Chapter 50 Crazy about you
The credits roll, and all I can hear now is the steady beat of my own pulse, matching the rhythm of my thoughts. The three others who were watching eventually gather their things and shuffle out. Ryan and I remain, rooted to our seats, the tension a thick, palpable thing, humming in the air like an untuned string.
I turn to him, a smirk playing on my lips. "Well, isn't this a delightful turn of events? Here I was, convinced someone was finally going to kick the bucket, and yet... nothing." I lean back, then let my gaze linger on his profile. "So," I continue, my tone softening, "do you think they'll meet again after six months?"
He doesn't answer. His eyes are fixed straight ahead, unseeing, lost in some distant thought. His jaw is just a little too tight. My brow furrows, a flicker of something unreadable passing through me. "Ryan?" I call out, my voice a little sharper this time as I reach out, my fingers just brushing his arm.
He flinches, his head snapping towards me, eyes wide, startled. "What?" he asks, the word a sudden burst of sound in the quiet.
A slow smile spreads across my face, a genuine one this time, because that startled look on him is... captivating. "Where did your head go just now?" I ask, my voice a playful tease.
He shakes his head, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "Nowhere." He clears his throat, his gaze skimming over my face with a speed that tells me he's trying not to look, then glances around the empty theater. He stands abruptly, the movement a little too forced, a little too eager to break the moment. "We should go," he says, his voice a little rough.
I don't move, just watch him. He's trying to escape, I know it. I extend my hand, palm up, a silent invitation. "Help me up, then." It's unnecessary, of course. I could easily spring from this seat.
He hesitates for a beat, his eyes flicking from my face to my outstretched hand. Then, slowly, he takes it. His fingers are cool against mine. As I push myself up, I close my hand around his, a possessive grip that he doesn't pull away from. He starts to walk, pulling me slightly forward, but I remain rooted, my feet still. He stops, tugging slightly on our joined hands, and turns back to me, an inquisitive look on his face.
I take that single step towards him, closing the distance, and then, with my free hand, I reach out. My fingers find the line of his jaw, his skin warm beneath my touch. My thumb traces the soft curve of his lower lip. "You look tense, Ryan," I point out, my voice low.
He pulls back, just barely, a tiny tremor running through him. "I'm not," he denies, the word a little too quick, a little too defensive.
I just nod, my thumb still tracing. "You are. You're all wound up tight." My gaze drills into his, holding him captive. "Are you nervous?"
His eyes flash. "Why would I be nervous?"
I hum, a low sound of consideration. "Anxious, then?" I suggest, my thumb lingering on that soft, sensitive skin. "Is it the good kind of anxious?"
He scoffs, a sound of pure exasperation, and tries to pull away, to turn. But I don't let go of his hand, and my other hand holds his jaw gently but firmly. He can't escape. His eyes, dark and stormy, meet mine. "Michael," he breathes, his voice a low, frustrated whisper, his chest rising and falling a little faster.
That sound....The way my name desperately slides off his tongue like a soft plea, it's a key turning in a lock. I take another step, closing the gap between us until our bodies are almost touching. I lean in, my breath ghosting over his lips.
It's the softest brush, a feather-light kiss that promises everything and nothing all at once. But the instant our lips meet, a current shoots through me. And then, without thought, without hesitation, his free hand comes up, wrapping around the nape of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer, deepening the kiss. He's fucking hungry, I can taste it, feel it in the urgency of his touch.
He wants more, so much more.....
But I pull back, just enough to break the connection, leaving his lips parted, his eyes still closed for a split second before they flutter open, wide and dazed. His hand remains at my neck, his fingers still gripping my hair, his thumb stroking. He looks utterly bewildered, utterly consumed.
I smile, knowing I’ve got him right where I want him.
"I like it when you say my name like that," my voice is a husky whisper. "Say it again."
I pull him closer, desperate for more of that feeling, that spark. My lips trail along his jawline, the warmth of his skin against mine driving me fucking crazy. He’s hard against me again, I can feel it, and God, it takes so little....just this closeness, the barest touch, and he reacts like that. It sets my blood on fire.
I press closer as I kiss my way down his jaw, savoring the feel of his pulse beneath my lips. He’s intoxicating. Every inch of him.
"Say it," I urge.
He hesitates for a moment, like he’s holding onto the last bit of resistance, but then his lips part....
"Michael."
It wrecks me, the hunger that rolls through me is savage. I pull back, needing to see his face, to feel that control slip away just a little bit more. But the moment I do, I curse under my breath, unable to stop myself.
"I'm fucking crazy about you," I mutter, the words slipping out before I can hold them back.
I need to know. I need to hear him say it. "Is it the same for you? "
He looks at me, eyes searching my face, that same fire burning in them. "Let’s go home," he says instead, his tone clipped, like he’s still trying to hold back whatever's in his mind. But then his gaze holds mine and the implication is clear as day.
He wants it, needs it.
I nod slowly and don’t wait for him to do anything else. I just turn and head for the exit, still holding his hand, his fingers entwined with mine. He falls in step beside me, but there’s this undercurrent of urgency now, of something that’s been waiting to snap.