87 | PATIENCE

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87

EMBER

I'M CARRIED DOWN THE hall and thrown onto Michael's bed. I lean up onto my elbows, breathing hard, adrenaline rushing with the bounding pulse of my heart.

"Umm, hi," I mumble nervously.

Michael crawls over me like a predator who's caught the ultimate prey. He lines up atop my body, eyes on me in the dark.

"Are you insane?" he whispers, his soft voice masking real anger. I swallow roughly.

"A little bit," I whisper back as my teeth chatter together.

"You're trembling hard enough to shake the goddamn bed, Ember. That was so stupid."

"A little," I repeat, laughing a bit breathlessly.

Michael leans down and presses his nose to mine. "You're practically frostbitten," he murmurs, unimpressed. "I'll be right back."

He's off me in the blink of an eye. I'm left panting and shaking on his bed.

I didn't even win for all that trouble. So close, though. If I had held out for five more seconds, I'd have won.

Michael comes back with two lit candles in one hand and a handful of blankets in his other. He sets up the candles, one on his dresser by the wall, and the other on his nightstand. He walks over and sits on the bed, back against the wall, and beckons me over. I crawl over to him on the bed. He offers his hand and I take it. Our gazes never break as he pulls me onto his lap. Once I settle with my knees on either side of his outstretched legs, our hips in line, he pulls a blanket over my shoulders. Underneath, his hands skim up the backs of my calves in butterfly touches. He brushes back and forth, just feeling my skin.

I slowly bring my hands up his arms, appreciating the muscle under his shirt, and then weave my hands into his soft, freshly washed hair.

"You have to admit it," I begin, my teeth chattering less. "That was fun."

His lips tug into a reluctant grin. "Hmm."

"And a deal's a deal," I whisper, leaning in.

"Yes," he agrees, "and I haven't decided yet." He lifts one hand from my calf to tuck my hair over my shoulder. "So many options."

Anticipation buzzes straight through my body like a steady current of electricity.

Michael's large hands make their way into my hair and goosebumps pop up all over my cold skin. He raises us up, folding his legs underneath him, then lowers me to the bed on my back. He straightens back up to look at me, kneeling between my legs.

"What are you doing?" I breathe out quietly, blinking up at him.

"Deciding," he says simply.

Michael leans down and trails his hands along my arms until he secures my fingers with his, raising them above my head. My legs are still over his hips, and with my hands captured with his, I'm vulnerable.

"Have I told you how beautiful you are, Ember?" he asks. I swallow, then nod. "And you've believed me, right?"

"Sometimes," I murmur honestly. He frowns at that, leaning down to brush his nose along mine.

"You," he breathes, "are so beautiful, Ember Amora. So beautiful."

Michael lets my hands go to brush them down my sides, over my hips, to my bare thighs. My thighs...

The movement of his palm...The memory of that other hand...My exposed skin...

Michael wouldn't think twice about this now because I told him I was okay. I told him it was alright. I thought it was.

I tense, closing my eyes. Just breathe. It's Michael.

And because he's himself, Michael notices the slight taught nature of my muscles. He doesn't take his hand away, but he stops. I open my eyes to find his gaze widened slightly. No, Michael. You didn't do anything wrong. He looks me over with caution, so I offer a small, gentle smile. I want him to keep going, but words are dead at the back of my throat.

I slowly let my eyes fall shut and I arch my back. An invitation. I'm okay. I trust you.

Michael leans over my body and presses a soft kiss to my cheek, his hands sliding farther up my thighs.

My belly twists. No, no. Breathe in. Breathe out. I can do this. Michael's not going to do anything I don't want him to. He's not going to say those ugly things, do those ugly things. Nothing about Michael is ugly. He's a beautiful thing.

I sink further into the sheets. Michael's hands work the soft parts of my thighs, his thumbs skimming just under the hem of my shorts.

The second I feel his thumbs push higher, I lock up. My face contorts in pain and my eyes squeeze shut. My hands shoot out to grasp his hands, some wild survival instinct wrapping its claws around my throat.

I feel a sob building at the back of my throat. What's wrong with me? So many worse things have happened to so many girls. Girls like Noor. My goddamn roommate. Why can't I just forget about what happened?

Michael gently takes my clenched hands, undoes them from his, and slowly pulls me up on his lap. I don't open my eyes. I wrap my arms around his neck, holding him as close as I can get him.

I just want to experience these new feelings with him. I want to surrender to his touch, to melt under the grazing of his fingers, his lips, his entire body.

It's just him and me in this dark, candlelit room during a snowstorm. It's us. I'm safe here. With him. I know that, and yet I still feel like there's something wrong. With me.

I stopped Michael. I cringed under his touch. Oh, he's going to blame himself like he always does.

I press him closer to my body, hands on his neck.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper over his shoulder, my words taking on a panicked edge. "I'm okay. It was just a knee jerk, bad, bad reaction. It's not your fault. I'm okay, Michael. I don't want you to stop."

"You never have to apologize for that, Ember," he murmurs, holding me just as close. His hands are carefully positioned on my upper back.

I feel a pang in my chest. It's not your fault.

"Are you sure you don't want to stop?"

"Yes," I quickly say. He doesn't move for a moment. Maybe he thinks I'm lying, but I'm not. I want this. I want him. "I'm sure, Michael."

My assurances don't stop him from running his fingers up and down my spine in that same soothing motion he used to put me asleep not so long ago. But that's all he does, over and over.

Is he changing his mind? Is he the one hesitating? His perpetual silence in this room rocked by the winter wind kicks up worry deep in my belly.

"Michael?"

"Hmm?" He caresses my back. Up...down. Up...down.

"What is it?"

"I'm waiting for you to release your death grip on me," he says with a bit of humour lacing his quiet voice. It's then I realize how tightly I've been holding onto him and how tired my muscles are.

"Oh," I whisper, letting some of the tension go.

"What can I do to help you relax?" he asks softly.

Tears spring unexpectedly to my eyes. He's going to help me. He understands.

I pull back to look at his face. He's patient. Determined. And so...himself. Kind, quiet, caring. Sad, too, like me. But so much more hopeful.

Slowly, I take his hands and place them on the backs of my thighs. He accepts the action, holding my legs. His hands are rough, his touch so delicate.

I steadily intake slow breaths with my eyes closed. Before I know it, I'm sinking into Michael's hands, my knees on the bed beside his. This is trust in its purest form. I'm his, only his, from the moment I first met him.

A long sigh falls from my lips and I feel myself collapse completely, my head falling to his broad, warm shoulder.

"There," he breathes into my ear. "That's it." Chills ebb down my spine with his words.

Michael's thumbs begin slow strokes over the back of my thighs, and I weave my hands into his hair, urging him to continue. Soon, his thumbs are under my shorts, so dangerously close to—

I whimper.

"That feels good?" he whispers in my ear, kissing just below it.

"Yes," I gasp, pulling on his blonde locks. "Yes."

Michael doesn't tread further, and I'm glad. Instead, his tongue touches the top of my collar bone. He presses his mouth there, kissing me, then sucking on my soft skin. Again, I shiver. My hair's still damp and the room's so cold. But his mouth is so hot on me.

And then, finally, he takes my lips with his.


part 3/4

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