Chapter 14 #3
I took a deep breath and got down on my knees, my maternal instinct to help David warring with my fear.
I grasped Henry’s comforter, my hand shaking as I hesitated, not sure I wanted to see what was under the bed.
I closed my eyes and took a slow, steady breath.
Before I could imagine what might be lurking there, I snatched up the comforter and dropped my upper body to peer beneath.
I laughed in a nervous burst of sound.
Empty.
“Thank God,” I murmured.
I rested my forehead on the floor, waiting for my muscles to recover from the rapid release of adrenaline. When I thought my legs could once more support me, I pushed back up to my knees. Just as a hand came down on my shoulder, the fingers digging into my skin.
I screamed and launched to my feet, whipping around to face the intruder, but no one was there.
“Fuck this,” I spat.
Pausing only long enough to grab my phone, I hurried out of my apartment, not sure where I was going until I was in the hallway, running toward Whit’s door.
The hall lights dimmed and brightened as I passed them, creating a strobe effect that made my shadow’s movements jerky, oddly out of sync with my own.
It took only seconds to reach Whit’s door but felt much longer. I knocked softly but urgently, glancing over my shoulder, praying nothing had followed me down the hall.
Oh, God…what if he doesn’t answer?
I knocked again, harder, sending another look over my shoulder, my panic building.
The lights blinked three times in rapid succession. The bulb at the other end of the hall burst, shrouding the path in darkness.
Shit.
Just then I caught a glimpse of my shadow on the wall nearby.
It hadn’t followed me all the way to Whit’s apartment, stopping several feet behind me, perfectly still.
Watching.
Waiting.
Oh, my God.
Too terrified to move, I could only observe helplessly when my shadow rippled, and the silhouette of a woman stepped away from the wall to turn toward me.
“Zellie?”
I jumped, inhaling a jagged breath as my attention snapped back to Whit’s door. I was so relieved to see him standing there, I wanted to throw myself into his arms. But I could only stare at him, trembling, eyes wide, suddenly forgetting why I’d come.
He stood in the doorway, his lids heavy with lingering sleep, dark hair mussed. He was barefoot and wearing only a pair of jeans slung low on his hips, probably having just thrown them on when I pounded on his door.
His concerned gaze drifted from my face to my shaking hands.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice rough from sleep. His eyes flicked past me, just for a second, like he was checking for something in the shadows. “What’s wrong? Do you want to come in?”
I blinked a couple of times, then checked the hall behind me again. But it wasn’t necessary. I could already feel that it was empty. The heaviness had lifted the moment Whit opened the door.
I gave myself a mental shake and cleared my throat. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have come. I just…”
…am a victim of multiple ghosts who are terrorizing me?
“I just…I wanted to…apologize,” I stammered, still too shaken to think coherently. “I mean, for earlier. But I guess also now for waking you up at three in the morning.” I vaguely gestured at his bare chest and torso. “Obviously.”
He shook his head. “Zellie—”
“I don’t want you to think that I was throwing myself at you to get something in return,” I said in a rush, cutting him off. “I’m not that kind of person, Whit. I hope you know that. Despite what happened earlier.”
The muscle in his jaw twitched. “There’s no need to apologize, Zellie,” he said, his voice quiet, tense. “It wasn’t your fault.”
His words were comforting, but there was an undercurrent of something else. Frustration? Anger? With himself? With me?
My heart sank and tears pricked the corners of my eyes, my emotions worn raw. “I should go.”
I turned away, but his fingers caught mine. “Wait.”
His touch trailed along my palm as he released my hand, lingering just a second too long when he reached my fingertips.
I swallowed, the brief contact still burning on my skin.
“Zellie, I never want you to feel obligated to me in some way because you live at Dawes House. I hope you know me well enough now to understand that.” He took a half step toward me to lean on the doorframe, so close to me I could feel the warmth of his body, and dropped his gaze to the floor, exhaling slowly as if taking the time to carefully consider his words before lifting his head, his gaze locking with mine, his already dark eyes growing even darker as he rasped, “I only turned you down earlier because you weren’t thinking straight tonight. ”
I searched his face, gauging his sincerity. Then, my voice little more than a whisper, I spoke the words that I knew could change everything between us. “I’m thinking straight now.”
He went completely still for a long, torturous moment.
Then he lifted his hand, hesitating just a beat before the back of his fingers skimmed along the line of my jaw, his touch light, almost reverent.
When he reached my chin, he gently tipped my face up.
He flicked a glance down to my mouth then lifted his eyes back to mine, questioning.
I nodded, my lids drifting shut as he slowly bent to press his lips to mine.
It was a sweet kiss, tentative, just a light brush.
But it ignited a powder keg of desire.
In one swift motion, his arms wrapped around me, pulling me tight against him as his mouth captured mine, possessive, demanding. One kiss led to another and another until all else faded away, until all that existed was the heady desire that stole my breath.
At some point, we moved inside. He shoved the door shut then lifted me, his hands grasping the fabric of my shirt when I wrapped my legs around his waist. Then my back was against the wall and we was pressing kisses to my jaw, my neck.
I whispered his name and dragged his face back to mine, eager to get lost in his kiss again.
I don’t know how much time passed. I don’t know when he carried me to another room and lowered me to his bed.
There was only his mouth and his hands as they explored my body, his touch gentle, patient as his hand slipped beneath my shirt, caressing my back, smoothing along my ribs, over my hip, pressing me closer.
When his thumb skimmed across my nipple, I gasped, the contact sending a lance of heat straight to the core of me.
He immediately stilled and pulled back. “Should I stop?”
I shook my head vehemently. “God, no.”
He still hesitated, so I covered his hand with mine, guiding him down along my belly to the waistband of my pajamas.
“Touch me,” I breathed. “Please.”
When his fingertip brushed against the bud of nerves, so tender, so careful, I moaned, arching against his hand, needing more.
He hissed a curse and then his mouth was on mine again, his breath ragged as he then broke away, to watch me as his touch brought me closer and closer to release, only to back me down again then drive me toward that blissful precipice until I couldn’t take it anymore, my moaning growing louder, more fevered as his finger slid inside me and then a second and his thumb continued to caress.
I panted, grasping his sheets in my fists, when sensation overtook me. My cry of release filled the room.
I was still burning, still aching as his thrusting fingers slowed again, backing me back down to a simmering desire that would soon need to be released again. He brushed his lips against mine, then kissed my cheek, my temple, before finding my mouth again.
When he lifted his head to gaze at me, I took his face in my hands. “I want you. All of you.”
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, we’ll get there,” he assured me. “But not yet. I want to take my time with you, Zellie. I want you to know how beautiful you are, how precious you are to me.”
With this, his touch became more insistent. I gripped his shoulders, gasping as he made good on his promises. And then there was only pleasure. And love. Such intense love, it enveloped me, cradled me, filled my soul.
Much later, when we drew one particularly languid kiss to a close, he lifted his head to gaze at me and brushed a lock of hair from my eyes. Neither of us said a word. There was no need. He rolled to his side, pulling me against him, holding me close.
“Should I walk you back to your apartment?” he asked eventually.
“Are you asking me to go?” I replied.
His arm tightened around me. “No,” he said. “I’m asking you to stay.”
I curled into him. “Then I’ll stay.”
Held in his arms, I fell into the most restful, peaceful sleep I’d ever known, feeling truly loved, truly safe for the first time in my life.