Dark Mysteries by Jessica Gadziala Page A

Xander asked, bringing his arm around her
back and placing it around her waist. He looked down at the top of
her head which she was shaking rapidly. “Okay,” he said,
feeling the uncharacteristic urge to lean down and kiss her hair.
    He
wasn't going to press the issue. He was just going to lay there and
offer comfort. She wasn't sure she ever felt more grateful to anyone
as she did in that moment. She slowly pressed the side of her face to
his chest, scooting her body to press against his side. Her arm moved
across his belly and then up toward the skin on his shoulder.
    She
forgot how nice it was to just... be held. How long had it been? Five
years? Longer if she didn't count... him. If she discounted him
entirely because the arms around her were the same ones to beat
her... then never. There had never been anyone else.
    Underneath
her ear, his heart was slow and steady. The hand on her shoulder was
rubbing slow, small circles across her skin. She closed her eyes,
taking a deep breath, smelling a trace of his soap on his skin, but
mostly just... him. A slight, personal, pleasant smell that she felt
a little drunk on.
    Xander
tried to focus on the circles he was tracing. Tried not to think
about the fingers on his shoulder moving slowly across his skin, her
warm breath on his chest, her breasts pressed up against him, her leg
she was pulling up and around his waist.
    She
was freaked out. She didn't need him reading more into it. She didn't
need to think that he was suddenly finding himself turned on by her.
Because he was. Completely against his better judgment. Completely
against reason. She wasn't even his type. Not even close. But there
she was, small and soft, her long blonde hair brushing against his
stomach, her lips touching the skin at the center of his chest.
    Her
fingers slowly stopped stroking, her weight pressing into him more
fully, her breathing slow and shallow. He wrapped his other arm
around her as she slept, laying awake, staring at the ceiling for a
long time. Trying to talk himself out of his attraction. Trying to
convince himself he just needed to get laid. It wasn't about her at
all.
    But
even as he finally fell asleep, he knew that wasn't the case.

Seven

    Ellie
woke up early in the morning, finding herself completely sprawled out
over him, her head lodged underneath his chin, arms and legs on
either side of his body. One of his hands was tangled in her hair,
the other had slipped up under her shirt and was resting on her back,
his fingers brushing the band of her bra.
    She
knew she should slowly scoot herself off. But she didn't want to. She
brought her knees up, balancing a bit of her weight so she wasn't
crushing his chest with her body. But she laid there, feeling the
weight of his hand on her bare skin, the intimacy that was his hands
in her hair. And it felt nice. It felt comfortable. And right.
    She
breathed in his scent, felt his breath on the top of her head. And
realized she wanted him. It was a sensation so strange, so foreign
that she wasn't sure what it was at first. The tightness in her
chest, the hypersensitivity of her skin, the urge to bury herself in
him. The longer she laid there, the faster her heart started to beat,
her fingers reaching up and toying with the ends of his hair. She
felt the undeniable pulsing in her core. A need strong, insistent.
    “You
make one hell of a blanket sweetheart,” Xander said beneath
her, his voice sleepy.
    Ellie
stiffened slightly, wondering how long he had been awake. If he knew
how long she had been awake. “I... ah... didn't want to wake
you,” she said, sitting up and pulling her leg back toward her
other one.
    He
smiled up at her, his arm going behind his head. “No more
nightmares?” he asked, watching her face.
    “Nope,”
she said, smiling slightly. She actually hadn't had a nightmare. In
all the years since she finally escaped, she had never had a night
where the dreams didn't come. Sometimes just blurry enough to let her
silently