The Search for Fireworks (ONGOING)

11 ~ The Bed

Reilly stirred in her sleep, snuggling into the warmth next to her. The room was dark, the sun still asleep. Reilly stirred again, suddenly aware that she was not on the couch, and the warmth next to her was not a pillow. Her foggy head tried to piece together what happened last night as she moved to get out of bed. Blake's arm snaked around her waist and pulled her back to him, he snuggled into her in his sleep, sighing contently. 

Reilly moved again. But Blake held on tightly.

"Blake, I need to go to the couch," she whispered exasperatedly. 

"No, you need to shut up and lay still," his groggy voice stated stubbornly as she continued to attempt to wiggle out of his grasp. 

"You really need to stop wiggling," he whispered. Reilly immediately stopped. She had read enough books to understand what he meant. Then, controlled by instinct, not self-preservation, she wiggled her bottom, just enough to be sure. He groaned when she did it a second time and his hand moved down and held her waist. 

"Blake, I need to go to the couch," she whispered again, this time her voice had a husky note to it that she didn't recognize.

"Reilly," he sighed, turning her around to face him as he spoke, "You're not going to sleep on that bloody couch."

"But," Reilly struggled to breath and willed her mouth to speak. She chewed her bottom lip and thought of a way to say what she was thinking without sounding like the virgin that she is. Blake groaned and Reilly let her lip go. It was too late. He stared at her lips, his thumb stroked her bottom lip. Mesmerized, she watched his face come closer. Helplessly, she closed her eyes and waited for his lips to touch hers. His breath was hot against her face and she shuddered.

The bed moved. Reilly's eyes flew open as she watched Blake walk to the bathroom. Without a word she forced her body to move. She made it to the couch without incident. As she stared up to the ceiling, her eyes stung with rejection. Angry tears rolled down her cheeks. She heard the shower run and allowed herself to turn around and sob into the pillow. 

Her mind ran over the events of the last three days as her heart contorted in pain, sob after sob wrenched through her as embarrassment sank into her bones. 

Three days ago she was sitting at a bus stop and hoped to find fireworks. 

Three days ago. 

She met him three days ago. 

A sexy, complicated man.

Fireworks from a stranger.

A stranger.

Yet, she wanted him to kiss her. 

She wanted him to touch her. 

She all but threw herself at him.

She shuddered for the second time that day. This time it was not in anticipation, but in disgust. The shower stopped. Reilly breathed in deeply and managed to compose herself enough to lay still and pretend to sleep.

Blake walked back into the room. He looked around the room until his eyes landed on Reilly's still body on the couch. He sighed, jealous that she could sleep. His mind was busy, unraveling the mystery that is Reilly. 

Fiery, yet sweet. 

Wanton, yet innocent. 

Hot, yet cold. 

He wanted to pull her closer with one side of him and push her away with another. He kept looking at her on the couch, her body dead still. Was she holding her breath? He wanted to believe that she was just as wound up as he was. He needed her to be just as wound up as he was.

"Reilly," he called loud enough, "Are you sleeping?"

No response. 

"Reilly, I just thought you'd want to know that I didn't leave because I didn't want you. God knows, I want you. I just can't..."

"Can't what?" 

"Oh, you heard that..."

"You were speaking out loud, Blake," Reilly spat back as she sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees.

"I thought you were sleeping," he sighed. He didn't. He knew she was awake. But, he couldn't make himself finish that sentence. The second he does, what ever this is, will die. He just wasn't ready to let her go.

"Can't what?" She asked again.

"I can't finish the sentence," He admitted, unsure how she will respond to his honesty.

"Why not?"

"I can't answer that."

"What can you say?"

"I'm so-"

"No, don't say that," she all but screamed as she covered her ears with her hands.

"Then what can I say?" He asked patiently, a smile creeped onto his face. 

"I don't know," She responded to his smile, her voice lighter. Reilly got up and stood in front of him. Blake sucked in a breath as he took in the red around her eyes and across her cheeks. He fought his hand's instinct to run a finger down her cheek and willed himself not to take a step back, which was his second instinct. They looked into each other's eyes as they watched emotions flicker through. Humor. Fear. Lust. Excitement. Sadness. It was all there. 

Neither of them said a word. Reilly took a brave step forward, Blake did the same. He wrapped his arms around her and she melted in his arms. She didn't understand the logic or recognize the meaning behind it, but she felt home. Blake lifted her up and laid her in the bed, before he got in next to her and covered them with the blanket. 

"Let's just sleep," he suggested softly, whispering in her ear, "And for goodness sake, don't wiggle."

Blake braced himself for an argument, a third degree, more questions. Instead, she closed her eyes and slept. He couldn't believe how easily she just followed his suggestion. Her deep breathing confirmed that she was in fact asleep. Blake frowned down at the young woman in his arms. He marveled at how right this feels. How easy she fell asleep. There was no expectations. 

 Yet, his own body refused to sleep so easily. Guilt was chewing at his mind. Much later, when the sun flirted with the windowsill, he finally drifted off into fitful sleep, immediately plagued with nightmares.