REBEL

13. CHARCOAL BLACK

13. CHARCOAL BLACK

Not even twenty-four hours ago, I was convinced that the cold in my body would never go away. Now, as I slowly come to, there is almost nothing left of it. Instead, an unobtrusive heat seeps into my every pore. A gentle, soothing and all-enveloping warmth, accompanied by an unfamiliar weight on my body. It feels as if I've been cocooned.

And I think it's bloody fantastic.

There they are again: that scent, the calm breathing sounds and a feeling of safety that I can't explain rationally but feel deep in my bones.

I'm safe with him.

This time it only takes a split second for me to work out who is holding me in his arms. And my logic tells me that there's a pretty good chance he's got his hands on me too, because I'm just as sure that he's fast asleep. Even someone as cool and composed as Malfoy is hardly capable of dictating to his limbs how they should behave as soon as he drifts off into the land of dreams.

This is not an active display of intrusiveness and Malfoy (as I've noted so many times before) is not Dean. He's just a human being whose body is giving in to its instincts.

So instead of panicking, I force myself to calm both my heartbeat and my breathing and treat the situation in which I have so unexpectedly awoken as a kind of experiment.

I refocus on my senses and register a slight tingling sensation in all the places where we are touching. I'm still drowsy and can't immediately locate his hands, but I quickly ascertain where mine are. The left one is resting innocently on his shoulder blade, the right one has snuck into his boxer shorts and is cupping his bum cheek.

Apparently, for once, I'm the one who's being intrusive. Oops.

My hand squeezes tentatively, finding nothing but hard muscle and silky smooth skin, at which I almost let out a sigh. Well, what did I expect? His arse looks perfect. I should have known it would feel perfect too.

Malfoy shifts in his sleep, which draws my attention to a different, though no less interesting, part of his body. When I understand what exactly I'm feeling between my legs, I have to bite my lip to keep from making a noise I'll probably regret later.

He's hard. And not even the two layers of fabric that still separate us can hide how hard he is. Pretty hard. So hard that my body reacts instinctively.

Oh, what an irony of fate. Hermione Granger ruins her knickers for Draco Malfoy and he hasn't got a goddamn clue. Once again.

My thoughts are racing feverishly, and the desire that suddenly pulses through my body, desperately trying to gain the upper hand, doesn't make thinking any easier.

What am I supposed to do? Let him sleep on, savour his warmth and closeness and then pretend that absolutely nothing has happened? My hormones start a riot before I can even finish the thought. Or maybe I could wake him up by rubbing against him and whispering in his ear that it's okay? Just this once?

I find it increasingly difficult to breathe calmly and keep my eyes closed. I want to see him, I want to touch him, I want more, more, more.This greed that only ever seems to come over me when it's about him makes me completely forget to care about where the hell his hands are. In fact, I'm so busy disciplining myself that I only realize far too late how rigid Malfoy's body has gone.

I'm not prepared for him to jump out of bed as if stung by a Blast-Ended Skrewt and shake me off like a hundred and ten pound Doxy.

This must be what it feels like to trip over your own feet and fall backwards into a trough of ice-cold water. Gone is his warmth, the feeling of safety and my arousal. All that remains is an unpleasant mix of confusion, indignation and the feeling of having been rejected. And yet yesterday I was so sure that he...