Home Alone

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I should have said no.

I should have gone upstairs to change.

I should have grabbed a second blanket from the linen closet or a thicker coat from my room.

I definitely should not have given into Madison's little experiment.

Don't get me wrong. Of course I wanted to. Every part of me practically burst at the idea of being melded together under that thin material. Of being her source of heat, of her being mine. But that's where it should have ended—at an idea. I shouldn't have been delusional enough to let us go through with it. Because sitting next to her like that was fire, alright.

In fact, it was hellish. It was a taste of something sweet while having the whole thing withheld. It was a promise that couldn't be kept, fiction that would never materialize. It was torture, it was cruel, and I was stupid.

But, god, did it feel good to be a fool.

My arm was laced around her, draping her in a gentle embrace. It was an offer I'd extended almost without thinking, one I'd hoped would offset my nerves with a bold kind of confidence. As if what we were doing was completely normal—like it was no big deal or something we did everyday. It was also an offer that she'd instantly accepted, nestling into my side and laying her head on my shoulder before I could think twice about what the hell I'd just done.

Why was it that I suddenly couldn't remember how to sit comfortably? Like I had an ornate porcelain plate resting on my arm?

"Do you want more?"

I couldn't turn to look at her as her breath hit my neck. I couldn't do anything but stare straight ahead at my laptop, though my mind wasn't processing Home Alone anymore. "More?"

"Cocoa," she clarified sweetly, raising her empty mug.

God, she was so sweet. Even when I was so hot.

I lifted my Santa cup—still untouched. I was too warm to drink it.

"I'm fine."

Instantly, I wished I'd swallowed those words. That I'd said yes. Maybe it would've given me five seconds out from under her spell.

But I didn't want out. Not really.

Truth be told, I couldn't really have said no to her experiment. And not just because ... well, hell, I wasn't that strong. It was the way she'd packaged it, too. Just two people utilizing science to stay warm. Just two friends doing something that two friends should have no problem doing. How could I argue with that? How could I expect her not to wonder why if I did?

No. I had to go along with it. I had to downplay what a terribly bad idea it really was, pretend the memory of that night wasn't going to imprint on the walls of my mind. Pretending was the only way to keep her close, to keep her gaze open and unassuming when it met mine.

I was so on edge that I almost jumped as a small pressure built on my hair. It was no more than a featherlight sweeping. A delicate brush. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought it was her fingers combing through my strands. That she was toying with them in an act of subconscious desire, like the desire I'd had to wipe the flour from her cheek in the kitchen. Like when I'd given into the need to touch her again, using the pretense of checking her temperature to feel her skin under mine.

But I did know better. And when I peered at her from the corner of my eye, her closest hand was wrapped around her mug. Her eyes weren't on me, but fixed on the screen of my laptop as Kevin cut the treehouse zipline.

I cleared my throat, cleared my head. I hated that wishful thinking was manifesting into actual hallucinations. I was used to it, but there was something about that trip that was making it happen more frequently. Much more frequently than I could hope to handle.

Still, I knew for sure I hadn't imagined it when I felt her adjust herself again. She fought off a chill rippling up her spine, unintentionally brushing the side of her waist against mine in the process. I balled the blanket that shrouded us firmly, channeling the energy building inside of me into that measly piece of fabric.

It didn't help.

"Clothes!" I declared, jolting upright. The word was caught between a hoarse whisper and an all-out groan. I cleared my throat roughly, hoping to mask it as a cough. 

But, really, who coughs like they're about to explode?

She turned to peer at me, rising from the back of the sofa with far more grace than I had. Even though the mellow candlelight only just licked the contours of her face, I could clearly see the concoction of confusion and amusement tugging at her lips.

"What?" she asked, smiling to herself softly.

"Do you want me to run upstairs and get some more clothes?" I clarified, feeling stupid. And transparent. How couldn't she see that she was driving me wild? I needed a second to breathe. To compose myself. And running upstairs to grab some more layers seemed like a fantastic alibi.

Madi didn't seem to think so.

She shook her head simply, relaxing into the velvet cushions bolstering her. "No."

"No?"

Her eyes twinkled—I could have sworn they did. They were like tiny, flaming stars adorning the night sky, the only source of warmth in that room that offset the blistering cold.

"The less clothes, the better," she explained. She shrugged so simply that I could have rolled my eyes at her. She lounged back against the sofa, sounding rather smug when she muttered, "Heat loop, remember?"

I swallowed a grin, half irritated, half amused. Wholly captive. "Yeah. Science."

"Science," she repeated slowly. My skin pricked at the way she said it, at the way she dragged out every last syllable as though she was devouring them. Like they were honey. Like they were candy.

Never before had a word so plain sounded so sweet. It would have been so easy to lean over, to steal it from her lips.

She opened her mouth again, hesitating before she let the words slip out in that low, playful timbre. I twisted around and leaned in closer, assuming she'd speak as softly as she had before. I needed to hear what it was she said, what it was that made the lowlight on her face glimmer and flicker like fairy dust.

But she leaned forward at the same time as I did. She knocked her hand into my mug, the hot contents gushing down my arm and pooling in my lap.

I jumped, locking my mouth shut to stop an avalanche of curse words from tumbling out.

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed. Her composure flew out the window, her breathy voice back to its normal, familiar pitch. "I'm so sorry! I'm so, so sorry..."

I didn't get a chance to reassure her before she'd shot upright. She ripped the blanket from over us, using it as a sponge to mop up the dark liquid.

And, for the second time in five seconds, I bit down on my tongue just as quickly as I'd released it.

I bit down hard.

I froze. I forced myself to be still, to breathe through her hurried movements. I had to. Because God knew every part of me wanted to do more than that.

The combination of her rapid, vigorous sponging and exactly where that drink had decided to land was excruciating. More excruciating than every other moment I'd ever been forced to share with her. Only, suddenly, I wasn't sure how much longer I could contain myself the way a friend should.

Because Madi and I weren't friends.

We were never just friends.

I lost control over my eyes; they darted up on their own to watch her. To trace the worry lining her face and drink in the concern pouring from her stare. The candlelight worked wonders on her golden hair, lighting her up like she was an angel atop a tree. Like she had an actual halo, like she was carved from actual gold.

It was typical. She was just so good. She made me want to be good, too. Even when her hand was resting on my thigh. Even when every part of me had never felt so dark.

It was only when our eyes locked that I realized she'd stopped speaking. That she'd stopped moving, just as I had. That she was so close—hell, she was on top of me—and that I could feel the rise and fall of her breath as intensely as I could feel the force of my racing heart.

Her blue gaze was piercing. Even the shadows dashing across her face couldn't hide it. It was swelling with uncertainty, as fearful as someone about to jump from a ledge. And though I couldn't figure out what it was she was afraid of, the air seemed to dance with the knowledge of what that look meant. It was buzzing. It was demanding. It was alight with electricity, too wild to be captured and too quick to be claimed. But while Madi's eyes seemed so loud, I realized she'd gone quiet in a way that shouted the silence to me.

The hot liquid burning my thighs was the last thing on my mind. I was glued to her, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like she was glued to me, too.

I licked my lips, praying the moisture would awaken me from my trance. From her spell. "Madi—"

"Am I too late?"

I blinked. Once. Twice.

I frowned. Was she asking what I thought she was? Was that even possible?

"For what?"

Her hand gently clenched around my leg, supporting her weight as she floated above my head.

But she didn't dare move as she uttered, "For you."

I didn't realize that I'd been holding my breath, not until my lips parted and crystal clear air flooded my lungs. And while it was far from appropriate, a laugh was itching at my throat. Maybe I was being presumptuous—hell, maybe I was going insane after all. Maybe this was all another wild hallucination, maybe my mind was playing tricks on me and I actually was going mad.

Maybe I was stupid. Maybe I was crazy.

But I didn't care.

So I kissed her anyway.

I thought I'd remembered how her lips tasted. How they felt when they reacted to mine. But when I lifted my head to claim them, when they parted on impact like parting was instinct, I knew I couldn't have replicated that sweetness on my own.

Because there simply was no one way to describe Madi. I'd been a fool to even try. Yes, she was honey. But she was as hot as she was sweet, too. She wasn't just the sun, I remembered, but every flower and piece of fresh, pure earth. She lit me up from the inside out, like she was a life source that reminded me what breathing, what living, actually was.

I tried to be gentle with her, but it was hard not to take more. So hard when I'd wanted to kiss and touch her for so long, when I thought she was telling me that she wanted it now, too.

A muffled sound escaped her lips, gliding from her mouth and into mine. I jerked my head back. I had to. It was the only way to pull myself free.

"I'm sorry—"

She didn't let me finish before she plucked the words right from my mouth, before she made me swallow them and give her something else instead.

She pulled me back with her as she tried to lie down, wrapping her hands around my neck and pressing her lips to mine. My apology disappeared like smoke off a flame, and I stopped trying to give it to her. She didn't need it. She didn't want it.

That much was clear.

It was clear as she pushed every inch of our pulsing bodies together. As she breathed my name into my mouth. As her fingers begged the cord of my pants to unfasten, when she quickly moved on and ran them along my stomach instead.

Madi and I didn't talk. Not like other people did. Sometimes we didn't have to; it was like we were in sync. Like we knew what the other was thinking, or like we were both thinking the same thing.

This was one of those times. With every kiss, she was telling me that she was mine. More importantly, she was telling me that I was hers. I could taste her desire, feel her hunger. All I wanted to do was satiate her.

But like a flashlight in the dark, there was something piercing through the pleasure. A voice. Or a warning. A part of me that I couldn't seem to switch off, that insufferably principled part that every other part hated.

Because Madi wasn't just a girl in my arms. She wasn't just another pair of lips, another body that could warm my bed. She was my best friend. She was someone I cared about. Her heart was one that I cherished as much as my own. Maybe even more.

Definitely even more.

And, right now, I needed to know that she was okay.

"Madi—"

She pulled me back to her as I tried to rise. I couldn't help but smile at her urgency.

"Mad—"

I didn't get further than three letters that time.

I had to try harder.

"Madison," I demanded.

I used to use her full name habitually, back when she was still so scared of letting anyone in. Now, I used it as an order. As a way to make her stop. To make her listen.

It took her by surprise. Her lips fell away in a horribly swift motion, one that didn't give me fair warning to savor them one last time. She blinked up at me adorably underneath her long lashes, the faint crease in her brow rivaling the confusion pouring from her dark gaze.

I cupped her face, resisting the urge to kiss it in every place. I drank it in instead, drank in that moment as if afraid it wouldn't last.

Because I was.

"What is it?" she asked softly. So softly, like she, too, was afraid of losing all that we'd found.

I shook my head as if to answer her concern. If we were losing anything, it wouldn't be because of me.

"I need to make sure that this is what you want," I tried to explain, caressing her cheek with my thumb. I was strong enough to stop myself from kissing her, but I didn't know if I had the strength to stop touching her. Not when it caused her to look at me the way she was—like the entire universe was just that room and us. "I have to hear you say it, Madi. You know I do."

I swept a tangled curl from across her face. She melted into my hand, her buttery expression threatening to steal every inch of my weak resolve. To make me succumb to that part of me that didn't just want her, but needed her.

"Is this what you want?" I asked. My heart was beating so loud and so fast, as if screaming at me that I was, in fact, a fool. That I was too careful for my own good, and that Noah was right. That I was a martyr. That, once again, I was about to lose everything I wanted because I was still so scared that I didn't deserve it.

Still, I wanted to be good for her. And maybe that did make me a martyr. Maybe I was a sucker for sacrifice. But that's what Madi did to me. She made me want to be good, good enough to take care of her the way she deserved to be taken care of.

After the way she'd been treated, after the way she'd been hurt, sometimes I was almost too scared to hold her. I was scared to possess her trust, even more afraid of one day holding her heart. Because I wanted the best for her—god, I wanted her to be happy—but I didn't even know whether that was something I was capable of giving. How could I know? She was the one who'd experienced love, who'd experienced every facet of a relationship from beginning to end. I was the one who'd always ran from it, who was always afraid that it couldn't be real.

But hovering inches away from me, her hand trailing my lower body while she bit down on those swollen red lips, my angel-turned-siren seemed a lot more convinced than I was. Convinced that we fit. Convinced that I was good enough.

She was slowly but surely grinding my willpower to mush.

"I don't just want this." Her reply came in low, breathy bursts, cool air brushing against my hot skin. Her voice was melodic, like a choir on Christmas Eve.

But the sweetest thing of all was the words on her tongue.

She rose from under me, pressing her forehead to mine tenderly.

"I want you," she murmured. She clasped my face in hers, curling a rogue strand of hair behind my ear. "I never stopped wanting you. And sometimes I get so scared, because I don't think I ever will."

I stared down at her silently, my heart thrashing like a caged animal. I almost couldn't hear her. I almost couldn't believe that I was awake.

She grabbed my shirt again, clawing the fabric with newfound ferocity. "I know you want me, too."

"That was never in question."

Her eyes flashed, a sheepish veil softening her features.

But with another blink, her conviction resurfaced.

And it burned.

"Please," I thought I heard her murmur. I had to look at her to make sure I heard her right. "I know I don't deserve you. Let me have you anyway."

She must have sensed my shock, my hesitation. Madi wasn't one to hesitate, and now I understood why. I was slow, and she was fast, but together we were perfect.

She wrapped her legs around me, directing me lower so her lips could track my jaw. It was like she'd unlocked something, some kind of animalistic instinct that overpowered my uncertainty completely. That turned my fear of letting her down into a desire to lift her up. To keep her up.

Always.

A flick of a switch. A blink of an eye. With her conviction, her permission, we were back in her dorm room. Back to the night where everything became real. The in-between was still there, the lessons we'd learned and the bond we'd strengthened since. But it was just her and me again, and nothing else mattered.

Not Eli.

Not Lola.

Not Hop or Jump or whatever that stupid cowboy's name was.

She was completely mine. I was completely hers. And with the barriers down between us, there was only us.

My mind finally caught up to what she said even as she trailed glancing kisses up my throat to my jaw. "You deserve the world, Madi. I'll give it all to you. I'll give you everything."

"I just need you."

My heart was too full. Full of her ... love? Was it too soon for that?

My eyes closed when her mouth found mine again, but never before had I been able to see so clearly. Everything in me was burning and pulsing, one explosion after another like we were waging chemical warfare.

"You know," she murmured, her words dancing across my skin. "There's more than one way to keep warm."

All I had to do was look at her. No words, no clarification. With one hurried look, I knew exactly what she meant.

More importantly, I knew that she meant it.

Before I could think it through, I swept her up in my arms. I lifted her from the sofa, that checked blanket abandoned on the floor.

And then we were navigating the staircase.

We were crossing the floor to her bed.

We were in her sheets, our limbs tangled with the cashmere and silk and with one another. Our lips fell apart only so we could discard of each other's clothing, her sweet candy cane pajamas long forgotten in a messy heap beside her bed.

I wanted to feel every part of her. For her to know every part of me. Still, I knew I would never be able to get enough, that I would still crave her even when I had her. But that's how I knew that it was more than just a physical desire. That I wasn't just longing to be touched or to be kissed.

It was her that I needed. Her body. Her lips. Her mind and her soul. It always had been. It was always her.

No, it wasn't too soon to

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