Yes, I do
Summary: "I hate you," she breathes into his ear."No, you don't," he says huskily, locking gazes with her. The night that Lily and James finally come to an understanding…
A/N: I know, I know I should be writing the next chapter of I'll Fight For You but this was something I needed to get off my chest. I realized about halfway through that it was definitely a Lily/James moment and so here it is.
She's sitting on the ledge, letting her long legs dangle over the side. He stands by her swinging bare feet, studying the spot in the grass where her sandals had been carelessly kicked off several feet away. She leans back on her hands, and throws back her head to drink in the myriad of stars above them. He rests against the wall, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.
"It's a nice night," she observes.
He nods in agreement, but finds that he has nothing more to add. She didn't come here to talk about the unusually warm evening and neither did he.
"Lily," he says, scuffing at the ground with his running sneakers.
"Why do you hate me?"
She's silent for several agonizing seconds, and he wonders if perhaps he didn't hear him. He lifts his eyes, and notices that her dangling legs are suddenly motionless, and her eyes are fixed intently on him.
"Is that what you think?" she asks softly, her face betraying nothing, but an intense scrutiny.
"That's what you said," he reminds her, and once again he hears her jeering laughter, and the biting insults carelessly tossed his way whenever they met. Her eyes were cold, and her aim was unfortunately improving. Just this morning she'd thrown her glass of orange juice at him, and it had spilt all over his button down shirt.
"I know what I said," she snaps impatiently, arresting him with her gaze. "But is that what you think?"
He turns away from her, grimly surveying the dark rolling hills before them. He'd loved her from the moment he saw her, but despite all of his best efforts she had rudely rejected his affections. He wondered why fate was so cruel. He'd had plenty of girls willing to do anything and everything for him. But it was this cold hearted young woman that had captivated him like no other.
"Is that what you think?"
A gentle breeze whispers through his hair, and he catches a whiff of orange juice. He'd never been a fan of orange juice, but then she'd gone and drank the last sip this morning and he'd wanted it. He had suddenly been thirsty, and it took every ounce of his self control not to lick it off her lips. She'd ended up throwing her cup at him, drenching him with it, but not before forgetting to lick the stubborn but barely noticeable drop on her upper lip. He would never be able to think of orange juice in the same way.
She jumps off the ledge landing clumsily beside him. Her hand grips his shoulder, for balance he presumes, but then she's standing before him with her hand still there. He feels her fingers tighten, and then she's pushing him against the wall.
"Is that what you think, that I hate you?" she asks, and suddenly he's afraid. He's terrified by the power that this delicate young woman has over him.
"Because I do hate you," she confirms, smiling sadistically as he fights to suppress the tremor that runs through his body as those terrible words resound in his head. His heart is breaking and she's silently laughing at his pain.
"I hate the way you ask me out every single day. I hate how you run your hands through your hair as if you're the most attractive guy in the world. I hate that you're handsome and I hate that you know it. I hate the fact that you're so damn arrogant. You think the world revolves around you. You think that you are the center of the universe. And I hate the fact that you are," she stops to catch her breath, and he wonders when she got so close, because he can feel her warm citrus smelling breath on his face.
"I think about you all the time," she whispers. "And I hate you for it."
He watches, mesmerized as one of her hands reaches out and pushes the hair out of his eyes. Her fingers trail down, gently caressing his cheek. She steps closer, or perhaps he pulled her into his arms because he can't remember how his hands got to her hips, but somehow they did. Nothing is making much sense anymore. He's finding it hard to breathe. He's on the verge of losing control. Her body moves against his and he trembles. He can't stop himself from falling in love with her all over again, and he hates it.
He grabs her face in his hands, crushing his mouth against hers. It's not gentle or soft, and it's definitely nothing like the first kisses he was used too, or the first kiss he had planned for them, and daydreamed about time after time again. This was real, and it was rough, and passionate, and desperate, and like nothing he ever would have imagined his delicate flower capable of or himself. She moans as he turns them, pinning her against the wall.
"I hate you," she breathes into his ear.
"No, you don't," he says huskily, locking gazes with her.
"No," she whispers slowly, "no, I don't."
They stare at each other for a long moment, finally coming to an understanding.
"You love me," he tells her.
She looks at him intently, running her fingers through his hair and then finally when he thinks he might lose himself all over again, she nods.
"Yes, I do."
He kisses her gently this time. They can take their time, he saw forever promised in her eyes.
A/N: Please review I'd love to have your opinion.