I step forward tentatively, breathless, scared any sound I make will shatter this moment and he'll wake up again, tell me this isn't right. I move nearer until I can smell the rain on his skin. My eyes take in the broad expanse of his chest exposed before me, the long rippling muscles of his abdomen. Raindrops are skittering down the ridges, dripping into the waistband of his black jeans.
I reach out one shaking hand and rest it on his warm skin. A shiver runs through him at the contact, and I smile to myself. Then I lean in, lifting myself up on my toes, and place my lips on his. He makes a soft sound, and opens his mouth invitingly. I can taste the hunger in him, but he keeps his hands firmly against the wall at his back. I deepen the kiss, feeling that familiar black and rainbow fever blot out my sight, my senses. He surprises me by thrusting his tongue into my mouth, and I gasp, allowing my own tongue to be taken into his mouth in return.
The fever rages. I can feel myself falling, falling, and there's no bottom to the plunge. I'm gripping Nick by the shoulders, letting him bruise my lips and bruising his in return. I can barely breathe, but then neither can he. All I know is that there has to be some kind of end to this, some kind of finish, or else we'll burn alive.
I feel Nick's cold hand fly up and close around my wrist. His fingers are like a vise, unrelenting, as he drags my hand down his chest, over his stomach. He doesn't stop until my fingers brush below his belt.
The breath stops in my chest.
My fingers touch black denim wet from the rain. But there's heat here also, some kind of fire. I feel the cold metal of his zipper. And then I feel something else. I clench my fingers around it, and he groans.
Suddenly I'm ripping open his pants, tugging down the zipper. He helps me, but our hands collide and so it takes longer than it should. Finally he shoves his pants down to his thighs, takes my hands in his own, and puts them on his body.
