Forged(47)

“Are you okay? I didn’t mean—”

She kisses me quiet, more teeth than lips because she’s smiling so wide. Then she pulls back, breathless. “When I say I want you, I mean all of you. So don’t do it again: Don’t hold in the hurt or hide the truth or say things you don’t mean. Be honest with me, always, or this is the last second chance you’ll get.”

And then we’re kissing again, even as I carry her into my room and shut out the world.

I lower her onto the bed. Her lips are no longer enough, the clothing between us suddenly thick like armor. I pull off my shirt, tug hers overhead. We shed layer after layer until we’re nothing but skin against the sheets, against each other. Her hair is splayed out on the pillow, brilliant and pale. I take in every inch of her. Really, truly look at her. Maybe for the first time ever.

With a hand clasped behind my neck, Bree pulls me nearer.

“You’re sure?” I ask against her lips. “Couldn’t we . . .”

“I’ve been taking something Jules gave me since Pike. It’s fine.”

“Positive?”

“Yes.”

“But what if—”

“Gray? Quit talking.”

We move closer. And closer. Everything slows. Everything but my pulse. Bree buries her hands in my hair when we’re one.

And I stop thinking.





TWENTY-THREE


BRIANNA NOX IS IN MY bed when I wake up.

She looks like she fought a war during the night. Her hair surrounds her head in a tangled halo. Her mouth hangs open. It’s comical how widely stretched her limbs are, like she was sprinting somewhere and then dropped dead midstride. But she’s wearing my hooded shirt, and while it’s on inside out and the cuffs swallow her hands whole, I have never seen anything better. She could wear nothing but that shirt from this day on and I’d be happy.

I kiss her forehead, and she starts awake so violently she nearly head butts me.

“Where—?” Her eyes dart to the bed sheets, soaked in early morning light; the shirt she wears; then finally, me. “Hey,” she says, smiling so shamelessly my chest aches. “Is anyone else up yet? Should I—”

“No.”

Bree raises an eyebrow. “Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to keep me in your bed?”

“Maybe because this is a first and I want to prolong it. You’re too good at sneaking out on me.”

“Stealthier than you and always will be.”

She stretches—toes and arms in opposite directions, back rising off the mattress—and I can no longer keep my hands to myself. She fights me halfheartedly, but with a yank, I have her pinned beneath me. I kiss her neck and she laughs, then her chin and she hums, her lips and she’s quiet. Not just quiet, but completely still.

“What’s wrong?”

She examines me with a heavy sort of gaze, and the fear hits me. She regrets it. Last night, us. She wishes she’d said no.

“Bree?”

She stares at my chest.

“Please say something.”

“I don’t want this to change things,” she says, tracing the line of my collarbone with her forefinger. She has no idea how hard this makes it for me to focus.

“I’ve never needed anyone, Gray. That sounds awful, but it’s true. I’ve been alone for most of my life. I’ve taken care of myself. When I met you, you reminded me of someone I was once too willing to change for, and then when I realized I liked you, it scared me. Because we truly were a good fit. I didn’t have to change around you. Not in the slightest. We were strong individually, and even stronger together, and that was terrifying, because it made me want you more. And if I wanted someone else, did that mean I was reliant on him? Did it mean I’d lost my independence? I want to be me. I only ever want to be me.”

“Bree, there’s us, but it’s not possible without you and me. Two independent pieces. And reliance? I think life would be really lonely if we had to face everything on our own.”

She flattens a palm against my chest. “Just promise you won’t treat me differently now. I want us to be the same.”

“I told you last night that I was done being a jerk.”

“That’s not what I mean.” She bites her bottom lip. Exhales. “Look, if I argue with you and you don’t agree with me, please don’t fold just because of this.” She motions between us. “Or if I’m doing something stupid, don’t hold back from calling me out on it because you’re afraid of hurting my feelings. Don’t treat me like I’m suddenly delicate.”

“That was my plan all along: sleep with you so I could hold the reins, turn our relationship into something completely opposite of what I love about it.”

She punches my shoulder. “I’m serious! It’s really hard for me to talk about this stuff, and then you have to go and turn it into a joke.” She winds up again, but I grab her wrists and pin them against the mattress.

“Okay, okay. So it was a lame joke. But it’s ridiculous; ninety-five percent of why I love you is everything you just said: how this works two ways, how we’re there for each other but don’t define each other. I get it. Really.”

She stops wrestling to free herself, and I let go of her arms.