The Hidden - Jessica Verday [88]
Love … Mine … was running through my head, over and over again in a blurry haze.
He leaned back against the sink, and I pushed myself into him. Closer. Deeper. He held me in place with one arm and used his hand to run it up my leg. He skimmed the back of my knee, and I wanted to scream, Yes, as he drove me to a fevered pitch. His fingers whispered down my back, caressed my spine, and I arched like a cat in the warm sun, trying to stifle a moan.
I think I did scream then.
We were nothing but touch, and taste, and feel. The towel was beneath us. The floor rushed up to meet us, and afterward I found myself thinking that I’d never known how comfortable tile could really be.
Caspian carried me into the bedroom, and I rested my head on his chest. I could barely think. Could barely move. Could barely keep my eyes open.
The towel was wrapped around me again. I snuggled deeper into it, and deeper into him. My eyelids were heavy but I didn’t want to sleep, didn’t want to waste a single second of our precious time together.
Twining our fingers together, I moved my head so that I could hear his heartbeat. I’d only get this one chance. “Stay with me,” he whispered. “Stay awake for me.”
But I was already drifting away.
Sunlight was streaming in through the windows when I woke up again. I propped myself up and just looked at Caspian, lying beside me. He stretched and turned to face me, green eyes glinting in the sun.
I brushed some hair off his face and whispered, “Take him and cut him out in little stars, / And he will make the face of heaven so fine / That all the world will be in love with night / And pay no worship to the garish sun.”
He touched my hand and turned it to his lips, kissing my palm. “What’s that?”
“Just something I found written on a piece of paper. Shakespeare.”
“Mmmmm.” He stretched lazily, and I touched the tattoo on his arm.
“I talked to you, you know,” I mused, almost to myself. “Even though you couldn’t hear me, I spoke to you.”
“I heard every word,” he said. “Every whisper, every plea. Every heartfelt emotion you poured out to me … I heard them all. And I held them close.”
I dragged one finger down his bare chest. “You know, I’ve wanted to touch the tattoo on your back ever since you first showed it to me, and now I get the chance.” He rolled, and the dark outline was suddenly in front of me. His shoulder blades flexed as he positioned his head on his arms.
I let my finger glide, following the smooth black line as it angled in and repeated itself. His skin was warm—something I’d wondered about when I’d thought about what this day would be like.
“Is it strange?” I asked.
“Is what strange?”
“Living. Being real. Just for one day.” Now both of my hands glided across his skin.
“For the first two years, it was strange. Really strange. This year? I don’t have any complaints.”
“What are we going to do?” I leaned over him and breathed the words onto his skin, coaxed the fine muscles to ripple to life. “How are we ever going to go back to not being able to touch after this?”
He sighed deeply, but didn’t answer.
We spent the rest of the day being completely lazy. We headed downstairs and curled up on the couch to watch movies, just enjoying the chance to lie wrapped up in blankets and wrapped up in each other. I made us popcorn and brownies. And for dinner it was just simple spaghetti.
Caspian told me it was the best spaghetti he’d ever had.
As night fell and the shadows came cruelly chasing away the rest of the daylight, a dark cloud settled on me. Our time was slipping away. Already it was eight o’clock. Only four more hours to go. Four more hours left to fit in a year’s worth of touching.
It wasn’t nearly enough time.
Eventually we got dressed. Him in a pair of jeans and an old T-shirt that had once been Dad’s, and me in jeans and a dark blue sweater. I grabbed a large flannel blanket and made us each a steaming mug of hot chocolate, and then we went to the front porch. The swing was out there, and so were the stars.
We cuddled together in the