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Oh Gawd.
I feel his breath before I feel anything else. On my lips, like a feather. Like a warm feather. It grazes the seam of my mouth and traces the shape of it, making me feel… cherished. How can his breaths touching my skin make me feel like that? But it does.
Then I feel the heat of his soft lips on mine. I was not expecting it to be this soft though. Like a pillow or a cloud. It’s such a shock to my system that I have to grab onto his hand even tighter. Because if I don’t, I’ll fall under his soft, fragile kisses. Delicate, dainty, gossamer-y. Even though the last one isn’t technically a word, I’m going with it.
I’m also going with moving my own lips. I don’t think they can stay still, even though they are nervous and trembling. I sweep them over his lower lip and almost lose my breath with how sweet it tastes. I think it’s all the apples he consumes on a daily basis.
I can’t stop tasting him, now. Our kiss is slow but so intense that my heart pounds louder than it’s ever pounded.
All of these sensations never prepared me for this next one. The one where Abel opens his mouth and sucks my lower lip in. It’s wet. God, so wet. But it’s also sharp and tugging and I gasp with how strange it feels. Strange and a tiny bit painful. No, actually it’s a lot painful but the pain isn’t coming from my mouth. It’s coming from the bruises on my waist.
Abel lets my lip go with a pop. “Pixie? Fuck, was that… was that too much?”
When did his hands go to my waist?
I’m grabbing his shirt for balance but he himself is unsteady right now. Wild eyes and heaving chest. He’s clutching my dress at my waist, pressing on the tender flesh. He lets go when I move away from him, my eyes watering.
“I —” I fall back on my heels and put my arms around myself, massaging the wounded area, trying to soothe the pain.
Abel’s eyes are even more frantic than before. “What’s wrong? Did I… Fuck, did I hurt you?”
I can’t take his agonized expression. “No. It… It wasn’t you.”
He’s in the process of plowing his fingers through his rich hair when he stops and makes a fist before letting the strands go. “Then who was it?”
“No one.” I fake-laugh. “It’s nothing.”
“Pixie,” he warns.
“Abel.” I giggle brokenly.
“You can’t lie for shit, you know that, right?” Then something occurs to him. “Is it your fucking mom?”
Yeah, he isn’t a fan of my mom.
I’m ready to deny it but he knows. Gah. How does he know everything?
“What did she do?” He’s shaking.
If I didn’t know him, I’d be scared of him right now. A tall boy barely able to fit inside my treehouse, vibrating with anger, his features all sharp and poky. I know it’s no use lying to him. Might as well tell him and make him see it’s nothing serious.
“It’s just something my mom does when she gets angry. I was talking on the phone with Sky and time got away from me, and she got mad and sort of pinched me. It’s nothing. Doesn’t even hurt.”
“Is that why you’re about to cry? Because it doesn’t hurt?”
“Abel, it’s nothing. Really.”
“That fucking bitch.” His fists are clenched on his thighs. “I’m gonna —”
I cover his hands and stop him. “You’re not gonna do anything. Promise me, okay?”
“No.”
“Please. I can’t lose you,” I plead. “Promise me you won’t do anything. I’m okay.” I know he’s still angry so I play the card that he won’t be able to refuse. “Will you… Will you hug me?”
He releases a deep breath, blinking. He jerks out a nod and that’s all the permission I need. I dive and fit myself in the crevices of his body as he wraps his arms around the subtle dips of mine.
We stay like that for a while, until his anger is drained. He’s clutching me tight like he’ll never let go, caressing my hair, circling my back, kissing my forehead. Gosh, this boy. No wonder I can’t stop thinking about him. He’s amazing. The best guy I’ve ever known.
We’re relaxed now, even though his hold on me hasn’t let up. But then I remember what started all of this.
Phone.
Oh my God. He bought me a phone. How did he even buy it? Where did he get the money? I know his uncle, Peter Adams, gives him a minimal amount of allowance, which more often than not goes to his bought lunches and other supplies.
Peter Adams isn’t a very present guardian, from what I’ve seen. They barely cross paths during the day. He’s left Abel to his own devices, which I totally hate. That’s why I bring him cookies and PB&J sandwiches when Mom’s not looking.
