A/N: Third in the You're (sort of) Beautiful series. This one's even shorter than the other two, but that's okay. Review and tell me what you think.
Disclaimer: Pshhhhht.
--
But you make fun and tease and the things that you said
They always stab your back
And I've been holding out for love ever since I had a heart
– The 88; How Good It Can Be
--
You know you're beautiful, she mumbles into her shoulder.
He lets out a cocky laugh and runs a hand through his hair, black locks falling gently to his chin. Beautiful?
She nods and blushes, looking away. She can see that his gaze has turned to her from the reflection in the window, and she bites down hard on her lip, curling her knees to her chest in the seat of the car. Stop that, she scolds, rolling her eyes. Just keep driving, Jacob.
He turns his stare back to the road but the corners of his lips are turned up in a grin, and every now and then he lets out a quiet chuckle, his eyes glinting. She can't help but smile, too—the look in his eyes is happy and pure; and it surprises her that she is, too.
When they get to the house, he pulls the car into the driveway, stopping outside of the closed garage. She looks at the space and giggles, imagining cool afternoons with Jacob telling her jokes as his face hides in his work, his broad shoulders sun burnt and shaking from laughter.
What's so funny? he asks, tilting his head in curiosity. She bites back another grin when she sees his face, so eager and young, a puppy waiting for its mother to come home with dinner. Her hand moves on its own accord, reaching to take his chin between her pale fingers, smiling at how wide his dark eyes go.
She leans forward slowly, watching the changes in his expression, from astonishment to fear to need. She presses her lips against his, murmurs, You and the world goes black.
She moves her hands to the back of his neck, softly pushing against his hot skin, feeling the small hairs stand up, the spark of electricity, the quickness of his breath against hers.
She forgets about air when he begins to kiss her back, carefully at first, like he still isn't sure that he's awake. She moans quietly and then it is urgent and real; it is lost love and not friendship, twisted like they have always been; a weaving spider web of pretend and lies and angst—it is the first time in a long time that she doesn't think of him.
Soon after she has wrapped her legs around his waist, and then their clothes are tumbling to the floor of the truck, and it is skin against skin, brown against white, hot against cold—and it doesn't surprise her how perfectly they fit together.
His lips leave burning trails all over her body, and her mind fills; her heart is full, and she can hear her pulse as he rests his fingers over her frail wrist, whispers, You're alive, Bells. This is really happening.
She kisses him with a sigh and smiles.
When it is over she is lying on his chest and his arms are around her like a blanket, keeping her warm and safe. He can't stop grinning and she laughs, a light sound that falls swiftly down her throat and into her stomach—alive.
It doesn't really hit her until she mumbles I love you and realizes she means it, and by then he is drifting into sleep and the words themselves don't really matter anyway.
I've loved you all along, she says, tracing his heart with her fingertips. She feels it beating in tune with her own and she sees him smile with his last ounce of consciousness.
I always knew, he says, and it's true. Because her heart isn't broken anymore.
Because he loves her.
--
END