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Listen to his.
I can’t hear it anymore since my ear is resting against his arm, but if I place my hand against his chest, maybe I can. And I kind of want to, want to see if it’s racing like mine is.
Slowly, I lift my hand and place it against his chest, right above his heart. His fingers in my hair pause, his muscles stiffening. I almost pull back, but then he relaxes and begins playing with my hair again. His heart is pounding fiercely, despite how relaxed he looks. His skin is warm and soft. I’m not sure why that’s what I realize. It seems weird to note how warm and soft skin is. But it’s been a while since I’ve touched someone else—a long damn time.
I let my hand travel lower to the scars. They’re all around an inch or so long and run vertically. The texture is rougher than the rest of his flesh, like they’re telling me a story of the pain he endured.
“Raven.” His voice catches.
I stop tracing his scars, worried I’ve crossed a line. I mean, what the hell did I think I was doing, just touching his scars like this? I wouldn’t want anyone touching mine.
He fixes his finger under my chin and angles my head up toward him. Our gazes briefly weld together, and I can see the terror in his eyes. He’s looked like this a handful of times, but I can’t figure out why he’s afraid this time.
“Are you okay?” I ask softly.
He nods unsteadily then gradually leans in and lightly brushes his lips against mine, in a soft kiss. My lips part in surprise, and my eyelids flutter close as I slip my hand across the top of his abs and grip his side.
After what happened last night, I didn’t expect him to kiss me ever again. I didn’t ever expect him to kiss me. And yet, here he is, with his lips resting softly against mine.
His muscles are taut under my palm, and his hand has frozen in my hair, like he’s shocked the hell out of himself. But then the shock must dissolve because he’s suddenly kissing me deeply, his lips parting mine.
I suck in a breath through my nose, my fingernails delving into his flesh. He groans, his hand now on my cheek as he presses his body closer. I clutch onto him as he angles me to the side until I’m rolled over onto my back beneath him. Our hips are aligned, his palm is still molded to my cheek, and our legs are tangled as his lips play with mine.
I wonder how I’m doing. If I’m kissing like a normal person, or is it totally evident that I have no clue what I’m doing. Jax knows that I don’t. He was aware of it when he kissed me for the first time. That doesn’t make it easier, though, feeling so out of my element.
Clueless Raven. Here she comes again.
This is the third time Jax has kissed me. The first was just a test, to see if I could do it. The second was a drunken kiss that was blurry and confusing, but not bad. This kiss, though. This is a kiss that I’m wide awake and completely coherent for. Jax seems to be aware of that too; every tongue sweep and lip brush seems to carry some sort of purpose, like he’s touching, tasting,feeling.
Feeling.
Emotions.
Breaths.
Warmth.
Flesh.
Fingers.
Tasting.
Contact.
So much contact.
I can literally feeleverythingabout him—the softness of his skin, the way his muscles have seemed to loosen yet some are wound tightly, the way our legs are tangled, a woven vine, and I can’t figure out where his begin and mine end. Music is kissing my ears, but it sounds softer. Or maybe all of my senses are more alive so it’s overpowering. I almost feel like I’m drowning in how our tongues tangle, with how his hands wander down my sides, his body heat that surrounds me. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve never felt this warm in my entire life.
Or felt this much.
It’s like my brain can barely process it all—it’s so much.
Then he’s pulling back, opening his eyes.
“Are you okay?”
I nod my head, my breaths coming out in sharp intakes.
