Read Online What You Leave Behind by Jessica Katoff - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jessica Katoff
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the cushions to make room for his long limbs, but Austin can’t move. The feel of her tugging against his scalp is too much and somehow, not enough, and through heavily hooded eyes, he stares in awe at the woman doing this to him. He watches as she readjusts herself on the sofa, and shapes the blanket he pulled across her lap into a makeshift pillow. He closes his eyes and presses out a jagged breath at the thought of laying his head in her lap. “Come on,” she coaxes, her voice a throaty whisper, “someone’s got to fix you, too.”
Slowly, Austin rises and folds himself onto the couch, the warmth of her drawing him near. He settles his cheek against the blanket and shifts slightly to stare up at her. Tumbling waves of copper hair hover above him, masking wide brown eyes and full lips, porcelain skin, and he wants to brush it aside, as she does to his, and fit his hands to the back of her neck, pull her down to meet him. Instead, he curls into himself and closes his eyes as her fingers trail through his hair, letting the feeling welcome him gently into a slumber he doesn’t intend to fall into.
Harper watches as he drifts, the twitch of his thick lashes against his cheeks, and waits for his breathing to even out. As it does, she untangles her hand from his hair and swipes the backs of her fingers down his stubble-covered cheek, following the line of his jaw. The skin there is different than Liam’s, a shade or two darker with a scar or two and thicker hair, and the scratch of it against her hand feels foreign, but familiar. The want she feels to touch him has mounted within her since she awoke, the memory of his arms braced strongly around her in the alleyway, but she can’t place if it’s a want for his skin or just skin in general—a need to be needed, to touch and be touched. Some small part of her wonders if she’s lonely somewhere buried beneath the rubble Liam has made of her, or if she wants to spite Liam, get back at him in some way. She wonders if Austin is doing the same, consciously or not, and if she’s an awful person for thinking so. But something shifts alive in her chest when she touches him, her phantom heart contracting tightly as her fingers skim the surface of his neck and across the bare sliver of his exposed collarbone, and for now, she can’t find it in her to care what the reasons may be. She just wants the tingle his skin leaves on the tips of her fingers, and while he is there, asleep in her lap, and her hands are on him, she has it. Slowly, she strokes down his cheek again, pausing slightly when she nears his mouth, before trailing back up again. With every brush of her fingertips, tiny pinpricks of sparks fire beneath her skin, and while he sleeps, she stocks up on the feeling, brushing her hands across his forearms, his hands, his face and neck.
“Austin,” Harper whispers hours later, after her legs have gone numb and the room has grown cold from the night leaching warmth through the open door. Her hands are dormant now, resting on the thigh Austin isn’t fully draped across, and he feels the absence of them as he awakens and brushes his own hands across her lower leg. Harper cannot help herself—she smoothes a hand down his cheek once more as his eyes open to meet hers. “Hi,” she says softly.
“Hi,” Austin returns, his voice winding gruffly around the small word. Getting his bearings, he cannot find the motivation to move from her lap, from the comfort of her touch, and he reaches up to place one of her hands back in his hair. She smiles kindly as their hands tangle in it together and he smiles languidly in response as he says, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but I guess we’re even now. Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure,” Harper counters, honest to a fault. She scratches her fingers through the honeyed strands as he stretches his legs at the other end of the sofa, and feels a pitting in her stomach as she notices the darkness that has overtaken
Slowly, Austin rises and folds himself onto the couch, the warmth of her drawing him near. He settles his cheek against the blanket and shifts slightly to stare up at her. Tumbling waves of copper hair hover above him, masking wide brown eyes and full lips, porcelain skin, and he wants to brush it aside, as she does to his, and fit his hands to the back of her neck, pull her down to meet him. Instead, he curls into himself and closes his eyes as her fingers trail through his hair, letting the feeling welcome him gently into a slumber he doesn’t intend to fall into.
Harper watches as he drifts, the twitch of his thick lashes against his cheeks, and waits for his breathing to even out. As it does, she untangles her hand from his hair and swipes the backs of her fingers down his stubble-covered cheek, following the line of his jaw. The skin there is different than Liam’s, a shade or two darker with a scar or two and thicker hair, and the scratch of it against her hand feels foreign, but familiar. The want she feels to touch him has mounted within her since she awoke, the memory of his arms braced strongly around her in the alleyway, but she can’t place if it’s a want for his skin or just skin in general—a need to be needed, to touch and be touched. Some small part of her wonders if she’s lonely somewhere buried beneath the rubble Liam has made of her, or if she wants to spite Liam, get back at him in some way. She wonders if Austin is doing the same, consciously or not, and if she’s an awful person for thinking so. But something shifts alive in her chest when she touches him, her phantom heart contracting tightly as her fingers skim the surface of his neck and across the bare sliver of his exposed collarbone, and for now, she can’t find it in her to care what the reasons may be. She just wants the tingle his skin leaves on the tips of her fingers, and while he is there, asleep in her lap, and her hands are on him, she has it. Slowly, she strokes down his cheek again, pausing slightly when she nears his mouth, before trailing back up again. With every brush of her fingertips, tiny pinpricks of sparks fire beneath her skin, and while he sleeps, she stocks up on the feeling, brushing her hands across his forearms, his hands, his face and neck.
“Austin,” Harper whispers hours later, after her legs have gone numb and the room has grown cold from the night leaching warmth through the open door. Her hands are dormant now, resting on the thigh Austin isn’t fully draped across, and he feels the absence of them as he awakens and brushes his own hands across her lower leg. Harper cannot help herself—she smoothes a hand down his cheek once more as his eyes open to meet hers. “Hi,” she says softly.
“Hi,” Austin returns, his voice winding gruffly around the small word. Getting his bearings, he cannot find the motivation to move from her lap, from the comfort of her touch, and he reaches up to place one of her hands back in his hair. She smiles kindly as their hands tangle in it together and he smiles languidly in response as he says, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but I guess we’re even now. Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure,” Harper counters, honest to a fault. She scratches her fingers through the honeyed strands as he stretches his legs at the other end of the sofa, and feels a pitting in her stomach as she notices the darkness that has overtaken
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