Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Zachary
Her lips are soft and sure against mine and a groan rumbles in my chest, a sound I barely recognize as my own.
One of her hands slides from my chest to my neck, fingers tangling in the short hair at my nape, while the other presses flat, right over my heart.
I wonder if she can feel it trying to break out of my ribs.
I taste the faint, sweet trace of the hot chocolate I made for her, mingled with the simple, warm taste of her.
It’s intoxicating. My world narrows, shrinking until it’s only this: the warmth of her legs wrapped around my hips, the scent of her skin—like vanilla and something faintly floral—and the unbelievable, anchoring pressure of her mouth against mine.
I pull back, but only an inch. Just enough to see her. Her eyes are closed, her eyelashes dark crescents against her flushed skin. Her breathing is as ragged as mine.
“Zachary,” she whispers, and the sound of my own name on her lips is a new kind of undoing.
Before I can formulate a coherent thought, I’m moving.
I slide my hands from her hips to her ass, lifting her from the kitchen counter.
She makes a small, surprised sound—a soft gasp that’s half inhalation, half sigh—and her arms instinctively tighten around my neck.
She’s lighter than I expected, but solid.
Real. She fits against my chest as if she were carved to be there.
I stand in the middle of her kitchen, holding her, my heart thudding a heavy, primal beat against my ribs. She presses her forehead against mine.
“Which way?” I murmur, my lips brushing against hers.
I feel her smile, a small, private thing. “Down the hall. Last door on the left.” Her voice is a breathy whisper, meant only for me.
I turn and start walking. Each step feels deliberate, momentous.
The hallway is dark, the only light spilling from the kitchen behind us, casting long, strange shadows on the walls.
My world has compressed to the woman in my arms. I’m hyper-aware of everything.
The scent of her shampoo as I bury my nose in her hair.
The astonishing warmth of her body seeping through my shirt.
The way her fingers are lightly, nervously, tracing the line of my collarbone.
I’m terrified I’m going to trip over a rug I can’t see, that I’m going to do something clumsy and shatter this perfect, crystalline moment. But my feet find the floor. I make it to the last door on the left. It’s slightly ajar. I push it open with my shoulder and step inside.
Her bedroom.
It’s dark, but not completely. Moonlight filters through a gap in the curtains, painting a pale silver rectangle on the floor and catching the edge of a simple, dark wood bed frame.
The bed itself is large, covered in a soft-looking duvet that looks impossibly inviting.
The room smells more intensely of her. It’s clean, uncluttered, and deeply, intimately hers.
It feels like a sanctuary, and for a second, I hesitate. I feel like a trespasser.
Then she shifts in my arms, lifting her head to look at me. Her eyes are wide and dark, and in them I see no fear. Only trust. Only... a mirror of the same want that’s clawing its way up my own throat.
I cross the room and lay her down on the bed, my movements as gentle as I can possibly make them. She sinks into the mattress, and I don't let go immediately. I keep one hand under her back, the other on her hip, leaning over her.
“Maya,” I whisper. I need to give her one more out now that we’re actually here. I need her to know that this is her choice, all of it. “Are you... are you sure?”
She doesn’t answer with words. She lifts one hand, her palm cool and soft, and cups my jaw. Her thumb strokes over the rough scruff on my cheek. She just looks at me, and in that look, I see all the confirmation I'll ever need. She tugs gently, pulling my face down to hers.
The kiss is different again. It’s slow, searching. It’s a promise.
I pull away and kneel on the floor beside the bed, my hands finding the hem of her sweater. My fingers are trembling. Get it together, Zachary.
“Okay?” I ask, my voice barely audible.
She nods, her hands drop to her sides.
I take a steadying breath and slowly, slowly, draw the soft wool up.
My knuckles graze the warm skin of her stomach, and she sucks in a sharp breath.
I pause, my hands resting on her ribs. I lean forward and press my lips to the small, bare patch of skin I’ve just uncovered.
She shudders, a full-body tremor that runs right through me.
I continue my task, pulling the sweater up over her head. Her hair tumbles free, a dark halo against her pale, soft skin. I toss the sweater aside; my eyes fixed on her. She’s in a simple, dark lace bra. Beautiful.
I don’t rush. I’m setting the pace from her, from the slow, deliberate way she’s watching me.
My hands go to her shoulders, my thumbs tracing the sharp, delicate line of her collarbones.
I lean forward again, kissing the hollow of her throat, feeling the rabbit-quick pulse beneath my lips.
I follow the line of her shoulder with my mouth, and her fingers reach out and tangle in my shirt.
My hands slide down her back, searching for the clasp of her bra. My fingers feel thick and clumsy. I fumble with it for what feels like an eternity before the small hooks finally release. I draw the straps down her arms, my gaze lingering on every new inch of skin.
She’s glorious. The moonlight catches the curve of her breast, the shadow between. I have this insane urge to just... look. To memorize every line, every curve.
“You are so beautiful, Maya,” I whisper, and the words feel painfully inadequate.
She doesn't say “no” or “stop” or blush and turn away. She just holds my gaze, her own burning with an intensity that steals my breath.
I slowly press her back into the mattress, my hands find the button of her jeans.
The metallic shnick of the button and the rasp of the zipper sound impossibly loud in the quiet room.
I hook my fingers into the waistband and slowly, inch by agonizing inch, pull them down over her hips.
Her hands fall away from my shirt to rest on the bedspread.
I’m tracing her body with my hands as I go.
My palms skim over the jut of her hipbones, the soft skin of her stomach, the curve of her thighs.
I stop to kiss her hipbone, right where the pale skin disappears beneath the line of her panties. She arches off the bed, a small, desperate sound caught in her throat. That sound breaks my control.
I pull her jeans and socks off in a single, slightly-less-than-graceful movement, tossing them onto the floor. I stand up pulling my shirt over my head in one frantic motion. I’m fumbling with my own belt buckle, my own zipper, then kicking off my jeans, my eyes never leaving her.
She’s lying on the bed, bathed in moonlight, wearing almost nothing, and she’s watching me with an expression of such raw, open wanting that my knees feel weak.
I climb on the bed, sinking into the mattress beside her. I’m on my side, propped on one elbow, looking down at her. She’s perfect. Absolutely, terrifyingly perfect.
I reach out, my hand shaking just a little, and lay it flat on her stomach just below her navel. Her skin is so soft. So warm.
“Zachary,” she says again, her voice cracking.
“I’m right here,” I promise.
I lean down and kiss her. I kiss her like I’m starving. I kiss her like I’m drowning and she’s my only air. My hand slides from her stomach, down to the delicate waistband of her panties, my fingers slipping beneath the lace.
Again, my whole world narrows to just her. The touch of her skin against mine, the scent of her, the small, breathless sounds she makes. Everything else—the past, the future, my doubts, my fears—it all burns away. There is only this. There is only her.
A deep, bone-settling warmth I haven’t felt in.
.. I can’t remember how long settles into my body.
Maya’s arm is a comfortable, pleasant weight across my chest and she has one of her legs hooked over mine.
I smell vanilla and woman and the musky, intimacy of what we just shared.
Her deep, even breathing tells me that she’s starting to doze off.
I am completely, perfectly content. My body is tired in the best possible way, my mind blessedly, astonishingly quiet.
I lie still, not wanting to move, not wanting to break the spell.
I run my hand in a long, slow stroke down her back, from her shoulder blade to the soft curve of her hip, just enjoying the feel of her smooth skin.
And then, in the absolute stillness of my mind, a single thought lands. It doesn't arrive with a crash; it settles, soft as snow, but with the weight of an avalanche.
I’m in love with her.
I freeze. My hand stops mid-stroke on her back. My breath catches in my chest. I... love her. The thought is so massive, so terrifying, that my first instinct is to shove it away. To deny it. This is fast. This is insane. We barely know each other.
But my heart, that traitorous organ, gives a powerful thump against my ribs, right under her ear.
And then comes the second wave. The thrill.
A giddy, ridiculous, unfamiliar warmth spreads from my center, rushing out to my fingertips and toes.
It’s like drinking hot coffee on a freezing day.
I look at her, really look at her, in the dim light.
The soft, vulnerable curve of her eyelashes on her cheek.
The possessive, trusting way she’s holding onto me.
A smile I can’t control splits my face. I feel like a complete idiot, grinning in the dark.
I’m in love with Maya. I feel an overwhelming, almost painful urge to protect her.
To keep her safe. To make her smile every chance I get.
I want to know what she looks like when she first wakes up, what she eats for breakfast, what her favorite stupid movie is. I want to know everything.
And right on the heels of that soaring, terrifying high, comes the crash.
The fear. The smile vanishes. My stomach plummets.
I’m in love with her. And this time, the words are a death sentence.
Love is vulnerability. Love is handing someone a weapon and trusting them not to use it.
Love is... having something to lose. What if I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life?
What if she doesn't feel this? What if this, for her, was just... a night? A moment of comfort after a hard week? My chest tightens until it’s hard to breathe.
I am completely, totally, hopelessly out of my depth.
I’ve just cannonballed into the deep end without checking for water, and I’m in a total, panicked freefall.
She stirs. A tiny, sleepy sound. She nuzzles her face into my chest, like a cat seeking warmth, before her breathing evens out again.
And just like that, the panic recedes. It's still there, a cold knot in my stomach, but it’s pushed back by the simple, solid, undeniable reality of her.
She’s here. She’s warm. She’s real. The thrill and the fear.
I realize they’re two sides of the same coin.
I can’t have one without the other. And as I lie here, holding her, I know with a terrifying certainty that I’d rather have both than go back to the numb emptiness of neither.
A few minutes pass, or maybe an hour. Maya shifts, and this time she lifts her head. She blinks, her eyes unfocused, then they find mine. A slow, sleepy smile spreads across her face.
“Hey,” she murmurs, her voice thick and rough.
“Hey,” I whisper back. My own voice sounds like gravel.
I brush a tangled strand of hair from her cheek.
“You okay?” It’s a stupid question, but it’s the only one my brain can supply.
She nods, not answering, just looking at me.
She props herself up on one elbow, the sheet pooling around her waist. She’s so beautiful it actually hurts to look at her.
“That was...” she starts, then bites her lip, as if she can’t find the right word.
“Yeah,” I say, because I understand. “It was.” My heart is hammering again.
Don’t say it, Zachary. Don’t you dare say it. It’s too soon. You’ll scare her off. Don’t be an idiot. So I say the next best thing. The only other truth I have. “I’m really glad I’m here, Maya.”
Her smile softens, the sleepiness replaced by something knowing and warm. She leans down and gives me a soft, chaste kiss. “Me too, Zachary. Me too.”
She lays her head back down on my chest, fitting herself against my side as if she’s always belonged there.
I wrap my arms around her, holding her close.
I don’t know what we are. I don't know what happens when the sun comes up in the morning and we have to face the real world. But for now, with the moonlight coming through the window, and Maya’s breathing a soft rhythm against my heart, I close my eyes.
The fear is still there. So is the thrill.
And for the first time in my life, I’m not running. I’m holding on.