Chapter 28

Chapter 28

"Well," Michel said, puffing out his cheeks and glancing at me uncomfortably, "That was awkward."

We had retreated to our bedroom straight after the incident in the kitchen, and as soon as we'd entered I'd hurried to the bathroom and put the offending hand-cuffs in the lowest bathroom drawer, at the back, underneath a whole pile of hairbrushes and combs.

When I'd returned Michel had been sitting on the bed, looking sheepish.

I joined him, lying back and stretching out, trying to forget about the last few hours and every little embarrassing moment that had constituted them.

"Yeah," I murmured in reply, still trying to block all the images out of my mind. "It really was."

I felt Michel lay down next to me and tensed almost immediately, then cursed myself silently for doing so. Michel was still my best friend right. And nothing had actually happened. All we were doing was being two mature adults sharing a bed. And not even at night. And so what if his arms was pressed along the length of mine? So what?

The silence stretched on, uncomfortably so, and I strained my brain for something, anything, to say. But my mind was blank. Or atleast, completely tunnel-visioned. All I could possibly think about was Michel's arm next to mine, and his steady breathing and how fucking good he smelled. Like spice soap and shaving cream.

Just as I decided that going downstairs and sitting in the kitchen with Anthony would be better than this, Michel started to laugh.

I turned my head a little to stare at him.

"What are you laughing about?" I asked him, confused. As far as I could see, there wasn't anything to laugh about. Not one single little thing.

Apparently Michel didn't think so.

He caught my glare and laughed even harder.

"Oh Ria, come on, even you have to admit that this day really can't get any worse."

I blinked. "And you're laughing…why?"

Michel's laughter died into a chuckle, and then a grin.

"Because, sweetheart, sometimes you just have to laugh at these things." And his eyes, despite his wide smile, were so serious when he said this. Their grey depths no longer amused, just still and silent, watchful.

He rose up on his elbow slowly, and I watched him move, but didn't rise up with him. He leant over me a little, so he could keep contact with my eyes, but still, I said nothing.

The silence was back, but this time, it was static, quiet, heavy. I swallowed nervously, and just stared at him.

"Sometimes it's just better if you don't let the little things get to you," he continued, looking down at me, and now even his smile was gone. "And not take anything some-one says too seriously."

Why did I get the feeling we weren't talking about hand-cuffs anymore?

Still, I didn't say anything. I didn't have to. He just looked at me, slowly, gently, seriously.

And I was suddenly aware of how big he was. How wide his shoulders were, that when he leant over me they were all I could see. How his hair, shaggy and longish, fell about his space and how, when he leant a little closer, it was like a veil that separated us from the rest of the world.

It was no longer my bedroom, or my parent's house, my child-hood home.

Everything insignificant fell away, Beth, Callum, Susie. Anthony and his laughter. The new discomfit between me and Michel. Everything that didn't matter right here, right now, was gone, until there was only Michel, and his deep grey eyes, and his dark hair, the warmth of his body, suddenly so close to me, the stillness in the air. The waiting.

As if in a dream I watched him lean closer, slowly, gently, as if giving me time to move away, so speak, to protest, but there was nothing. Nothing I could do or say to get me out this moment. Nothing that could tear me away from this new world of just Michel and me.

Of the warmth of his lips when he finally, gently, laid them upon my own.

And I tried not to question why, when his lips brushed mine in that moment, it felt like coming home.

And then suddenly he was pulling away, and when I opened my eyes (when had I closed them?), I saw something like panic in his eyes. But this time I didn't try and read into it, nothing mattered but that feeling of warmth, of unaccountable joy, that had rushed over em and through me just moments before.

I brought my arms up and around his neck, and raising myself up slowly, kissed him fully. And had to suppress the moan of delight that rose up in my throat when he wrapped his arms around me and fell backwards onto the bed, pulling me with him, so I sprawled across his chest, our lips still locked together.

With something like surprise, I felt his tongue graze across my lips gently, and I opened for him, letting him deepen the kiss, failing to suppress the shudder of delight that raced down my spine at the feeling. His arms tightened about me for a moment, then loosened again, one hand moving up into my hair, running along my scalp, the other trailing down my spine, down and down and down until he brushed the tips of his fingers gently over the curve of my ass, then down my thigh, always light, teasing, playing along my skin and scouring it with heat, leaving a trail of burning awareness in its wake.

I was suddenly overly aware that I was wearing a dress, and that it had ridden up a little when Michel had moved me on top of him, and that even now, his fingers were playing lightly along its hem, as if questioning where else they could go, and I felt goose-bumps rise all over me when one of his fingers lightly grazed just under the cloth, and moved up a little further, bringing the dress with it.

The kiss deepened even more, became fast and passionate, and Michel moaned into my mouth, and his hands, one still deep in my hair, the other on my thigh, tightened suddenly. With another load moan he rose up again, and rolled me until I was beneath him once more, his leg moving between my own legs, and broke the kiss.

"Ria," he breathed, his breath coming raggedly. I opened my eyes and looked up at him, met his gaze. His usually light grey eyes were darker now, and his face was filled with some emotion I couldn't name. For a moment, I just stared into his gaze, and then suddenly, I felt his leg move again between my thighs, press upwards a little, as if demanding attention, and suddenly I was aware again.

And aware of what we had just done.

As if he caught some changing expression in my face, Michel's eyes glazed over a little, became unreadable.

I stared at him, and could think only one thing. My god, did I just make out with my best friend?

That kiss in the garden had nothing on this.

Michel moved away slowly, sat up a little, and brushed the hair that fell into his eyes away. He stared down at me in silence, and then, as if he had followed my own trail of thought, smiled tightly.

"There's no Beth here now, Ria."

I knew instantly what he meant.

He meant that before, I had used Beth as an excuse for the kiss. Used her as a reason to run away. But there was no Beth here now, was there, no reason at all for what we did. Just me and Michel. Just me and Michel and a kiss.

I stared at him, wondering what to say, how to explain my behaviour, how to justify whatever it was that I felt when I looked at him. Even though there really was no justification. He was my best friend. Best friends didn't, couldn't, just make out like that on a whim. Not without affecting some part of their friendship.

Good god, I thought, had I just ruined everything?

"Michel, god, I'm-"

Michel cut me off with a raised eyebrow. "You're what? Sorry?"

I winced a little, because that was exactly what I had been going to say. I remembered my own reaction to Michel saying sorry before, after another passionate kiss. I had been hurt by it alright, and confused. Was I really going to do the same thing to him?

I sat up, and pulled my dress down nervously.

He reached out to me, and I froze, but he just brushed his hand down my cheek, and then pulled away. His face looked almost…sad?

"It takes two, Ria. If you really are sorry for what just happened, then you cant take all the fault on yourself. It takes two kiss like that."

I looked down, avoiding his gaze.

"I'm not really sorry," I said quietly. I said it so quietly I almost didn't expect him to hear it. It was a moment before he replied.

"Neither am I," he said, just as quietly.

I looked up in surprise, and he smiled at me again. It was a quiet smile, not the beaming brightness of his real smile, not the smile he gives when he's truly happy. "I could never be sorry for kissing you Ria."

Then why are you smiling at me like that? Like we've both just done something wrong?, I wanted to wail. But I didn't. I just smiled at him, and I knew that my smile to, was a little strained. But I reached out, like head, and touched his cheek gently.

"Neither could I," I told him, because it seemed like the only thing to say.

XXXX