Clary made a surprised noise, but didn’t protest, even when Jace lifted her up and carried her over to the bed.
They sprawled onto it together, crushing some of the letters, Jace knocking the box itself aside to make room for them. His heart was hammering against the inside of his ribs. They had never been in bed together like this before, not really — there had been that night in her room in Idris, but they had barely touched. Jocelyn was careful never to let either of them spend the night where the other one lived. She didn’t care much for him, Jace suspected, and he could hardly blame her. He doubted her would have liked himself much, in her position.
“I love you,” Clary whispered. She had his shirt off, and her fingertips were tracing the scars on his back, and the star-shaped scar on his shoulder than was the twin of her own, a relic of the angel whose blood they both shared. “I don’t ever want to lose you.”
He slid his hand down her cheek, to her throat, to the top button of her blouse.