We Dream at Midnight (Ember 2)
I find her on the roof again. She's perched on the edge, legs dangling above the city. Her hair's tied up, loose strands curling against the nape of her neck. I can see the slope of her spine through that thin shirt. She's made of lines instead of bones, angles I ache to smooth with a hand. I'd use my lips if she asked.
I settle carefully beside her, scared to fall, and brush her knuckles with mine. Her skin is cold, but she flips her palm for more contact. I catch my pinky finger in hers. A lock, just for a moment. It's enough to make her look at me.
As those kaleidoscopic eyes meet mine, one light, one dark, I hold my breath.
When leans in and sets her lips just under my jaw, it rips the air from my lungs. It's the softest thing I've ever felt. The warmest.
"What was that for," I say.
She pulls back, lashes damp, eyes glazed, and whispers, "You're the kind of person that should be kissed."
𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙩 𝙥𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙡𝙚
𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙩 𝙥𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙡𝙚
BOOK TWO
C O N T A I N S :
❤︎ mature content
❤︎ romance & friendship
❤︎ trauma & healing
❤︎ flawed characters (and development)
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