Chapter 109
Kieran's POV
She turned her face into my palm, her cheek pressing against my scarred skin, and her eyes drifted closed again. Like this was normal. Like she did this all the time. Like my hand was something soft and safe instead of damaged and wrong.
"Summer." My voice barely worked. "You need to—"
But she just held on tighter, her fingers curling around my wrist, and made a small contented sound that nearly killed me.
I was trapped. If I pulled away, I'd wake her up, probably scare her, definitely make a scene. If I stayed like this, with her face pressed into my palm and her hands warm on my skin, I was going to lose my mind.
I chose losing my mind.
Carefully, moving as little as possible, I shifted my weight so I could reach my left hand across to the notebook on my desk. I pulled it toward me, flipped it open, and tried to focus on the physics problem I'd been working on.
It was impossible. Every nerve in my body was focused on the feeling of Summer's breath against my palm, warm and steady. On the way her fingers occasionally twitched against my wrist, like she was dreaming about holding onto something. On the soft weight of her cheek, the way her eyelashes brushed my skin when she shifted slightly in her sleep.
I'd never been this close to her for this long. Never let myself be.
And God help me, I didn't want it to stop.
My left hand was shaking so badly I could barely hold the pencil. The equation I was trying to solve blurred in front of my eyes. All I could think about was the way she'd said my name when she woke up—Kieran—like she was relieved to see me. Like she'd been hoping I'd be there.
I let my thumb drift, just slightly, to brush against her temple. Her skin was soft there, impossibly soft, and warm. I could feel her pulse, steady and strong. Could see the faint blue veins beneath translucent skin. Could count her eyelashes if I wanted to.
I was going to hell for this. For taking advantage while she slept, for touching her when I had no right, for wanting things I could never have.
But I couldn't stop.
The minutes crawled by. My arm started to ache, then burn, the damaged muscles protesting the awkward angle. I ignored it. Around us, other students worked quietly, oblivious to the small disaster happening in the corner. No one looked our way. No one cared.
Summer sighed in her sleep, a soft exhale that made my stomach clench. Then she turned her face more fully into my hand, her lips brushing my palm, and I stopped breathing entirely.
This was torture. This was heaven. This was everything I'd been trying to avoid for three weeks, and I was drowning in it.
When the bell finally rang for the end of self-study, I felt like I'd been holding my breath underwater. Summer's eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then widening as she realized what she was doing.
She jerked back, her face flooding with color. "I—I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—"
"It's fine." I pulled my hand back, flexing my fingers to get feeling back into them. The ghost of her warmth lingered on my skin.
"Your hand," she said, her voice small. "Did I hurt you?"
"No." The lie came easily. My hand was throbbing, my shoulder screaming, but none of that mattered. "Go home, Summer. Get some real sleep."
I stood up and grabbed my bag, needing to get away before I did something stupid. But as I passed her desk, I couldn't help myself. I stopped, looked down at her, and said quietly, "You should take care of yourself."
Then I left before she could respond, before I could see whatever expression was on her face, before I could do something even more reckless than letting her fall asleep on my hand.
Outside, the December air hit me like a slap. I walked fast, hands jammed in my pockets, trying to outrun the memory of her skin against mine.
But I knew I never would.