the Greenhouse Scene: Jace & Clary's first kiss from Jace's POV

For those of you who know me and have been following the blog for sometime, you know I am obsessed with Cassandra Clare and her fantastic series the Mortal Instruments and the Infernal Devices. Well about two days ago (or so, I honestly cannot remember, lol) I read on her tumblr account that she would be posting a full scene of the Greenhouse scene from Jace's point-of-view (POV). It is a wonderfully written scene and it makes your pulse quicken and swoon a little more for Jace.

Below I have posted a little snippet of it for a teaser, and then the full link for your viewing pleasures! If you are as obsessed as me, and haven't yet read it I encourage you to do so, it will definitely change your perspective of the scene and of Jace and Clary's relationship ... hopefully for the better. 


Jace: "Most Shadowhunters get their first Marks at twelve. It must have been in your blood.”
Clary: “Maybe. Although I doubt most Shadowhunters get a tattoo of Donatello from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on their left shoulder.” She is smiling, in that way she does when she says things that are totally inexplicable to him, as if she is fondly remembering. It sends a jealous twinge sparking through his veins, though he isn’t even sure what he is jealous of. Simon, who understands her references to a mundane world Jace can never be a part of? The mundane world itself that she could one day return to, leaving him and his universe of demons and hunters, scars and battle, gratefully behind?
Jace: He clears his throat. “You wanted a turtle on your shoulder?”
Clary: She nods, and her hair falls back into place. “I wanted to cover my chicken pox scar.” She draws the strap of her tank top aside. “See?”
Jace: And he sees: there is some sort of mark on her shoulder, a scar, but he sees more than that: he sees the curve of her collarbone, the light dusting freckles on her skin like a dusting of gold, the downy curve of her shoulder, the pulse at the base of her throat. He sees the shape of her mouth, her lips slightly parted. Her coppery lashes as she lowers them. And he is swept through with a wave of desire, a kind he has never experienced before. He’s desired girls before, certainly, and satisfied that desire: he had always thought of it as hunger, a need for a sort of fuel that the body wanted. He has never felt desire like this, a clean fire that burned away thought, that made his hands — not tremble, exactly, but thrum with nervous energy. He tears his eyes away from her, hastily. “It’s getting late,” he says. “We should go back downstairs.” ...

Read More: Here!