Those Who Dream of Freedom (Scaramouche x fem!reader)

Chapter 23 ☆ A shared dream

☆ y/n

Has he changed his mind? When I found myself cornered, I couldn't help but wonder. However, I found out the answer seconds later when the space between us had disappeared altogether. I felt a warmth, but if I expected to feel it around my neck, then I was taken by surprise.

Scara was kissing me, and my heart skipped a beat when I realized it.

His lips on my mouth were hot and restless, and my whole body turned to liquid fire. With my free hand I grabbed onto his shoulder to pull him closer. When I did he moaned against my mouth, and his moan was half amazement, half desire.

"Cassie," he says, and the word had been something between a plea and a whimper.

"y/n," I whisper. "That's my real name."

"y/n," he repeats, then kisses me again.

His mouth is wild. He kisses me like the world is rolling off a cliff, like he's trying to hold on and has decided to cling to me. His lips are softer than anything I've ever felt, as soft as the first snow, like biting into a cotton candy, like melting and floating and sinking into the water. It's sweet, it's effortlessly sweet.

The taste of it drives me crazy, it's all warmth, desire and mint. He pushed himself into me and I yelped beneath his lips. Now he's kissing me like he wants to break the bars that keep him inside in a cell. Like he has to have me, like he longs to remember the feel of my lips over his, like he's hungry for life and love and never knew it could feel so good to be so close to someone. Like it's the first time he's felt anything but negative emotions and he is trying to take it easy. He has a hundred, a thousand, a million kisses, and he gives them all to me. I don't see or hear anything but him.

That tiny part of my brain that's still lucid is screaming all sorts of questions at me.

Why don't I put a stop to it? Worse still, why can't I find it in myself to even want to put a stop to it? What do you mean I don't want him to stop? What do you mean that my arm that's hanging onto his shoulder likes that it is wide and strong? That he presses too hard on me with his body and yet it's not hard enough for me?

The questions are silly because I know the answer: I was lying to myself. Obviously Zoe was right. I'd been a fool not to believe her in the first place.

Scara is more than my friend. That's why it had been so impossible then to come to terms with the idea that all the time we spent together was nothing but a lie — because I'm in love with him. I love him more than I should, and it's going to come back to bite us both.

Something was heard from outside and we quickly separated, waiting to see the door slammed against the wall and the chair smashed and the guy grinning at us like a madman. But that didn't happen, I turned my eyes back to Scara. His pupils were huge and his cheeks were very, very red, which made me wonder what I looked like.

I didn't need to ask him why he kissed me, the way he looked at me already answered that question.

I heard that sound again.

"Don't move," he said and took a few steps toward the door, but I grabbed his arm.

When he looked at me again he looked scared, which made me scared too. If he was scared, what chance would I have of being calm?

There was no doubt that outside was that guy. I looked around, hoping to find a way out. Could we go out the window? We could only go out the one on the opposite side of the house, from my bedroom. I was just about to tell that to Scara when the door swung wide open and the chair was ripped to shreds.