Fall From Grace(71)

I lifted my head and walked away.  There was way too much...intensity, too much tension between us; this body was not capable of handling Shane.  He’d probably eat me alive. Unfortunately, that sounded so very delicious to me.

I heard his foot kick the door and his body slide down to the floor.  “I’m sleeping on the floor then.  Right here.”  His head thumped against my door again.  “Oh.  Man.  This is so comfortable, Grace.  Really.  Very.”  His sarcastic tone made the butterflies in my belly flip around again. There was no meanness to his voice.  It was raspy and silky and somehow made all the crazy thoughts in my head blur and only focus on him.

I walked to the window and pushed the curtain aside.  The walkway below was pristine white and glistening.  I clicked off my ceiling light and clicked on my bedside lamp.  I rummaged through my drawers and found my tank top-boy shorts sleepwear. Pulling off my rock goddess outfit and pulling on my sleepwear, I wished I could wash my makeup off in the bathroom.

From out in the hallway I heard some rustling.  Maybe he was leaving?  A few bumps and curses.  Laughing at the noise, I settled myself under my covers and closed my eyes.

Shane cleared his throat, kicked at my door again and the sound of my guitar filled the room.  I sat straight up in my bed.  Those beautiful caged butterflies were thrashing their delicate wings against my harsh dark insides.  Every single thought of Azazel’s visit flew from my mind, each note embracing a thought and hiding it in the darkness.

Shane played a slow melody I had never heard before.  Its beginning was low and wistful, transforming into a passionate yearning melody.  His awe-inspiring voice hummed along with the tune, whispered words tickled against my ears.

I opened the door.

Shane stood in the hallway, eyes wide, devouring me with his stare.  The music faded or stopped, I had no clue.  I focused my eyes on my guitar, my divine instrument in his hands.

He pulled the strap over his head and carried the guitar into my room, closing the door behind him.

“Please, look at me, Grace.”

Sliding the guitar out of his hands, he leaned it against the wall.  My eyes stayed on the instrument.

“Grace, please look at me.”  He stepped closer to me, blocking me from staring at the guitar.  So I stared blankly at his crotch, or where the guitar was located behind his crotch.

I couldn’t even say how he got so close to me.  I hadn’t noticed his movements. I tried not to even notice him, but there he was so close that I felt the heat from his body.  He touched my chin with his hand and I finally lifted my eyes to his.

“Grace...I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to...”

I suddenly felt the cool wall press up against my back.  I hadn’t known I was backing away from him, but I leaned against it for moral support.  And, just like he’d done twice before, he rested his forehead against mine.

“Tell me.  Tell me, Grace, that you don’t feel this.  Please.  Tell me and I will walk right out of here.”  He touched his lips to my jaw; his words were hot on my skin.  My heart skidded in my chest.  No reasonable thoughts came to my mind, only the warm sensation of his lips moving gently down my neck.

He pressed his body against mine, one hand slowly sliding down to my waist, tracing his fingertips along my skin.

“Talk to me, Grace, please,” he begged pulling back.

My body moved with him. I placed my hands on his chest and grasped his shirt in my fists.

His hand tightened on my waist and with his other, he twisted fingers through my hair. “Grace...One kiss, please.  Let me taste you,” he pleaded, pushing his body harder against mine.