Double Crossed(Jardougall)

7. Sleep

A/N Sorry for bad smut. Also shout out to Ray Bradbury for writing excellent books

“You know I love you,” Tay whispers when I wake up the next morning. She caresses my cheek gently and just stares at me. It’s not a question; she’s so sure of herself and that only makes me think of all the reasons we’re different. Because if someone were to say that to her, she wouldn’t doubt it. She doesn’t question that I love her or why I love her or if I still love her. And she expects me to be the same. She doesn’t understand that I don’t know that she loves me.

“Do I?” I whisper, looking at the ceiling. She sighs before climbing on top of me. With both her hands on either sides of my face she holds me still. She wiggles her hips until she lies comfortably on top of me.

“Listen to me,” she starts, whispering it like it’s our secret, “I will love you until the stars fade from our sky. I will love you until our sun burns out and all we have left is darkness, I will love you until music no longer rings in your ears and you can’t even remember my name. I will love you when you watch that stupid alien show and when you read fancy books. I will love you when you’re insecure and when you’re confident. I will love you when you’re a wreck and I will love you at your best. I will love you when we’re both in caskets and the only way people will ever know we were together is by the title on our tombstones. I will love you on the day you take my last name as your own and I will love you when we have children and I will love you when we’re gray and your face is wrinkled. I will love you when you get homesick and when you spend days without leaving our bed and when you think that you’re so far gone that no one can reach. But I will always be there, I will always pull you out and I will always love you,” she leans down and kisses me slow, her mouth moving lazily against mine.

“I will love you everyday for the rest of our lives, even if you don’t know it,” she whispers when she pulls back. I don’t know what to say and I’m afraid f she keeps looking at me like that I’ll start crying. So I tangle my fingers in her hair and pull her down to me. This kiss is faster, needier. Which I mean, I am needy. I haven’t felt like I’ve had her in so long and I just want to pull as much out of this moment as I possibly can. I want to memorize the way her tongue tastes on mine and the way her mouth feels against my face and they way her hands still clutch at my face and the way he legs squeeze tighter around my waist. I want this to be an infinity that I can absorb and keep locked in my brain so I can repeat it again and again. I want to master the curves of her body and retain the way she smells like pineapple juice and coconut skin.

“Please Tay,” I very nearly whimper, “Miss you so much.”

“Don’t need to miss me,” she whispers, “Always here,” her kisses moves soft and slow to my jaw, sliding down my neck and to my chest. I feel hot wherever she touches me, like she’s fire and I’m ice and she’s burning every spot she touches. My sin scorches and my heart thumps but I just want moremoremore. I will always want more.

She reaches underneath me and expertly unhooks my bra, pulling it off of me. Then she moves her head lower taking one of my nipples in her mouth, flicking her tongue over it gently. I rub my hands up and down her back; I just want to touch her, to feel her. Her hands move to my hips, gripping tight, while her mouth moves to my other nipple. I moan and push the pads of my fingers harder into her back. When she finishes there she continues moving down my body, kissing a line down my stomach and finally reaching my hips where she gently, slowly, removes my panties.

“Tay,” I half whisper, half moan. She looks up at me and smiles, flashing her teeth.

“I love you,” is all she says before dipping her head down. I can feel her tongue, hot against my clit. My hands reach down, fingers tangling tightly in her hair. She holds my thighs apart, gripping them so tight I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a bruise there tomorrow. But that’s okay; I don’t mind the marks she leaves on me, not if they’re a product of this. Of loving.