James and I stood face to face, my hand gripping the glass of milk half way to my lips, and his clutching an unopened beer bottle with surprising force.
"If I'd known we were going to have a male guest in the flat at 2 am, I would've made sure to dress accordingly."
He ignored me for seven seconds – exactly. There seemed to be little to do other than count the lengthy moments of the awkward pause we had found ourselves relapsing into. It was after the seven seconds had passed that the odd, burning feeling in my gut became uncomfortably overpowering, and I decided to do the only sensible thing at that point in time: break the tension by walking away.
"I'm drunk." He said as I opened the fridge hurriedly and pulled out the bottle of milk.
He shrugged. I watched his shoulders move, his lean body shifting, his brown hair dropping into his face. "Drunk enough."
I poured some more milk into the glass I was gripping in a shaking hand.
"You're half naked."
I glanced at him. "True." I agreed. It was in exceptionally awkward moments such as this that I counted on a carefully practiced dead-pan expression and an indifferent tone to escape from the situation unscathed.
James raised an eyebrow in a silent question. His hazel eyes were reflecting the meagre beam of light from the bulb in the centre of the kitchen ceiling.
"It was hot." I subconsciously tugged down my Dad's big t-shirt that I liked to sleep in, covering up as much bare thigh as physically possible, when I spotted James' eyes roving down my body.
He licked his lips.
"Why are you here?" My voice erupted in a disturbingly high-pitched squeak. He looked up with a dazed expression.
"Why are you here?" I repeated, trying to remove any inklings of desperation in my voice. "Why are you in my flat at 2 am on a Wednesday morning?"
He hopped onto the counter smoothly and began to rub his thigh distractedly with the hand that wasn't holding a beer bottle. "Bonnie let me in."
I raised an eyebrow. "I supposed as much. Unless you broke in through the window there isn't any other way you could have got in."
He smiled ruefully. I waited for his answer.
"You have a bottle opener?"
I quenched the annoyed feeling in my stomach and handed him the item from the drawer with the peeling paint.
He opened the bottle and drank, his adam's apple bobbing gently with the tug of his swallowing. My fingers itched to run up the sides of his neck and stroke his angular cheekbones.
"I need to sleep. I have class early tomorrow - today, even." I allowed that to be my final comment to him, before I turned around and began the trek back to my room.
I reached the kitchen door.
"Don't you feel sorry for me? I'm like those pitiful young men you read about in your books, pining after his lost love and drowning his sorrows in gallons of alcohol."
I turned to face him, a grin tugging at my lips. "You make the situation sound a lot more romantic than it is."
He winked. "I try."
I shifted. "You're not in love with me."
He considered this, the bottle in his hands swinging gently back and forth.
"No," He agreed. My chest constricted. "But I could be. Given time."
I stared at him. He was so handsome, and the small amount of light only accentuated his sharp, roguish features further. I felt an undeniable pull to him, a bond of sorts which hadn't been broken, which could never be broken, despite all the pain we had endured in one another's company - still, despite all that, I wanted him.
But oh, I wanted him so bad.
I stepped forward hesitantly. I saw him swallow. I took another step.
"James." My voice was soft, easy to pass unheard, easy to ignore: he swallowed again, before reaching forward to grab the front of my shirt in a fist and drag me to him.
I heard him put the bottle down, I felt a shaky hand clutch my waist and another tentatively touch my thigh, I watched his shoulders tense under my fingers as they travelled to reach his hair, before delving into the soft threads and pulling gently.
"Yes, Rose?" His voice was rough, strong, thick with emotion: I tugged at his head until I could feel his soft lips on my neck.
His fingers brushed against my leg until the hairs all over my body stood on end – I felt myself tremble in his arms, and his grip faithfully tightened. The hand on my waist moved to pull my shirt upwards until both hands were caressing bare skin as his lips travelled the length of my neck, sucking gently on the skin. I moaned in desperation for him, for him to be closer, to feel more of his lean body against mine.
I shifted forward until I was between his legs and rubbed myself against him, revelling in the friction I caused and the soft gasp he released in my ear: I pressed a kiss against his jaw and he turned his head so our gazes locked.
His beautiful hazel eyes were clouded with what could only be lust.
Lust for me – me, the girl who had broken up with him on the sunniest day in July, the girl who had waited patiently for his late returns and bemusing flirting and the phone numbers of girls scrawled across his arm to end, the girl who had retaliated his actions with her own late returns, her own flirting, her own phone numbers – the girl who he had the potential to love.
But at that moment, I couldn't care less what had brought us together or what had driven us apart – his kisses were addictive, his touch was compelling and his eyes... his eyes were beautiful.
I pressed a hand against either side of his face before bringing it level with mine, and putting my lips against his to create the most heated embrace we had ever shared.
We had become desperate, near-primal in our need for one another – his fingers clenched my skin and his head tilted to allow better access to my mouth, my hands gripped his hair and my body moved on its own accord against his to create a steady, intoxicating rhythm. My body burned in joy.
I pulled back suddenly.
"What?" He sounded annoyed.
I dragged back a hand from his hair to touch my tingling lips. "You're drunk."
He rolled his eyes. "Not that drunk."
"So you want this?"
I eyed him suspiciously. "Do you really want this? Or is it just an amusing pastime because you happen to be bored?"
His eyes narrowed into a piercing glare. "Shut the fuck up."
"No." He interrupted smoothly. I bit my lip.
"What did I tell you to do?" I didn't answer. His hand moved up my body to brush across my stomach and stroke the skin beneath my breasts. I shuddered.
"I lied." He said quickly.
"I lied to you."
I frowned. "When?"
"When I said I have the potential to love you."
I stared at him, my heart burning. He pressed his forehead against mine and sighed.
"I only just realised it." He muttered. "I can't stop thinking about you, I felt like death and acted like a psychopath when you broke up with me –" He stopped to gaze into my eyes. "I did all those awful things to you when we were going out to prove some kind of point to myself – that I didn't care about you as much as people teased me for, that I was still independent and free-minded and I didn't need to give a shit."
"But I did." He groaned, closing his eyes for a moment. "I gave a shit, whether I liked it or not. You have such a fucking hold on me Rose, anything you do or say has an effect on me –" He pressed his lips together. "I love you. I love you already. There's no potential about it."
I blinked back tears and stroked the skin on his neck gently. "Oh my God." I whispered, my voice heavy with emotion.
He kissed me oh-so-softly, his lips barely grazing mine – the desire pooling in my stomach was becoming unbearable.
"I want to take you to my bedroom." I whispered, my eyes on his lips. I watched them part in awe and his eyes lift and widen. "I want you to sleep next to me, and stay there. I want to wake up to you."
He grinned. "No problem. Do you mind adding a little extra activity before the sleeping part?"
I returned his smile with one of my own – I felt like I could burst. "Depends."
"On how much work you're expecting me to do." I smirked, toying with his collar. "I have class in a few hours, remember?"
"You little tease," He jumped off the counter and picked me up, wrapping his strong arms around my half-clothed body and proceeding to carry me to bed. "Forget about class, you can be late today."
And I'm baaack :)
Hello Summer Holidays. Hello long awaiting readers. And thank the Lord – Hello WRITING.
I missed doing this.
Well, I hope you liked it. Please PLEASE review. x