Beneath the Summer Sky - Chapter 9: Chapter 9
You are reading Beneath the Summer Sky, Chapter 9: Chapter 9. Read more chapters of Beneath the Summer Sky.
I never should've done it.
I should've stopped myself. I should've pulled away. But I didn't.
He was holding me, and I couldn't breathe. Not from fear, not from panic, no this was something entirely different. Something hotter. Wilder. His arms were strong around me, his chest solid beneath my cheek, and for the first time in so long, I didn't want to fight what I was feeling anymore. I didn't want to hold it back.
His shirt was soft against my fingertips, and I hadn't even realized I was gripping it until I felt how tightly I was clinging to him. My heart was racing, thudding against my ribs, and I could feel his heartbeat too, fast and uneven. Like mine.
We were tangled in this unspoken thing that had been building for what felt like forever. Weeks. Months. Maybe even longer than I wanted to admit. And now, with the heat of his body pressed against mine, the tension between us snapped into something real. Palpable. Dangerous.
His scent wrapped around me, woodsmoke, leather, and something purely him. My whole body ached with the nearness of him. My skin buzzed where his hands pressed against my back, slowly sliding down until I was molded to him completely. I felt the tremor that ran through his body, and it sent one through me too.
I didn't want to pull away. I didn't want this to stop.
I kept my face hidden in his chest, afraid to look at him, afraid of what I'd see, or worse, what I wouldn't. But when his fingers tilted my chin up, gentle but insistent, I let him. I had to.
And then I saw it.
That look.
The one I'd been pretending I hadn't noticed before.
His eyes burned into mine, filled with conflict, yes, but also heat. Hunger. Something wild and messy and real. I swallowed hard, my lips parting as I tried to find words, but none came. Only silence. Only tension.
"Harper," he said, his voice low and rough, full of gravel and regret. "This is wrong."
God, the way he said my name sent a jolt through me. And still, I hated the words that followed. My stomach twisted. I could feel the sting of tears building behind my eyes, not from rejection, but from knowing he wanted me... and was trying not to.
Before I could stop myself, I reached up, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing him closer. And then, I kissed him.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't shy.
It was everything I'd been holding back.
My lips crashed into his with desperation and need, and for one second, I thought he might pull away. But he didn't. He kissed me back, really kissed me, and it wrecked me.
His hands came up to cradle my face, and his mouth took over the kiss like he couldn't help himself. Like he was starved for this. For me. He deepened it, claiming me with every stroke of his tongue, every press of his lips.
I clung to him like he was the only thing keeping me upright. My fingers twisted in his hair, tugging him closer, wanting more, needing more. And he gave it. Groaning low in his throat, he pulled me tighter, like he couldn't stand the space between us anymore.
The heat between us was unbearable. I felt his hand trail down my back, a tremor racing through me as he touched me like I was something he'd dreamed about but never dared to reach for.
And then, just as suddenly, he broke away.
His chest heaved, his hands still on me, but his lips no longer touching mine. I blinked up at him, lips swollen, heart aching, breath gone. He looked wrecked. Like he was coming undone. Like I was the undoing.
"I'm sorry," he said, stepping back. "I shouldn't have kissed you."
My chest caved at his words, but I didn't move. I couldn't. I didn't want to cry, but my body shook with everything I wasn't saying. With everything I felt.
Then, somehow, I found the strength to speak.
"I wanted that too," I whispered. "I don't know what this is, Graham, but I can't pretend I didn't feel it."
He closed his eyes like the words physically pained him, like hearing me say that made it harder to walk away.
"I'm no good for you," he said, his voice raw. "This is wrong. I'm going to ruin everything."
I should've been afraid. I should've stepped back too. But I wasn't, and I didn't.
"You're not the only one who's scared, Graham," I said softly, stepping toward him. "But I'm not running away from this."
We stood there, unmoving, breathing hard, hearts pounding like war drums. Caught between what we'd done and what we wanted to do all over again.
But one thing was clear.
There was no going back.
I should've stopped myself. I should've pulled away. But I didn't.
He was holding me, and I couldn't breathe. Not from fear, not from panic, no this was something entirely different. Something hotter. Wilder. His arms were strong around me, his chest solid beneath my cheek, and for the first time in so long, I didn't want to fight what I was feeling anymore. I didn't want to hold it back.
His shirt was soft against my fingertips, and I hadn't even realized I was gripping it until I felt how tightly I was clinging to him. My heart was racing, thudding against my ribs, and I could feel his heartbeat too, fast and uneven. Like mine.
We were tangled in this unspoken thing that had been building for what felt like forever. Weeks. Months. Maybe even longer than I wanted to admit. And now, with the heat of his body pressed against mine, the tension between us snapped into something real. Palpable. Dangerous.
His scent wrapped around me, woodsmoke, leather, and something purely him. My whole body ached with the nearness of him. My skin buzzed where his hands pressed against my back, slowly sliding down until I was molded to him completely. I felt the tremor that ran through his body, and it sent one through me too.
I didn't want to pull away. I didn't want this to stop.
I kept my face hidden in his chest, afraid to look at him, afraid of what I'd see, or worse, what I wouldn't. But when his fingers tilted my chin up, gentle but insistent, I let him. I had to.
And then I saw it.
That look.
The one I'd been pretending I hadn't noticed before.
His eyes burned into mine, filled with conflict, yes, but also heat. Hunger. Something wild and messy and real. I swallowed hard, my lips parting as I tried to find words, but none came. Only silence. Only tension.
"Harper," he said, his voice low and rough, full of gravel and regret. "This is wrong."
God, the way he said my name sent a jolt through me. And still, I hated the words that followed. My stomach twisted. I could feel the sting of tears building behind my eyes, not from rejection, but from knowing he wanted me... and was trying not to.
Before I could stop myself, I reached up, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing him closer. And then, I kissed him.
It wasn't soft. It wasn't shy.
It was everything I'd been holding back.
My lips crashed into his with desperation and need, and for one second, I thought he might pull away. But he didn't. He kissed me back, really kissed me, and it wrecked me.
His hands came up to cradle my face, and his mouth took over the kiss like he couldn't help himself. Like he was starved for this. For me. He deepened it, claiming me with every stroke of his tongue, every press of his lips.
I clung to him like he was the only thing keeping me upright. My fingers twisted in his hair, tugging him closer, wanting more, needing more. And he gave it. Groaning low in his throat, he pulled me tighter, like he couldn't stand the space between us anymore.
The heat between us was unbearable. I felt his hand trail down my back, a tremor racing through me as he touched me like I was something he'd dreamed about but never dared to reach for.
And then, just as suddenly, he broke away.
His chest heaved, his hands still on me, but his lips no longer touching mine. I blinked up at him, lips swollen, heart aching, breath gone. He looked wrecked. Like he was coming undone. Like I was the undoing.
"I'm sorry," he said, stepping back. "I shouldn't have kissed you."
My chest caved at his words, but I didn't move. I couldn't. I didn't want to cry, but my body shook with everything I wasn't saying. With everything I felt.
Then, somehow, I found the strength to speak.
"I wanted that too," I whispered. "I don't know what this is, Graham, but I can't pretend I didn't feel it."
He closed his eyes like the words physically pained him, like hearing me say that made it harder to walk away.
"I'm no good for you," he said, his voice raw. "This is wrong. I'm going to ruin everything."
I should've been afraid. I should've stepped back too. But I wasn't, and I didn't.
"You're not the only one who's scared, Graham," I said softly, stepping toward him. "But I'm not running away from this."
We stood there, unmoving, breathing hard, hearts pounding like war drums. Caught between what we'd done and what we wanted to do all over again.
But one thing was clear.
There was no going back.
End of Beneath the Summer Sky Chapter 9. Continue reading Chapter 10 or return to Beneath the Summer Sky book page.