Page 57 of Violent Skies

“It wouldn’t have changed the devastation. You got to hang onto Koa, that was worth the weight.” I say it with conviction so she understands that I wouldn’t change the path I walked after that night.

“You wrote in them?” she says after a long moment. “The gum wrappers.”

“Every single one.” I look away from her, my throat closing tightly with emotion as a blush creeps to my cheeks.

“What did they say?” she asks. I want to put my fingers in her hair and rub my nose against hers, touch her skin with my lips. I want to forget everything and replace it with memories of her.

“Stupid teenager crap,” I lie.

“What was in the last one?” she asks, the one from the wedding. I remember that day and it turns my blood to ice. I didn’t give her a single one after that.

“It doesn’t matter now.” I shake my head.

“It matters more now,” she argues, stepping forward to catch my gaze. She’s so beautiful it causes little painful jolts of electricity to spark across my chest. The slope of her nose, the spattering of freckles, the way I could get lost counting her long, dark lashes.

“Kiss me,” I say. It’s not what the wrapper said. It was probably the only one that didn’t have words contained between the folds. Simply because all I wanted to write was don’t do it, don’t marry him, it’s not real, I’m real, this is real.

She hums gently. “Will you kiss me now?”

“Do you want me to? Even after all of this?” I ask her and she nods almost instantly, causing the fire to stir violently in the pit of my stomach.

“Please,” she asks and my resolve crumbles.

He kisses me with hunger this time, like he can’t help himself when our lips meet. He squeezes my face in his hands and pulls me into him until there’s no space left.

He turns us in a clumsy shuffle until the back of my knees hit the bed and I’m tumbling backwards against the mattress. It creaks under our weight but he never stops kissing me, his tongue parts my lips. I can’t breathe and don’t care that I’m suffocating.

“Help me,” I breathe out against his mouth and grapple with buttons on my shirt. His hands cover mine, pushing them away and undoing the buttons himself. He tugs at the shirt, pulling it off my arms and tossing it away from us before unbuckling my belt and undoing my jeans. He pulls them down over my thighs, knees and calves, his fingertips tickling as they go, and he finds a better, less rushed state to his adoration.

“Hi,” I huff, a lazy smile tugging at my lips. I fight the urge to speed him up again, but the way he looks at me is like a shock of electricity to my system, and it curls my toes into the mattress.

Riggs freezes, looking down at me with a mix of tenderness and desire in his eyes. Left in nothing but my bra and underwear I feel extremely exposed, but a small smirk plays on his lips as he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my neck instead of continuing his path to undress me.

“Hi,” he murmurs against my skin.

I cup his face in my hands and make sure he hears me as his finger loops into the strap of my bra. He pauses, his fingers carefully tracing the edge of the strap. When he looks into my eyes, a silent promise passes between us as he slowly slides the strap down my shoulder and then the other, his knuckles brushing softly against my skin.

His lips find my collarbone and then the swell of my breast, he kisses each one softly like he’s worshiping. His fingers unhook my bra delicately, careful not to pull it away too quickly. He sits back, setting it aside, his palms flattening against my bare ribs as he covers my breast with his mouth again, his touch cautious, his body careful not to weigh me down. I count each tiny breath as he moves across my skin, trying to stay quiet and still, but I want to touch him. I need to feel everything, and more than anything, the distraction is necessary.

My heart beats hard in my chest and my fingertips itch with betrayal that my brain knows is stupid, but it’s there and I can’t help but feel it.

“Make me forget,” I whisper and he nods, understanding completely.

Riggs kisses between my breasts, tracing a line down my stomach as his hand slides over my sides like he’s trying to memorize every curve. He takes his time, kissing my hip as his fingers dip beneath the waistband of my underwear.

“Can I take these off?” he asks and I almost laugh at his polite nature in such an intimate moment, but I nod and wait. Riggs pulls them down, his knuckles grazing my thighs before he tosses them aside. His eyes never leave mine as he spreads my legs gently. His hands trace the inside of my legs, lingering over my skin as he moves upward. I sit up on my elbows as he moves, undoing his belt and pants. His buckle clinks softly as it comes undone and his eyes flicker down to my hands.

He kicks them off, revealing black boxers before he climbs back up between my legs, his hands sliding up my thighs again. He stops there, his hands bracing on either side of me, and I take the time to trace his features with my fingers, softly plucking at the curls that fall loosely against his forehead. He hums low at my touch, his eyes closing briefly. His jaw relaxes, his shoulders soften.

I draw a line down the straight of his nose before brushing over the rounded curves of his cheekbones. I find each scar that hides, tangled among the tan skin and sun-kissed freckles. He turns his head into my touch and his lips brush against my fingertips. His body tenses as they glide down his neck, memorizing his collarbones and he trembles as I graze his hardened stomach.

I can’t resist him, the way each touch unravels every knot that plagues him. My heart aches. Guilt and intense want tangle together and prick at the corner of my eyes. Riggs notices and his expression softens completely.

“Wait,” I exhale, trying to calm myself. “Just wait.”

“Cress.” His hand covers mine, stopping my exploration of his body and brings it back to his. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he whispers.

“It feels like I’m betraying him,” I admit gently. “I… I know he’s gone but… I don’t know how to explain myself. The panic.” I expect him to pull back but he doesn’t, he doesn’t create awkward space or leave me in the overwhelming fear that I’m screwing it all up.