A/N: Okay, so a few quick things. 1. Last update for the night. 2. I hate that it's an odd number. It bothers me. 3. One reviewer called Clary Little Miss Bitchy Boots-and I thought that was hilarious and worth sharing. 4. Just realized that when you try to send a heart (the greater/less than symbol with a 3), it only sends the 3. So I now know that y'all aren't crazy for sending me stuff like "I like where things are going with this stor 3." 4. Y'ALL ARE AWESOME. 5. That's all.
Chapter Fifty-One
One Week Later
I've spent the last hour trying to get my hair and makeup right. It's silly. I know this. But there's some kind of compulsion to look my best today—the day Jace comes home for Izzy's birthday.
I just want to stop him in his tracks for a moment. I want to wield that kind of power over him. I like the idea of him thinking dirty thoughts as soon as he sees me, but being unable to act them out.
So I have to dress suggestively, without being tacky for the rest of people present at Izzy's party.
I finally pick out a deep red dress, one that hugs my curves, of course, and has a sweetheart neckline that dips just a little bit too low. I put on my matching red sling backs and my usual red lips before leaving my hair mostly down, only pinning it up on one side—just especially for Jace, even though I tell myself that it's not for him. I can't fool myself.
Then I walk to the ballroom, where Isabelle's party is being held.
I find her immediately in the crowd of dress-and-suit wearing Guardians that are already tipsy with the freely flowing wine and champagne.
I walk down the steps of the sun-drenched room that is set to fire by the setting sun, lit gold and white, sparking off all the shiny surfaces, almost blinding me as the soft music of the band surrounds me.
"Isabelle," I say with a small smile, approaching her. She turns to me, looking surprisingly demure in a black dress that clings to her tight enough so her rounded little belly is very obvious.
She smiles back at me, opening her arms for me, and she envelops me in a tight hug that I only barely resist. "Clary!"
"Happy birthday, darling," I say to her, pulling away and patting her arm. "I hope you like the gift I got for you."
"Something for the baby?"
"No, I thought since most of your gifts were going to be for the baby, I'd get a gift just for you."
"Bless you, Clary. You truly are wonderful," she says dramatically, linking her arm with mine.
I grin slightly, pat her arm, but I'm already distracted. My eyes are roaming the rapidly filling ballroom, searching but not finding.
"He's not here yet."
I blink and look over at Izzy, as she stares at me with this little knowing smirk. I make a big show of huffing. "I wasn't looking for him."
"Sure you weren't. You miss him, don't you?"
"No," I say, shaking my head.
"Yes, you do."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"You only say that when I'm right, and you don't want to admit it," she replies around a mouth that it tilted up in the corners smugly. "It's okay to miss him, Clary. It's okay to like him. It's okay to be happy with him. Where does it say you don't have to be? You don't have anything you need to prove to him, Clary. Trust me, the way he talks, he's—" Izzy breaks off, clears her throat.
My head snaps towards her. "He's what, Isabelle?"
"Nothing. He just…he really likes you, is all."
"He has to like me."
"No," Isabelle says, so firmly that I almost believe her. "No, he doesn't, Clary."
The sun finally dips below the horizon, and the city around us lights up, lights up as far as the eye can see from the window walls of the ballroom.
Everyone is in full party mode, now, laughing and dancing and drinking. Isabelle and I are the only ones that don't partake, it would seem. We just sit together and she tells me little snippets of gossip that though interesting, don't help me much.
Then, I go to get some punch.
And when I return to our table, I come up short for a moment.
Isabelle is standing up, hugging Jace tightly. "I didn't think you guys would make it before my birthday was over," she cries loudly into his shoulder.
I can't see his face, only his back, but I do see his shoulders shake with a laugh. "Never, Iz. It's a tradition to see you on your birthday…and give you this." He pulls away and hands her this small little silver charm, of what, I can't see. "You're annual charm."
Isabelle beams as if he's given her the world. "If we keep going at this rate, maybe I'll have a halfway decent looking charm bracelet by the time I'm thirty."
Jace laughs once and then turns his head slightly, as if sensing my gaze. And then his eyes drop over me, down every inch of my body, over every curve, slow, slow, slow.
My heart falters a little as I take him in myself, his disheveled hair and sloppy tie and the few buttons he missed on his button-down beneath his slightly crinkled suit jacket. He obviously just threw on whatever he could find and fast, in order to make it down to the ballroom before midnight.
He still looks shockingly attractive, surprisingly so because it's been three weeks since I've seen him and the memory of his looks has dulled just slightly in my typically human brain.
Then I force myself to walk forward, walking with the usual swing of my hips, and his eyes flicker up to mine as I lean towards Isabelle, handing her the glass of punch I've gotten for her.
"Hello," I say to him.
"Hi," he replies, his lips pulling up into a pursed little smirk he's trying to hide. But there's nothing amused about his eyes, about the way he's looking at me, like he wants me right now, like he's imagining things—and I know he is. He just can't act them out now, in front of all these people, but the longer I stare into his beautiful eyes, the louder I can almost hear his thoughts, his desires, and I have a hard time breathing.
But still. I can't look away.
His lips crash heatedly into mine as soon as we're falling into the restrooms together. I cling to him, my hands running through his silken curls, my mouth moving greedily against his, and I'm surprised at my own hunger, my own desire—a match for his own.
"Hold up," he grunts, pulling away from me to peep down under all of the bathroom stalls. And then he straightens and grabs my hips and smiles down at me crookedly. "Didn't want a repeat of what happened last time."
I laugh, but the sound quickly becomes a gasp because he's picking me up, slamming me into the wall, his lips eager against mine.
We're wasting no time now. Jace's hands are already under my dress, yanking down my panties, and I'm already tugging his zipper down, finding his hard length and freeing it from the confines of his pants and boxers.
I stroke him once, making him groan, and then I'm getting slid up the wall, and my breathing gets hard because I know he's about to finally—finally—be inside me.
And then he thrusts, and I cry out his name softly, holding his head to my throat, pressing my nose into his hair, drinking in his scent. I close my eyes so I can feel him within me, moving in and out carefully a few times until he finally fills me completely.
We both groan and simply stand there for a moment, my legs wrapped as tight as they can be around his waist, his hips pressing deeply into mine, our breathing coming in pants, both of us savoring this feeling again—because even though it's just been three weeks, it feels like much, much longer.
Jace begins to tremble a little, trembles that rock through his body, into mine where we are connected, and I moan, squirming against him to try and soothe the flames that are consuming me. It just makes the fire burn hotter.
"Jace," I whisper into his hair. "Jace?"
"What, Clary?" he groans, almost irritated, as if I'm bothering while he's trying to focus on something. His face is hidden in the dip of my neck and shoulder and I feel the brush of his lips on my skin as he speaks.
"Move, you idiot," I snap, squeezing my legs tighter around him so he gets the idea.
Jace bites my neck, making me jump and instinctually tighten around him. "So bossy," he breathes in aggravation before sucking gently at the skin he's just nipped at. And then he jerks his hips up, thrusting into me roughly, making me cry out his name again.
We move against each other, hard and fast and desperate—like how it was when we first started doing this, except, this time, the desire is even stronger…and something else is different, too. Something that makes it more—more heavenly, more exciting, more everything.
More addictive.
"Jace," I gasp. "Jace, don't stop. Please don't stop. You…you—oh!"
His hands have slipped to grasp my backside roughly, and he's using his hold to pull me more firmly against him. And my head tilts back, striking the wall, and I don't even feel the pain. All I feel his him.
"I'm not going to stop, Clary," he says hoarsely against my throat before biting me again, making me cry out yet again. "Fuck. I missed this."
I just moan, my head getting heavy, my stomach feeling incredibly tense.
"Did you miss this, Clary?" Jace asks hotly against my ear. "Did you miss getting fucked like this?"
As usual, words that would normally repulse only heighten, and I'm trembling, shaking, quaking, clenching around him, gasping breathlessly, so close.
"Answer me," he growls, his thrusts becoming a little more erratic because he's getting close, too. His movements become frantic now, desperate to feel that sweet release, but I can also feel the tension in him. Trying to hold back still.
"Yes," I cry, moving my hands over his shoulders, down his back a little, feeling how hard his muscle is, wishing I could feel just his skin instead of cloth. "Yes, oh yes, Jace."
"Did you miss me?" he asks, so softly, such a contrast to the way he's thrusting into me mercilessly, so hard that it almost hurts but it feels so good—the pain. It lets me know he's here now, that this isn't one of the many dreams I've been having over the past few nights, the dreams I'd never admit to him. "You better fucking answer me when I ask you something."
I shiver and convulse lightly against him, biting my lip so hard I draw blood, to keep from screaming and alerting everyone outside of our wicked activities. And then, when I finally think I can speak in a quieter tone, I whisper, "Yes."
And Jace is pulling his head up, to meet my eyes, and his golden irises are the fire that's burning inside me, hot and powerful and completely encompassing, and he gives this dark little smile and says, "Good."
That's all it takes for me to shatter, and I have to bite my lip again, have to rest my forehead against his shoulder as I shake violently, my whole body jerking against him, around him.
Then Jace's face is being buried in my neck and he's groaning loudly, releasing inside me powerfully, making my own waves of pleasure rise even higher because he's shaking against me and moaning and he's so open, so vulnerable right now, so overcome, as I am, and it's because of me. He's like this because of me—and the realization takes my breath even harder than my climax.
When it's over, one leg drops from his waist awkwardly before following the other, and Jace's hands go out, bracing him on the wall behind me, his face still hidden in my neck.
My hand, I find, is ghosting over his sweaty neck, almost in a soothing motion, to calm down his little pants. And then my head is turning and I'm kissing his ear softly, an unnecessary kiss—the first I've ever given him—and he presses his face further into my neck, sighing contentedly.
But then I jump and pull away slightly, because the stubble of his jaw and cheek is making my skin raw. "You need to shave," I announce.
I feel his lips pull up into a smile against my pounding pulse, and then he nods his head rapidly and then shakes it just as swiftly—making the short, harsh little hairs scrub roughly over my skin.
I laugh because even though it's slightly painful, it's tickling, as well, and I push him away sharply. "Stop, Jace."
"Why, Mrs. Wayland, are you ticklish?"
"No," I lie firmly.
He exhales a little hot laugh against my neck and pulls away from me completely, tucking himself back into his pants as he looks at me, such an intense, probing look that it makes me blush a little. "I'm having you again tonight."
At this, I force myself to arch an eyebrow, to hold my flush at bay. "Are you?"
He grins just slightly, a half-grin that's all dark, and he shrugs as he zips up his pants. His eyes never leave mine. "Just warning you."
"That sounds ominous."
He gives that quick half-grin again and leans in to kiss me softly as he smoothes down my dress for me, but he does it slowly, his hands lingering dangerously long on my hips as he goes. "I missed you, Clary."
I know I've already said the same to him, but it was only because he asked me, in the throes of passion, and I can't say it again. My mouth goes dry, any kind of wit abandoning me.
It doesn't matter, though.
Jace is already turning back for the door, ready to go back out to Izzy's party and act as if nothing happened.
But something has happened, though what—I'm not sure.
"You did it," Samuel exhales, smiling and shaking his head down ruefully at the envelope filled with pictures—pictures of Valentine's journal.
"I didn't get the last entries," I tell the older man as we stand on the roof. I'm impatient and nervous, fearful that Jace will realize I've been gone for punch much too long and come looking for me. I need to get back. "I almost got caught."
"This is fine, Clary," Samuel murmurs, nodding and slipping the pictures into the inner pocket of his thick coat. "You did wonderfully. And I thank you."
"So you'll tell me what all this is about now?" I inquire, arching my brows at him, shivering in the harsh wind.
"I will. But now's not the time. We can't be gone any longer from Isabelle's party."
"Then when?" I ask coldly, glaring up at him.
Samuel ponders this for a moment, his lips pursing. "When I know everything myself—for a fact. I need to look these pictures over first. And then—when everything is clear—when Jace and I get back from the borders again—I will contact you."
"When you get back? When are you leaving?"
Samuel nods. "Tomorrow evening."
"How long will you be gone?" I snap, and I say I'm only angry—angry that I will have to go more weeks without answers. But I'm also…I feel a little pang in my stomach—something like dread. I don't focus on that, though, or the reason behind it. I have much more important things to do.
"I'm not sure. A month—maybe more." Samuel reaches out, clasps my shoulder, and his hand is big and warm. His kind but secretive eyes find mine in the night and the bright city lights below us. And his voice rings with sincerity as he says, "I'll tell you everything, Clary. In the meantime, watch your step. And watch after Celine, as well. I fear…well, sometimes I fear some harm might become of her."
I hated this chapter. Hated everything about it. I don't know why. I just did. I apologize for it. Next chapter will be better. Promise.
