I wake up with the sheets tangled around my legs. The room is flooded with sunlight. It must be at least nine o'clock in the morning. Looking over my shoulder, I realise I'm alone in the room.
For a brief moment, I'm scared that it didn't really happen, that it was just another dream. But my sore body and fluttering stomach tell me otherwise.
I slept with Jeremy.
I gush at the memory of his body on top of mine. It feels strange. Like I can remember every single detail, every breath, every whisper, and yet at the same time, it feels like a blur of warmth and white and light.
I remember how his hands explored me carefully and his mouth caressed every angle, every crevice of my body. There was no tomorrow as his hot breath set me on fire over and over, no yesterday as he claimed me, all of me, slowly and gently at first, as though I might break in his hands. And then desperate and urgent as though we were right on the edge of the Earth, the elements consuming us mercilessly. He held my hands in his. His eyes never left mine and I gave in to him without thinking. Over and over. I was so pleasantly lost in him that I never wanted to be found.
Was that was it was like? Or was it just because it was him?
I slept with Jeremy!
I stuff my face into my pillow to drown out the fit of giggles that takes over me. I hug it to my body as I inhale his scent.
I'm not an idiot. I know this won't last long. I know sex, no matter how life-changing it was for me, is just another dance at the ball for him. But that's okay. I knew what I was getting myself into and I still know it now. I just want to bask in the stillness before all hell breaks loose.
Because it will.
But the relief, the break from everything that's happened in the last weeks, months even, is refreshing and... indescribably good.
I try to ground myself. Who knows which side of Jeremy I will have to face when he returns from wherever he ran off to?
Is he angry for breaking his resolve to stay away from me? Is he upset that I didn't tell him the whole truth before it was too late? Will he even speak to me?
He must think I'm an idiot. A young, naive, inexperienced idiot. But it doesn't matter. Jeremy knows me. He knows me better than anyone. He showed me that last night.
But still I wonder... Will he come back before the moon rises and the sun goes down? Will he be alone when he does?
I shake the dark thoughts out of my head. I'm sure I'll find out soon enough anyway.
Feeling dehydrated, I decide to get out of bed and fetch a glass of water. Then I'll pinch one of Jeremy's books and go to read it by the beach. Clear my head a bit. It looks like it's a beautiful day outside and Jeremy probably won't be home for a while. He's probably out running, or maybe he was called into work.
I look around for my underwear in vain. All I see are my jeans flung carelessly in a corner on the floor, and Jeremy's shirt hanging from my desk by the orchid. I smile mischievously to myself and don on his shirt, appreciating the soft cotton against my skin. Still reeling from the memory of his touch, I head for the kitchen sniffing the collar happily. But as I walk through the door and lift my eyes, I realise I am not alone after all.
"Sweet Jesus!" I scream and run back into my room quickly, shutting the door behind me. My heart races and I cover my mouth with my hands as I rest my head against the door.
What the actual fuck is he doing?
Jeremy's rumbling laugh resonates through the door and I hide my face in my hands, foolishly grinning despite myself.
"Come out, Sleeping Beauty. I'm making breakfast," he announces from the kitchen.
"Put some clothes on!" I shout back.
"Why?"
I hear the smile in his voice and feel my grin stretch even wider across my face, the dragons in my stomach wide awake again. I open the door a sliver and peek through the gap.
Jeremy is in nothing but a towel hanging low around his waist, cooking eggs and bacon. His eyes find mine and he flashes me with a devilish smirk that causes my stomach to do a fantastic somersault and follow it up with three cartwheels.
I snap the door shut again and once again I hear him laughing at me. My cheeks flush red hot, partly at the sight of him and partly because I know how silly I'm being.
"I thought you went running or something," I say, part of me wishing he had.
"I think I exceeded my step count last night, don't you?"
I gasp at his words but can't contain my smile as I confirm the veracity of his statement. I take a deep breath and open the door. Leaning against the frame, I take in his perfection while my legs try to remember how to walk.
"Tell me something, Miss Lewis," he starts in the sexiest, sternest voice I've ever heard in my life, "and I want you to be honest with me."
I bite my lip, trying not to let his flexing arms distract me as he slices two tomatoes in half, the same arms that flipped me over ten different ways last night.
"Were you going to cook yesterday?"
My eyes rise to the playful smirk on his lips. He licks his lower lip as soon as the words are out of his mouth and I get distracted again. I let my eyes glide down Jeremy's delicious torso, then to his hands, working the knife like it's an extension of his long, expert fingers.
Focus.
I force my gaze over the island to where the chopping board with a half-diced onion is still laying there from yesterday morning.
My hand goes to my mouth as I nod guiltily, mumbling a quick, "mhmm."
"Hmm," he muses, returning to the frying pan. His tone is playful but his attention doesn't shift from what he's doing. "And what, Miss Lewis, were you planning on cooking?"
He flips the bacon expertly and pops four slices of toast in the toaster.
"Lasagne," I murmur from between my fingers.
Jeremy's eyes are lowered as he opens the egg carton, but his blue irises shine bright beneath his long, dark lashes.
"Hmm" he chants longingly. "You know, you should really finish what you start, Miss Lewis."
I almost remind him why I stopped mid-project but he's Jeremy James Cordina, standing in the kitchen in nothing but a towel, cooking breakfast. I don't think it matters anymore.
I watch as he gently bumps the eggs against the counter and breaks them open into the frying pan. The oil sizzles agitatedly.
"How do you want your eggs?" he asks without losing focus.
I bite on my already swollen lips to stop myself from drooling. I never thought anyone can take away my ability to talk just by frying eggs.
He looks in my direction expecting a reply and catches me staring. I lose my balance and almost fall over. His jaw hardens, the humour in his eyes disappears as they travel down my body, lingering over my legs, and then slowly come back up to my face. My cheeks flush and my stomach does another somersault, a cartwheel and lands in a magnificent split. A routine worthy of a gold medal.
"What are you wearing?" he asks, the playful wit completely gone from his voice.
I blush further remembering I'm just in his shirt, which I didn't even bother to button up. I bite my lip again and quickly hide my mouth with my hands so that he doesn't see.
"Is that my shirt?" His eyes narrow down to thin slits but I see them darkening dangerously. He looks like a wolf zooming on his prey. I nod slowly.
"Take it off!" he commands.
I press my hands further to my mouth and shake my head. His face hardens as it always does when he struggles to hide what he's thinking. We stare each other down, him gritting his teeth and me slicing my lip. I taste the blood on my tongue but I don't dare move.
Suddenly, his eyes burn brighter and his nostrils flare as he draws in a deep breath. He flicks off the burner beneath the frying pan and strides purposefully towards me.
My brain screams for me to run but my body is paralysed. I remain rooted to the spot until he reaches me and throws me over his shoulder. I squeal with giddiness as he dumps me gracelessly onto the bed again. I hear the toaster spring off in the kitchen, the slices of bread hitting the floor.
#
We lie facing each other for what could be hours or minutes or days. We don't talk. I don't know what's going to happen or even what I want to happen. But I know this feels good. Probably better than it should. Just lying here with him, our legs intertwined, fingers lazily caressing each other, eyes caressing, exploring, chests rising and falling slowly, peacefully. We don't dare talk or move just in case it off-balances the equilibrium we have been longing for for so long.
It must be well into the afternoon and breakfast is still in the frying pan, the toast still strewn on the kitchen floor. I push a lock of hair out of Jeremy's ice-blue eyes and let my fingertips linger on his skin a little. He closes his eyes against my touch. His tousled hair and swollen features only make him look more beautiful than ever. The sun is casting a golden light through the window behind him, making him look like a fallen angel.
"Ally," he says in a warm tone I could get used to.
But there's something else in there. I hear it in his voice and see it in his eyes and feel it in my gut and it's scaring the crap out of me. I'm not ready for it yet. I beg him with every cell in my brain and every drop in my veins not to say anything that might ruin this moment.
It's too good. Too good to be true, I know. But I just need a few more hours. Only a few more hours of ignorant bliss before we go back to the tangled web that is our reality.
"You're still in my shirt," he says slowly.
I smile. I slide the back of my fingers across his cheeks, down to his lips. They're soft. So different than his usual hard line. I feel a small bump on his upper lip where I bit him earlier. His tongue goes over it lightly and then he takes my fingers and presses them to his mouth. He kisses them softly, sucking gently on each one, sending surges of electricity through me every time.
"You never took it off," I whisper back.
I feel a familiar longing somewhere around my navel, but this time, there is no jittery excitement to diffuse it. No hunger to hide it. Only want. A scary, agonising and unmasked want that is on the brink of torment because it cannot be ignored much longer.
I watch as he trails kisses down the inside of my forearm, one next to the other, his lips loving and caring and relishing the feel of my skin against them.
I close my eyes, trying to focus only how good this feels. Trying not to wonder what would happen if we stay like this forever. If we never get out of this bed and never go back to our lives. Who would miss us? Who would even notice we're gone?
And when I open my eyes again, Jeremy is no longer grazing my arm with his expert lips. He is looking at me with the same fear and panic and desperation that I am trying so hard to ignore. In one swift movement, he's back over me.
"It looks too good on you."
He lowers his face and kisses my mouth, slowly and paced at first, almost tentative. Within seconds, the flame inside us blazes out of control again and I can no longer ignore the feeling that we're diving headfirst into a raging wildfire like we have a fucking death wish.
My hands go up over his back, over the swollen lines where my nails dug into his skin. He lowers his head to my neck and breathes me in as I press my body up to his, ignoring the ache between my shoulders, probably bruised from when he slammed me against the wall earlier. He slides one arm under my lower back and adjusts me so that I'm right beneath him. I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him towards me, wanting him again.
God, can I ever stop wanting him now?
We look in each other's eyes the whole time. He takes me slowly, fully and completely and I give myself to him like I have nothing that's my own. My heart beats slowly but strongly, each beat more demanding than the one before it, each one threatening that it will be the last. And as I throw my head backwards giving in to climax and letting him tip me over the edge, as he chimes my name like a mantra, like a plea for help, it cannot be clearer that we are, both of us, way in over our heads. Going back to the way things were once, when I had the audacity to question what we were to one another is impossible.