tricks of time ― grayson hawthorne [the inheritance games]

023. I WAS ALL OVER YOU

Now, all I can see of him is the top of his head, the curvature of his shoulders, and the jerky rise and fall of his spine as he breathes in and out. He's circling my lower back, my lower legs, and my thighs with his hands before sliding them down again just beyond my hip bone.

It's too hard to pay attention to anything but his eyes, burning; his skin, bare;his body, perfect. I want to claw at my insides, kill me, because, why don't I love him the way I should?

He's so beautifully careful not to crush me, his elbows propped up on either side of my head, and I think I see him smiling at me, he's breathing like he's forgotten he's supposed to, looking at me like he's not sure how to do this,hesitating like he's unsure how to let me see him like this.

I feel the haven in between my legs burning with insanity. I cringe when I realize.

He has no idea how to be so vulnerable.But here he is.And here I am. Grayson's forehead is pressed against mine, his touch flushing my skin with heat, his nose touching my own. He shifts his weight to one arm, uses his free hand to softly stroke my cheek, to cup my face and I realize I'm still holding my breath and I can't even remember the last time I exhaled.

His gaze briefly descends down to my lips before returning to my eyes. His look is ominous, hungry, and burdened with emotion I never imagined he was capable of. I never imagined he could be so whole, so human, and so genuine. But it's there. It's right there. Raw, written across his face like it's been ripped out of his chest.

I don't realize he doesn't have a shirt on till he leans into me- kisses me so hard. His lips are so hot it almost makes me feel feverish.

I want to think: I can't let this go on much longer. I have no idea how far Grayson wants to push things, but I can't keep encouraging him.

But I don't think that. Grayson's lips, his hands, god, his hands- are making me realize I wouldn't want to change anything about this moment.

His hands snake up to the hem of my top again and I feel him pull it over me. Before I know it, my pants are down too. The cold air of the night feels like silk as it blows along my body. I've never felt so naked. He's kissing me with a pit of fire in his stomach.

"I want you to know me," he says, breathless, his fingers pushing a stray strand of hair away from my face. "I want you to want to know me as much as I want to want you."

His hands touch the straps of my bra and I feel him pull a strap down, his fingers moving slowly, dancing on my body to the clasp of the bra. "Can I?" He asks.

And I'm about to say yes, of course, I completely understand, but there's something about this stretch of silence that confuses me; something about this moment and the feel of his name on my tongue that unlocks other parts of my brain and there's something there, something pushing and pulling at my skin and trying to remind me, trying to tell me and it slaps me in the face.

It punches me in the jaw.

It dumps me right into the ocean.

Something clicks in my brain.

The fire in my bones has dispersed: suddenly, they are full of ice. My entire being wants to vomit.I'm tripping out from under him and pulling myself away and I almost fall right to the floor and this feeling, this feeling, this overwhelming feeling of absolute self-loathing sticks in my stomach and I'm clutching at myself, I'm trying not to cry.

I look at him; and he looks confused, at first.

"W-Wha....did I do something wrong?" He asks. The moon's shine has intensified- and I can see him almost clearly in the beautiful glow. His eyes, his eyes, his eyes, they're too beautiful when the moon shines on those gray, starry eyes.