Half Truths

Only his

The scent of Jace surrounded Clary as she lowered his shirt over her head. God, she loved how he smelled—clean, spice, and him. The soft pile brushed against her face, and she closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. For a moment, she wanted to stay there inside, encompassing herself with him. Damn her father. He had the worst timing imaginable. And she was frustrated as hell.

It astounded her how she could have Jace, and then want him all over again within minutes. How that yearning, that ache, never fully went away. No matter how satisfied she was, she still wanted him—all the time. She couldn't make her mind focus on anything else. His arms, and how they held her so tight, so close, as if she might decide to leave if he let her go. His hands, so large, so strong, so capable, yet so gentle, touching her with care and respect. His lips—perfectly soft and warm. His sexy smirk—which had snagged her the moment he'd unleashed it on her, making her want to give him more than just her panties. His sassy mouth—sometimes the things he said were so hot it hurt, and other times so sweet, she could barely believe both came from the same person. His douchebaggery—as much as she knew she shouldn't, she loved that too. She loved all of it, wanted it all. She wanted .

She needed to get a grip. It couldn't be healthy to feel how she was feeling. To obsess so completely over one person, but, Jesus, the things he did to her . . .

With a shiver, Clary pulled her head through the neck opening of the shirt and thrust her arms out the sleeves. She caught sight of Jace, still shirtless, but now wearing a pair of dark jeans which he had yet to button and zip. The front of his black boxer briefs peeked out the opening and above the top. Clary swallowed hard against the desire to sigh and run her hands over his bare skin. God, what had this boy done to her? She was wrecked. Absolutely and completely wrecked.

After a moment of gawking, she realized he was just standing at his dresser, the top drawer open, and his white knuckled hands clutching the edge. Creases formed on his forehead as he stared into the space.

Clary frowned. "Jace?"

He glanced up, his brows pulled together, and a glint of worried confusion flashed in his eyes.

"What's wrong?"

Clary saw his throat move as he swallowed and turned back to the dresser. He reached into the drawer. "We, uh . . . in the shower, we didn't . . ." Jace withdrew his hand and held out a familiar square package.

Clary's eyes fell to the object. "Oh," she said, her mind not comprehending what she was seeing. Finally, it clicked. In the shower, they hadn't . . . "Oh!"

A flood of panic crashed over her as the entire scene played back in her mind. The desperate, untamed look in his eyes when he'd warred with himself over taking her the way he needed, and her own breathy pleas for him to just let go. The way his fingers curled into her thighs, gripping and tugging against her. How his hands held her body up so easily, and how they'd tightened with torturous restraint after they'd joined together. There had been no stalling, no fumbling, no ripping of packages. Just uninterrupted, fluid movement, and then pure, untainted bliss. Every touch, every sensation—perfection.

Clary hadn't been thinking of anything except how good he felt, how right they were together, and how much she'd wanted to be with him again since that first night. She should have noticed the difference, and thinking back now, she kind of had. It had been so much better, so much . . . more. Never before had it felt like that, like there was nothing between them. And now, she realized, it was because nothing had been. It was just her, and just him, nothing separating them. No barriers.

What had she done? What had they done? What time of the month was it?

"Oh, God." She raised her hand to her mouth. "We didn't."Clary—" Jace said, his strained voice breaking through her thoughts. Clary knew he was freaking out—hell, she was freaking out a little.