Butterfly Kisses | Jack Hughes

Eight

Very Hard

"I'm never ever going to offer you this again, Hughes," I tell him awkwardly. "So come and get it while it's on offer."

He glances at me over his shoulder, a single eyebrow raised in confusion as he frowns at me skeptically. Then, he notices how I'm sitting, and his body relaxes almost instantly. He drops the two slices of toast to a plate on the bench, disregarding them completely, as his eyes light up.

I've got my arms open for him, a smug look on my face as I notice he's he's definitely not about to pass this up, and my legs screwed together just incase he gets any funny ideas.

They don't stay together for long as Jack closes the small gap between us. He shoves my legs apart like he's desperate, stepping between them as his eyebrows knit together and his lips drop into a pout. Jack wraps his arms around my waist, burying his head into the crook of my neck with a deep sigh.

I don't think I mean to, but my legs sort of half wrap around him, until my ankles are crossed behind his thighs, and my hands find their way into his hair all on their own accord.

My eyes are wide and my heart is thundering as I try to come up with a perfectly good reason in my head as to why I'd initiated this, but I can't.

The real reason, Jack looked upset, I didn't like it.

That might be a problem.

I try not to think about the way his arms are so tight around me that he's basically swallowing me whole, or the way he peppers a gentle kiss on the place he'd bitten last night, possibly my accident but something tells me he meant it.

I try to escape the second his lips touch my skin, face dropped in a worried frown. Jack pulls back from me, but not enough to let me go, and I surprise myself, but my hands stay in his hair, but I don't dare move, so we just stand and stare at each other, still with his hands on my hips and my legs around his thighs.

"Why'd you pull away?" He pouts, and I discover one very dangerous fact: Jack Hughes has a seriously good puppy dog face.

I pull my bottom lip between my teeth. "Why'd you kiss my shoulder?"

He tilts his head to the side, one of his arms unwrapping from my waist, the other pressing flat against my back and pushing me forward. My body slides toward him with ease, and I gasp at the sudden feeling of him against me. Our faces are so close that our noses brush. It would take one strategic placement of my head and we'd have our lips pressed together, and something tells me he would let me, but I stay put, not moving so much as an inch.

My hands press flat against his chest, but I guess Jack doesn't want me to touch his chest, because he uses his free hand, the one not pressed against my back, to guide my hands, one at a time, back to the base of his neck. Into his hair.

He likes his hair being played with. I don't know why this makes my stomach flip, but it does.

Jack's fingers caress my neck, tickling down my shoulder until he reaches the neck-hem of my shirt, gliding it down over my shoulder gently. My breath hitches at the back of my throat at the gentle touch he's giving me, a complete contrast to the way he'd been with me over the last few days.

His fingertips brush over the place on my skin that I know holds teeth makes, his teeth marks.

"I'm sorry about this," he breathes, his lips so close to mine it's almost dangerous, and the way he's talking to me has my mind diving deep into the thoughts I'd been consumed with in my half shower last night. "I was angry and the way I treated you was not okay."