Unravel Me: The Juliette Chronicles Book 2

down my figure, disappearing as he shifts downward and suddenly his chest is hovering above my hips; suddenly I can’t see him anymore. I can only make out the top of his head, the curve of his shoulders, the unsteady rise and fall of his back as he inhales, exhales. He’s running his hands down and around my bare thighs and up again, up past my ribs, around my lower back and down again, just past my hip bone. His fingers hook around the elastic waist of my underwear and I gasp.
    His lips touch my bare stomach.
    It’s just a whisper of a kiss but something collapses in my skull. It’s a feather-light brush of his mouth against my skin in a place I can’t quite see. It’s my mind speaking in a thousand different languages I don’t understand.
    And I realize he’s working his way up my body.
    He’s leaving a trail of fire along my torso, one kiss after another, and I really don’t think I can take much more of this; I really don’t think I’ll be able to survive this. There’s a whimper building in my throat, begging to break free and I’m locking my fingers in his hair and I’m pulling him up, onto me, on top of me.
    I need to kiss him.
    I’m reaching up only to slip my hands down his neck, over his chest and down the length of his body and I realize I’ve never felt this, not to this degree, not like every moment is about to explode, like every breath could be our last, like every touch is enough to ignite the world. I’m forgetting everything, forgetting the danger and the horror and the terror of tomorrow and I can’t even remember why I’m forgetting, what I’m forgetting, that there’s something I already seem to have forgotten. It’s too hard to pay attention to anything but his eyes, burning; his skin, bare; his body, perfect.
    He’s completely unharmed by my touch.
    He’s careful not to crush me, his elbows propped up on either side of my head, and I think I must be smiling at him because he’s smiling at me, but he’s smiling like he might be petrified; he’s breathing like he’s forgotten he’s supposed to, looking at me like he’s not sure how to do this, hesitating like he’s unsure how to let me see him like this. Like he has no idea how to be so vulnerable.
    But here he is.
    And here I am.
    Warner’s forehead is pressed against mine, his skin flushed with heat, his nose touching my own. He shifts his weight to one arm, uses his free hand to softly stroke my cheek, to cup my face like it’s spun from glass and I realize I’m still holding my breath and I can’t even remember the last time I exhaled.
    His eyes shift down to my lips and back again. His gaze is heavy, hungry, weighed down by emotion I never thought him capable of. I never thought he could be so full, so human, so real. But it’s there. It’s right there. Raw, written across his face like it’s been ripped out of his chest.
    He’s handing me his heart.
    And he says one word. He whispers one thing. So urgently.
    He says, “Juliette.”
    I close my eyes.
    He says, “I don’t want you to call me Warner anymore.”
    I open my eyes.
    “I want you to know me,” he says, breathless, his fingers pushing a stray strand of hair away from my face. “I don’t want to be Warner with you,” he says. “I want it to be different now. I want you to call me Aaron.”
    And I’m about to say yes, of course, I completely understand, but there’s something about this stretch of silence that confuses me; something about this moment and the feel of his name on my tongue that unlocks other parts of my brain and there’s something there, something pushing and pulling at my skin and trying to remind me, trying to tell me and
    it slaps me in the face
    it punches me in the jaw
    it dumps me right into the ocean.
    “Adam.”
    My bones are full of ice. My entire being wants to vomit. I’m tripping out from under him and pulling myself away and I almost fall right to the floor and this feeling, this feeling, this overwhelming feeling of absolute self-loathing sticks in my stomach like the slice of a knife too sharp, too thick, too lethal to keep me standing and I’m clutching at myself, I’m trying not to cry and I’m saying no no no this can’t happen this can’t be happening I love Adam, my heart is with Adam, I can’t do this to him
    and Warner looks like I’ve shot him all over again, like I’ve wedged a bullet in his heart with my bare hands and he gets to his feet but he can hardly stand. His frame is