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Before she could think further though, he was back with the cloth. He’d rinsed it out and it was warm and reassuring when it hit her skin. God, it felt like heaven. She was tired. Still a little hung over. Her insides were a mess, and honestly, she was getting tired of fighting herself. She had her walls up, big time, but those walls were rapidly crumbling, broken down like they were the first time by a few illicit kisses.
He wiped away the whipped cream in slow, soft passes, so gentle that it made her want to cry, for some incredibly stupid reason. His hand at the back of her neck, strong, solid, burning right through her, all that heat going to some very inappropriate places- namely her nipples and between her thighs- made her want to cry too.
He massaged the cloth in slow circles, wiping gently, like he was afraid of hurting her. She wanted to snap that she wasn’t going to break, but then he left, and she found herself leaning forward on the stool, trying to capture the last vestiges of his body heat.
After rinsing out the cloth, he was back. This time, he had a pot or a bowl of water, because he dipped the cloth in and there was a splashy sound directly to her left. His hand was back at her neck, strangely protective, intimate, so large and warm that she couldn’t stop the sigh before it escaped her lips.
“Why do you keep fighting this, Syd? I know that the last time wasn’t a mistake. I know you were scared. I just don’t know why. I would never have hurt you. I never would. You’ve known me your whole life. At least… you did. What was there about me that was so terrible you had to leave for ten years and never look back?”
Sydney was glad that her eyes were closed, because the storm brewing behind them was hot and furious and keeping them pressed tightly shut helped contain the flurry of tears that wanted to escape.
A lump clogged up her throat, so that when she tried to speak past it, she couldn’t get any words out. She had to press her lips tightly together to keep the sobs inside that threatened to bust out. How could he not know? You’re a thousand times too good for me. I’ll only hurt you.
She was tired. So tired of fighting, so tired of running, so tired of everything. So tired of pretending, of telling herself that it was a mistake. That she felt nothing. That it could never work. She was just so tired.
So instead of leaning away from the soft strokes of that washcloth, she leaned into them. Into the capable hand steadying her at the back of her neck, into the one wiping away all that stupid whipped cream.
Finally, finally, he ran the cloth over her eyes. He had another towel, something fluffy and dry, that he used to dry her face off.
“There.” He stepped back and she found herself missing his warmth again.
She opened her eyes slowly, tentatively, and blinked.
She had to blink again because Jesse was sitting there, on the barstool right beside her.
Looking at her like she was everything.
Beautiful. Adorable. Strong. Amazing. A goddess. Looking at her with complete and utter adoration. And it broke what little resistance she had left, because she knew that she was none of those things.
She leaned forward, nearly falling off the barstool, but he met her halfway, his strong arms closing around her shoulders, tugging her into the hard wall of his chest. Her hands splayed over his dress shirt, her fingers digging into the hard muscle below. He was so different. He definitely worked out, because even in college, his shoulders weren’t so broad, his pecs so hard, his abs, his arms… the list went on. She’d loved his body. Always. He was perfect to her. He wasn’t just her best friend. He was the only man in the world that she’d ever truly wanted. Like, not just wanted on a physical level, but on a mental, emotional- god, even on a spiritual level.
Because that’s what it was when his lips met hers. Gentle. Crushing. Searching. Bruising. Frantic. All-consuming. It felt like her spirit, her soul, her inner essence- whatever it was- it felt like it was all tangled up with his. She’d always felt like that. Always.
He might look different. He might feel different. He might have the crazy masculine body of a guy who’d grown up, fully, who worked out and took care of himself, the body of a sex god, but he was still the same dorky kid she knew and loved. Deep down in there, he was still Jesse and he’d always been so perfect.
It broke her.
Being in his arms- it felt like coming home.
