Less than Perfect by S. J. Evans (love letters to the dead txt) 📕

to her neck, where he carefully nipped at the sensitive skin.
Skye moaned, clutching the bedding tightly into fists, and let him explore her carefully, taking his time, tenderly kissing her skin. She could feel herself getting more and more restless with each kiss, though, and before long she was fumbling to pull his shirt over his head, wanting so badly to feel his smooth, warm skin against hers (not because she was cold in the slightest, though).
Jules pulled away a little, helping her yank the shirt over his head, and tossed it to the side when they finished. When he looked at her briefly, a smile spread across his face, she caught a glimpse of the glossiness in his eyes, the desire that was now so evident in those eyes, and couldn’t suppress the giggles that trembled from her lips. Electric bursts of heat spread throughout her body with each touch, leaving her riveted and desperate for more, and she couldn’t help but whimper a little every time he explored a new part of her. His touch, no matter how familiar, always seemed so foreign, so scary, and yet so exhilarating.
He kept asking her if he was hurting her, even though he couldn’t have been gentler, and asking her if she was sure about this, if he should continue, to which she’d kiss him and assure him everything was perfect. Everything was better than she’d imagined it to be—every kiss, every touch, so tender, so full of love, it was impossible to think any of it was anything less than perfect.
But after a few minutes, entangled in each other’s embrace, half of their clothing discarded haphazardly around the room, kissing and whispering sweet little nothing’s in each other’s ears as they shared more of themselves than they ever had, Jules began pulling away.
“Wait,” he said, voice low, “stop.” Bracing his hands on the sides of her head, with his chest heaving and heart racing, he looked at her, really looked at her, reaching deep within her soul. She froze, hands gripping his shoulders. “We should stop.”
She stared at him. “What?”
“We should stop,” he repeated slowly, catching his breath. “You’re not ready. And even if you are—or you think you are—now’s not the time. It just doesn’t feel right.”
Frowning, she dropped her hands, let him go. “But it does

feel right,” she argued weakly, also catching her breath, “it feels perfect.”
“Okay.” He shook his head. “Maybe it does feel

right. But the timing just seems a little off, like we should wait. I mean—don’t get me wrong, Skye; I want

to do this with you. But I just think that—because it’s such a big step, one you can never undo—maybe we should wait. It doesn’t have to change anything.”
With her pulse ringing loudly in her ears, Skye lay there, unmoving, trying to work together her own thoughts and desires. She knew she’d wanted to be with him like that, so intimately (still did), but after hearing him talk about how it could be better if they waited, she started to believe it. Maybe it had all felt

right—amazing

even—in the moment, but now that she was thinking clearly again, about what she truly wanted, truly needed, it didn’t seem as right. In fact, if she was being honest with herself, she’d even admit that maybe she wasn’t ready . . . maybe waiting was the only way to go. At least until she was ready.
Like Jules had said before: there was no rush. No pressure.
Time was on their side now, their friend, and there was really no reason for them to rush into things just because of burning desires and emotions—their love for each other was truly all that mattered in the end.
“Okay,” Skye said now, tracing his jaw line with her finger, “let’s wait. I’m fine with that.”
“Are you sure?”
She smiled at him. “Positive.”
After that, he relaxed, face lighting up as he collapsed beside her on the bed, and wrapped her in his protective arms. “I really do love you, Skye,” he said softly, tenderly, running a hand through her tousled hair. “I love you so, so much.”
“I know,” she said, and tipped her head so that she could see his face. “And I love you. So, so

much more.”
He grinned. “Right.”
“Right,” she echoed, kissing his soft, swollen lips. “I love you more.”
He pulled her tighter against him, kissed the top of her head. “You’re so ridiculous,” he whispered. “Just so ridiculous.”
She giggled a little before, suddenly overcome with the realization of just how exhausted and tired she truly was, she mumbled a quick “goodnight”, and drifted off into a warm, undisturbed haze of sleep. Sleep with beautiful, wonderful dreams.

BRIGHT, BLINDING SUNLIGHT poured in through the bedroom’s window, bringing Skye out of her deep, dream-filled slumber, and making it hard for her eyes to adjust when she slowly blinked them open. Yawning, she reached out, waiting for Jules to pull her hand in his, but then realized he was nowhere around. She’d been left on the luxurious, king-sized bed, with a soft, silky blanket draped over her, all alone.
When she took a deep breath, she caught the aroma of her favorite breakfast foods—bacon, eggs, pancakes, French toast—and narrowed her brows in confusion. He’s making breakfast, she thought, slightly taken aback by the idea, but charmed all the same. And when she crawled out of the bed, tossing the blankets in a messy disarray, she noticed his t-shirt on the floor—the one she’d pulled off of him in their passionate, heat-of-the-moment incident the night before—and grinned, warmed by the mere thought of what they’d done, and almost done.
Snatching it from the place on the floor, she pulled it on, giggling at how large it was on her, coming down past the middle of her thighs. He’ll probably like this

, she thought, a little too much. But I guess I can afford to give him a little treat.

And with that thought drifting through her mind, along with many others—memories from the night before, mostly—she departed from the bedroom, wandering down the hall, the stairs, all the way through to the kitchen, following the familiar scents of early morning dining.
The smell of bacon filled her nostrils the moment she stepped over the threshold, strong and overwhelming, along with the sizzling sound of the eggs in the frying pan. When she noticed Jules, hustling back and forth between the stove and sink, cooking and cleaning as he went, she couldn’t help but let out a quick spurt of laughter. Watching him cook still seemed so unreal to her. What kind of normal teenage boy enjoys cooking?
He spun around at the sound of her laughter, grinning sheepishly. “Oh,” he said, and waved her in, “there you are. Have a nice night, Sleeping Beauty?”
Shrugging, she walked over to him, kissed him quickly on the lips. “Yes, of course,” she said, grinning at him. “Last night was amazing. I slept really well, too.” Her eyes scanned the kitchen for any signs of the delicious food she’d smelled, and, after finding a small stack of pancakes, a small platter of French toast, and a bowl of assorted fruits, she settled on the fruit, plucking a couple grapes from the vines and popping them into her mouth. “What about you, Prince Charming? Have a good night?”
Returning to his sizzling bacon and eggs, he scooped them both out of the pans, placing the food, half-and-half, on two separate plates. “Yes. The best.” He looked at her then, adding, “There’s nothing better than waking up to you beside me.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, snatching a piece of bacon from one of the plates and taking a bite. “So why didn’t you wake me? I wouldn’t have minded.”
“Because you looked so peaceful; I didn’t want to disturb you. You’d had a long day yesterday. You needed the rest.”
“Well,” she said, accepting his legitimate reasoning, “I guess that’s only fair. But next time—wake me. All right?”
“Sure,” he agreed, handing her the plate she’d taken the slice of bacon from. “Are you hungry? I hope you are. ‘Cause I think I went a little overboard with breakfast.”
“A little?” she scoffed, chuckling. “You went a lot overboard. But I’m starved. So let’s eat.”
“Sounds good to me,” he said, and let out a little holler. “Breakfast time!”
After that, they both broke out into an all-out laugh fest, playfully pushing each other around and fighting to catch their breath, as they made the best of the time they had together.

LATER THAT SAME EVENING, after a long, wild day spent with Jules around the beach house—having breakfast and a late lunch together, sun bathing out on the hot sand of the beach, taking long walks along the shore, and playing card games, along with other

games of their own making on the porch—the hopelessly in love couple lay on the couch back at Skye’s home, tightly wrapped in each other’s embrace.
“Today was incredible,” Skye whispered in his ear, and nuzzled her face in the crook of his neck. “I couldn’t have asked for a better surprise getaway.”
“I told you it’d be worth it,” Jules said huskily, his warm breath fanning through her hair. “And, just so there’s no confusion, these past few days have been the best of my life.”
She grinned, feeling that familiar warmth spread throughout her body from the heat of his voice. “Mine too.”
“Kiss me?” he asked, softly, tenderly pulling her face towards his. “Please? I’m desperate.”
Chuckling, she murmured, “Yes, you are,” before cupping his face in her hands and pressing her lips against his, once, twice, unable to keep track as they found themselves lost in the moment again, so easily distracted by each of their desires to be so near, and so intimate

with one another.
But this time, after many long moments, the thing that stopped them, snapping them out of their make-out session and sending them scrambling away from each other, wasn’t something they would have expected—not in the slightest.
The doorbell had rung.
Skye, running a finger over her swollen lips as she watched Jules’s face go from a slightly frazzled expression, to a full-on amused one all in the matter of seconds, couldn’t help but wonder who was at the door. In the corner of her mind, she thought it was odd that someone had actually used the doorbell—after all, most of the people who were close to either Leah or Skye knew that knocking was just