Shatter-Me-PDF-Shatter-Me-Series-Shatter-Me-Shatter-Me-1-Tahereh-Mafi (1)

I gasp. I gasp. I gasp. “What are you doing—”
“Juliette, please—” His voice is anxious and he glances
behind him like he’s not sure we’re alone. “The other night
—” He presses his lips together. He closes his eyes for half
of a second and I marvel at the drop drop drops of hot water
caught in his eyelashes like pearls forged from pain. His
fingers inch up the sides of my body like he’s struggling to
keep them in one place, like he’s struggling not to touch me
everywhere everywhere everywhere and his eyes are
drinking in the 63 inches of my frame and I’m so I’m so I’m
so caught.
“I finally get it now,” he says into my ear. “I know—I know
why Warner wants you.” His fingertips are 10 points of
electricity killing me with something I’ve never known
before. Something I’ve always wanted to feel.
“Then why are you here?” I whisper, broken, dying in his
arms. “Why . . .” 1, 2 attempts at inhalation. “Why are you
touching me?”
“Because I can.” He almost cracks a smile and I almost
sprout a pair of wings. “I already have.”
“What?” I blink, suddenly sobered. “What do you mean?”
“That first night in the cell,” he sighs. He looks down. “You
were screaming in your sleep.”
I wait.
I wait.
I wait forever.
“I touched your face.” He speaks into the shape of my ear.
“Your hand. I brushed the length of your arm. . . .” He pulls
back and his eyes rest at my shoulder, trail down to my
elbow, land on my wrist. I’m suspended in disbelief. “I didn’t
know how to wake you up. You wouldn’t wake up. So I sat
back and watched you. I waited for you to stop screaming.”
“That’s. Not. Possible.” 3 words are all I manage.
But his hands become arms around my waist his lips
become a cheek pressed against my cheek and his body is
flush against mine, his skin touching me touching me