REAPING INNOCENCE ◦ STILINSKI [3]

xix.

xix. HER PLAN

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"I'VE MISSED YOU TERRIBLY."

"I didn't have to leave. You could have made me stay..."

"Mmm."

It was quiet for a long moment, just the thud of their hearts hammering, the broken rhythm of their ragged breathing, and the whisper of their lips moving in synchronization.

    In moments like that, it was easy to forget that she was kissing her soulmate—their souls tied to one another, binding them for eternity. Not because he seemed ordinary—she could never for a second forget that she was holding someone more angel than man in her arms—but because he made it seem like nothing at all to have his lips against her lips, her face, her throat.

    She opened her eyes and found his open, too, staring at her face. It made no sense when he looked at her that way. Like she was the prize rather than the outrageously lucky winner.

    Their gazes locked for a moment; his chocolate-honey eyes were so deep that she imagined she could see all the way into his soul. He had the most beautiful soul, more beautiful than his brilliant mind or his incomparable face.

    He looked back at her as if he could see her soul, too, and as if he liked what he saw.

    She pulled his face to hers again.

    "Definitely should've made you stay," he murmured a moment later.

    She wished she could stay forever; the fingers of her right hand locked into his dark hair, her left pressed tighter against the small of his back. His cool hands stroked her warm face.

    This was pretty close to her happy place. The Sheriff slept obliviously in his room, which was almost as good as being alone. They were curled up on his bed, intertwined as much as it was possible. Stiles' shirt was on the floor—she never got over the shock of how seemingly perfect his body was—white, cool, and polished. She ran her hand down his chest now, tracing across the flat planes of his stomach, just marveling. A light shudder rippled though him, and his mouth found hers again. Carefully, she let the tip of her tongue press against his smooth lip, and he sighed. His sweet breath washed—cool and delicious—over her face.

    She gripped his shoulders and hugged herself close to him. She kicked one leg free and wrapped it around his waist. He chuckled once and his cool breath tickled her overheated skin. "Shh!" she pressed her lips to stop the sound.

    He kissed her back, she could hear the pounding of his heart, listening to it lurch and jump as she brought herself closer to him. When they pulled apart, Stiles' golden eyes surveyed the beauty of her face, seeing the large grin on her lips when a flash of lightning outside lit his dark room for a split second.

    Stiles pulled back a little bit and straightened out. He left one hand on the small of her back and grabbed her right hand with the other. He cradled their hands to his chest; she could feel his heart beat under her palm, and she guessed that he hadn't placed her hand there accidentally. This is what she had felt that first glorious night when Stiles had held her. All the sweetness and tenderness in the world surging between them. She was home, where she belonged. Where she would always belong.

    He squeezed her hand.

    "I love you, Carter," he said softly.

    She leaned her head against his chest. "I love you, too, Stiles. I always will."

    She was abruptly overwhelmed by the truth of her own words. This moment was so perfect—so simple, so right, there was no way to doubt it. She couldn't have asked for a better moment. His arms wrapped around her, holding her against him, summer and winter. It felt like every nerve ending in her body was a live wire. Feelings of love, of delight, of appreciation overwhelmed her and with incredulous joy she realized the feelings were his. For a moment, she sensed herself through his eyes, and sensed how much he cared for her. It might have been frightening if she had not had the same depth of feeling to give back to him.