabric of his soul, he believed he could feel traces of her that deeply in him.
The pillow was soft and the warm smell of his skin was comforting. She had a blurry recollection of their return to the condo, but she remembered the heat from his fingers as he found every atom inside of her and caught each one on fire. Her whole body ached with pleasure and she felt dopey and sleepy and happy. She was borderline delirious with it, running circles with her finger on his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart as he relaxed, as the tension and the energy and the fervor poured out of him with each breath. His hand rested comfortably on her hip. She was comfortable nestled against him that way, without barriers or clothes or thoughts as to what it felt like to be exposed and vulnerable. She thought giving in to him again would break her, but instead, she felt rejuvenated.
She thought she should speak to him, that they should discuss what was to come of their activities. She wanted security, she wanted to know he wouldn't betray her and stab her through the heart the next time he wanted to leave the condo alone. She oculdn't help her insecurities. She didn't even understand what was going on inside of her, what it was that drew her to him like magnets with no concern for distance. She wanted to wake up with him, she wanted to let herself need him - though it did terrify her, admittedly, to know that she wanted these things. They were not angelic, they were not something she had been designed to incorporate into herself. Her mechanics were very different, perhaps even incompatible with the program she was trying to run, but she couldn't help herself. She had to run it, she couldn't refuse him. Not when he was close, when she could smell him and feel the heat emanating from him like a fire. She wanted to feel him, even if it damned her. She was certain hell would not be as torturous as keeping herself a few feet away from him at all times when he was practically her gravity, so strong was his pull on her. It physically pained her, threatened to snap her ribs like twigs in the way.
He was quiet, but she didn't think anything of it. Maybe he was chewing over his own internal crisis, like she was. Perhaps they were struggling through his wild mess together without even knowing how alike they were, how parallel their feelings were.