*Last in the Breathe Trilogy*
There was a smell in the air. Sweat, drying slowly on skin, mingling softly with desire. He stands with his back pressed against the outside of his door, glancing up and down the hallway, dark eyes dilated. He crouches, feeling that smell bathe over him, knowing that his patience is breaking.
Without truly realizing what he is doing, his legs begin to move, carrying him with swift urgency, with the speed and surety of something not human. He walks down the hallway, quiet with bare feet, feeling the stiff carpet shift around his hard skin. He knows where he is going, knows what he wants, knows everything except why.
His stride suddenly stops, frozen, his eyes locked on the hard wood door abruptly before him. He tries to remember how he got here, but all he can remember is that dream, playing over and over in his mind, revolving in a circle until he could no longer take it, shoving back the covers and striding to the door, gripping the handle. He knows this is not a dream.
She is sitting in the bed, her legs bent and pressed to her chest hard, her chin resting lightly on her knees, watching the shadow playing underneath her door. She can hear him breathing, a raspy sound, making the small light hairs raise on her arms like they are connected to an electric current.
Silently, she unfolds her legs, taking deliberate time to pass across the room, standing in front of the door, knowing he can smell her. She lets her fingers slide over the bronze knob, feeling the startling coolness of the metal against her heated fingers, lifting another hand to rest the palm against the smooth door, letting her finger tips rub against the grain, trying to remember if she should wake up.
Suddenly she feels the knob move and she jerks her fingers away. This is not a dream.
Taking a stumbling step back, cursing her cowardice, she looks up with eyes that must be wide as a doe's, but vividly blue.
All he can see is her, standing with a shocked look on her face that must have something to do with the feral lust that marks his own. With a barely audible growl he lets himself in, shutting the door silently behind him.
"I can't be dreaming," she whispers as she hears the door lock click. He shakes his head.
"No," he says hoarsely, stalling between the door and her body, watching her subtle movements, feeling those metal claws crying underneath his skin.
"Why are you here?" She asks as he takes one step closer to her, the scent rolling off of her skin driving him to the edge of control. He lets his eyes wander over her, catching on the thin white straps of her nightgown. That silky white gown that he has memorized night after night.
"I'm not sure," he manages to respond, watching her swallow, bringing his fiery eyes to her neck, his gaze settling on the dip of skin below her throat, drifting along her collar bone.
"Why did you let me in?" He finishes, taking a few steps closer, watching as she forgets to take a step back.
"I don't know," she shakes her head, her eyes refusing to sway from his, blue ice meeting searing heat and dark.
He takes another step toward her, reaching out because he can't stand not being able to touch, feel the glowing skin, still damp from the sweat he can smell so clearly. She draws in a sharp breath as the tips of his fingers trace along the gown strap, running along it's length, stopping as he meets the curving silk, letting his arm fall to his side, trying to ignore the screeching urgency in his hands, those damn blades.
"What have you been doing?" He asks, sliding closer, looking down at her, noticing her ragged breathing.
"Dreams," she tries to say, only succeeding in a whisper. He has gone to exploring the other strap, coming so close he can touch his mouth to it, but he draws back, eyes closing slowly, opening again to watch her.
She is trembling, feeling her heart pounding loudly, listening to the blood rushing through her head. He's so close to her she can feel his hot breath on her neck, waiting urgently for something from her, but she wonders what it is that he wants.
"Why?" She asks him, feeling one large hand run up her hip, slipping over the white silk, luxuriously wading in it, gripping hard, the tendons of his hands contracting.
He pulls back, looking at her with those dilated, feral eyes. "Because I can't take it anymore, ‘Ro. I can't hold myself in check."
He runs the other hand to the back of her neck, up to cup her face. She stands strongly before him, watching his hands quivering with anticipation, knowing in the back of her mind that she isn't going to stop anything, knowing that she can't. So she lifts her hands, feeling them brush against his chest, smiling when she catches him jump at her touch. She lays her palms out, smoothing his skin over, drawing herself closer so that she is only mere inches from his face, looking up at him with her deadly blue eyes.
She can hear the silk rustling as he lifts the nightgown, the pale material glinting in the dim light as he tears it from her body with a small roar. The silk is left in a shimmering pool by her feet, his hands recklessly traveling up her body, weaving through her hoary locks, gripping harshly as he pushes her back, finding himself pressing her to the wall.
"Stop me, ‘Ro," he growls in her face, grasping her hair so hard it aches, but she strains forward, eyes glinting.
"I won't, Logan," she hisses back, letting out a sudden, strangled cry as he pulls her head back with a snarl, lowering his head to her neck, stopping just before he grazes her skin, breath heated on her throat.
She lets out a sigh at the feel of it, the hot whispers playing over her skin, urging her to push away from the wall, her hands desperately trailing up his bare back.
He allows himself a wild grin, his mouth brushing over her throat, tasting the dried sweat. He roams up her neck, urgently tasting her, trying to keep the claws at bay, feeling them shrieking.
She lets out a low moan as his hands move over her, fingers spreading, gripping. His eyes are level, memorizing her movements in response to him, staring into her face as she struggles, trying to move closer, her short nails digging sharply into his back.
He pulls her from the wall, letting her rest against him, lifting her just off her feet. She lowers her head, noses brushing, eyes open, all of her pulsating. He looks up at her face, framed in icy hair, registering her hands on his face, her fingers trailing the stubble on his jaw.
They look at each other for a moment, as though dazed, breathing heavily. She brings her head closer, trying to draw him in, her mouth hovering over his as he holds her up, hands holding her precariously against him.
She wants to say something, but she can not find words, can not find thought. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, quieting the questions she doesn't know how to ask with the barest of movements.
She rubs her fingers over his mouth wordlessly, and he pushes up as she draws her hand away, weaving it into his wild, dark hair. His mouth brushes over hers, finally feeling her, their breath meeting soundlessly in the middle of the room.
"Breathe," he utters into her mouth, parting her lips with his, letting her slide down his body to the floor. She inhales slowly and closes her aquamarine eyes.
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