Page 85 of Bone Year

“Mae—”

I kiss him.

He goes still for half a second, surprised, and then his hands find my waist, and he’s kissing me back. Tentative at first. Careful. Always so careful with me.

I don’t want careful.

I fist my hands in his shirt and pull him closer, licking into his mouth until he groans low in his throat. The sound vibrates through me, hot in my belly. This is better than the cold dread that’s been lodged in my chest all day.

His hands slide up my back, fingers spread wide, palms warm through the thin fabric of my shirt. I roll my hips against him and feel him harden beneath me. His grip tightens on my waist, fingers digging in enough to make me gasp.

“Mae.” He pulls back, breathing hard, his pupils blown wide. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” I kiss along his jaw, feel the scratch of stubble against my lips, find the spot below his ear that always makes him shiver. “I want you.”

“You have me.” His voice is strained. “You always have me. But⁠—”

I push him back against the pillows, and he watches with those blue eyes gone dark as I undo the buttons of his shirt. His chest is lean and firm. I press my mouth to his collarbone, taste salt, and feel his stomach clench when my fingers trail lower.

“Mae.” It comes out rough. I love that I can do that to him.

I reach for the laces of his pants.

His hand catches my wrist.

“Wait.” He’s breathing like he’s run a mile, his chest heaving, but his grip on my wrist is firm. “Stop.”

“What?” I look up at him, something sharp and ugly twisting in my chest. “Why?”

“Because something’s wrong.” He sits up, shifting me off his lap, and the sudden distance between us feels wrong. “You’re upset about something. You won’t tell me what. And I’m not going to—” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I’m not going to do this while you’re somewhere else.”

“I’m right here.”

“No, you’re not.” His eyes search my face, and I hate how well he knows me. “You haven’t been here since you walked through that door.”

I want to shove him back down, make him stop talking and let me feel something other than this gnawing emptiness.

Instead I sit there, half undressed, and say nothing.

“I’ve waited years for this, Mae.” His gentle voice doesn’t help. “And I don’t want our first time to be because you’re running from something you won’t even tell me about.”

“I’m not running.”

“Then talk to me.”

I can’t. The words are stuck somewhere behind my ribs, tangled up with the headmaster’s cold smile and Nella’s desperate eyes and the horrible certainty that nothing I do is ever going to be enough.

“I want our first time to be perfect.” He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch achingly gentle. “I want you to be here, really here with me, and not trying to escape something.”

Perfect. He wants perfect.

I don’t even know what that means anymore.

“You’re right.” I force my mouth into something like a smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

“Don’t apologize.” He pulls me into his arms, my cheek pressed against his bare chest, his heartbeat steady under my ear. “Talk to me. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together.”

Like it’s that simple. Like talking about it would change anything.