Page 64 of Promise Me This

“It’s enough,” I say, hushed so my voice doesn’t shake. “For now, it’s enough.”

Her reply is lost on the wind and on the whisper of my lips against hers.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Leona

I’d shatter if he wasn’t holding me together.

His arms sweep around my waist and then lower, over the swell of my ass and into the dip below, scooping me off the ground and into his embrace. I wrap my legs around him, clenching my thighs to hold myself up and eliciting a guttural groan from him in response.

I take advantage of his mouth opening to let the sound escape, dip my tongue into the warmth, and brush against the silk of his own. A decade may have passed, but our bodies know this dance. We move in perfect harmony, ebbing and flowing, as if made for this and only this.

In some far-off corner of my consciousness, I hear him kick the door of the car shut behind us. I feel him scramble across the gravel toward his cottage, left unlocked because everyone in this town knows one another, and turn the brass doorknob before stalking forward into the dim foyer. Still my lips don’t part from his.

We move down hallways I once knew, past framed photos of Niamh that I force myself not to see, into the bedroom at the end of the hall where we used to lie together and make lazy love all afternoon. Knowing what’s coming makes me feel like I’m a teenager about to lose her virginity. We were barely what you’d call experienced when we made love before; just two twentysomethings fumbling in the dark. He’s older, we’re older, now. He’s no longer the innocent boy who once explored my body like a foreign country.

He settles me onto the bed and stands before me. His glasses are removed and folded carefully before being placed on a nearby dresser. Then he reaches back between his shoulder blades and draws his sweater over his head in one fell swoop. From the slivers of sunlight filtering in between the gauzy curtains, I can see every contour of his muscled abdomen. I reach out to run my fingers through the dusting of blond chest hair, and he captures my hand, pressing it flat to his skin. Beneath my fingertips, his heartbeat thrums a wild rhythm, letting me know just how much of himself he is holding back in this moment.

He looks down at me, stroking a thumb over the back of my hand. The desire in his eyes is so visceral it steals my breath. “I told myself I’d take it slow.”

His voice is a growl, a plea, a prayer for strength.

I let my hand fall from his grasp to trail down the center of his stomach before hooking a finger into his waistband. “Twelve years is pretty slow.”

My words unravel his resolve, and he at last allows himself to be pulled down to me. His lips crash into mine, urgent and needy, teeth tugging at my bottom lip with such force I’m nearly certain he’s going to draw blood. I don’t care, I decide. Let me bleed. Let him rip me open and take whatever it is he needs to be whole again. To repair what I broke.

His forehead tilts to mine, gasping breaths buffeting my face as he whispers, “I remember you.”

I cradle his jaw in my hands and look into his eyes, which seem endless in the shadows. “I never forgot.”

“Leona,” he moans, raking his hands over my chest and squeezing the swell of my breasts beneath the thin fabric of my sweater. Just as I’m arching into his touch, his hands travel farther south, finding my waistband and searching for the button that will release me from their entrapment.

“Don’t call me that,” I gasp, bucking my hips as his hand now slips inside my jeans, too urgent to be delayed by something as frivolous as removing my pants. He draws a fingertip along the wetness I’m sure is soaking through my panties before pressing into my clit, the glorious pressure snapping whatever tethers still linked me to sanity.

He props himself on an elbow, smirking down at me while his other hand still works its magic. “Oh?” His finger moves away from my clit and begins trailing the band of my panties, teasing me. “And what would you like me to call you instead?”

I cry out in desperation, tilting my hips toward those fingers that stay infuriatingly close but not close enough. “You know what I want.”

One finger skirts along my lips, testing the wetness between them, but retreats before delving any deeper.

“I want you to say it.” His eyes are glimmering with heat and mischief, like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. His finger sweeps into my slit, spreading me for him, but he hovers at my entrance, daring me to speak. “I want you to beg.”

“Leo,” I breathe, grinding into him on instinct alone. “I want you to call me Leo. And I need you to stop teasing me. Now.”

“I knew you liked that name.” He grins, teeth glinting in the buttery strands of sunlight. His finger finally drives into my core, curling and stroking in all the right places that only serve to stoke the flame higher until I’m certain I’m going to be burned.

My nails carve harsh lines down his shoulder blades. I’m convinced that if I don’t anchor myself in his flesh, I’m going to float away on the ecstasy of his touch. His thumb rubs my clit in sync with his strokes, and I find the hope of extinguishing these flames in sight. I arch toward it, and he withdraws his hand.

An involuntary whimper escapes my lips. “Callum, please.”

“So demanding, Leo.” He draws his fingers into his mouth and sucks the taste of me off them. A hum of appreciation vibrates in his throat. “I like this version of you.”

He steps back off the bed but leans forward to loop his hands around my waistband and pull, peeling my jeans away from my skin. I’m drunk on the feeling of his gaze roaming the length of my thighs. His fingers trace the phantom path. It’s the same thing he did when we were younger. Where other men made me want to cover up the thickest parts of myself, he has always touched each inch with reverence. With desire.

His exploration stops at the seam of my underwear, and he quirks an eyebrow as he rests one foot and then the other on his shoulders, pressing a tickling kiss against the arch of each before he begins tugging black lace over the curve of my ass.

“You shouldn’t have let me see these this morning.” He draws them painstakingly slowly over my legs, ending at my ankles right in front of his face. “I can smell how much you want me, Leo, and it makes me so damn hard I can barely stand it. I’ve been thinking about these panties all morning.”

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