Page 92 of The Moment Promised

He leans down so our foreheads press together.

“I never wanted a fling with you, I just didn’t know what else to do. I wanted to be with you, but I was so scared of your rejection that I—” I never finish that sentence, Finn lips crash into mine in a wave of dizzying passion. He’s urging his tongue past my lips and devouring me.

I swallow Finn’s moan, similar to a sigh of relief. His arms wrap around me so tightly I can hardly breathe, but I’ve never felt such excitement…such arousal…suchlove.

“I love you,” he says desperately between kisses. Like whatever is happening is moments from an end. Like he’s trying to fit everything he’s ever wanted into seconds.

The words heat up at the pit of my stomach, fueling my desire further.

He sweeps me off my feet, and the next thing I know I’m beneath him on his bed. “I got my wish, you know.” he says.

“What wish?” I ask out of breath while he kisses my neck tenderly.

“Well,” he starts, “I’ve learned every inch of your body. There’s a tan line in place of that green bikini you always wear.” His face hovers over mine, eyes shut. “A constellation of light brown freckles between your perky breasts, the left one is slightly larger than the right.”

I self-consciously bring my hand to my chest even though I’m fully clothed. With his eyes shut he catches my wrist and gently brings it to my side.

“Your hip bone juts out, casting the slightest shadow along your soft skin.” He smiles as if remembering something to himself.

“Wha—”

“I can close my eyes and see beneath your clothes, just like I wanted.” Amber eyes open and glimmer with adoration looking down at me. “You wrinkle your nose when you lie,” he continues, placing a ghost of a kiss to the tip of my nose. “When you’re excited you squeeze your hands together, like you’re trying to contain it.” He gently laughs, resting his forehead against mine. “And when you told me you loved me, there was fire in your eyes.”

A rainstorm of emotions pours down on me. My nose burns and a wet tear slides down the side of my face, falling right into Finn’s hands.

“I’ve fallen in love with every part of you.” He kisses me strongly, firm hands touching me everywhere. “Just to be clear,” he pauses, eyebrows bunched together, “the fling is over. I want to be your boyfriend and eventually your husband. I want to be the old man sitting beside you in a rocking chair sixty years from now still bantering with you over everything.” He smiles. “I want to be your best friend and the love of your life.”

There are no words. I am nodding—fast. He interrupts my emotion filled laugh with a kiss.

My clothes are gone, along with his, and he makes love to me like he’s been starved of it for years. I lean into his hand that cups my face. Our love is euphoric. It washes over me…

Through me.

I’m so submerged and consumed by it that I can’t tell where I end, and Finn begins. Together we’re one.

24

Ihaven’t seen Finn since last night. He woke up early to run errands with his parents. I felt a gentle kiss on my forehead sometime during my sleep, probably him saying goodbye.

It feels wrong being in the Walkers’ house while they aren’t here. My stomach twists and growls at me. The tile is cold beneath my feet as I walk into the kitchen, open the fridge, and pull the tray of eggs out.

I open almost every cabinet and drawer, unable to find a pan to cook the eggs. I could call Finn, but I don’t want to bother him with something so insignificant. I put the eggs back and sigh; there’s a bagel in the pantry, but it’s the last one. My stomach growls some more, like there’s a rabid beast living within me.

“Morning,” my mom says, coming into the kitchen still in her pajamas, hair knotted against her head and purple rings around her eyes.

I close the pantry, and fill a glass with water to hold me over. Maybe I’ll grab drive through, but as the thought of getting in my car to get food comes, I remember the orange juice in my fridge and the pancake mix in my pantry. My stomach rumbles so loud my mom looks at me with humor.

“I want pancakes,” I state, leaning against the cool granite of the Walker’s kitchen counters.

“Do they have pancake mix?” my mom asks, wrapping her arms around herself.

“We do, at our house. And orange juice. That is, unless Jason drank it.” I push off the counter, walking closer to my mom. “Want to go outside? You look cold.” I gesture to the goosebumps along her arms and the way she tries to rub them away with friction.

She doesn’t respond, but she follows me out the sliding glass doors.

The sun is naked today, without a single cloud to conceal its heat.

“What’s the plan?” I ask a little too harshly, the beast within my stomach controlling my words and the feeling of being too hot making me the worst version of myself.

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