Page 92 of Forever Then

Always. Forever. I know down to the deepest part of my soul that it’s Gretchen for me or nobody at all.

“I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I walked away. I’m sorry I never called. I’m sorry I let Drew decide for you, for us.” I pause to give her space to talk, but her words don’t come. After a few painfully silent moments that feel like hours, I add, “And I’ll keep talking until you’ve figured out what you want to say.”

I take another cautious step forward. Close enough to touch, to smell, to taste now—she doesn’t step away. That ember of hope flickers to life in my chest.

In nothing but my swim trunks, the warmth of Gretchen’s body so close to mine keeps the chill at bay. Still donning her cherry red two-piece, glimpses of sun-kissed skin tease me in all the places her cover-up isn’t doing its job.

“I’m sorry I shut you out that summer.” My hand grazes over the clasped arms braced tight across her stomach. I tug gently and they fall loose at her sides. This girl doesn’t have to hide—she’s the safest she’ll ever be with me and I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it.

“I’m sorry I never told your brother about that year.” With a feather-light touch, I slide my palm between the fabric panels of her cover-up, placing it on the sliver of exposed skin above her high-rise swim bottoms. I use my other hand to remove her hair clip beforetossing it to the ground. Thick, onyx locks fall in waves down the length of her back.

“I’m sorry for the birthdays and holidays I’ve missed.” I tuck a finger under her chin and lift her face to meet mine. Her eyes are pinched shut, moisture specking the corners. “And I’m sorry,” I kiss the corner of her left eye, “that you felt like you had to do this whole process of finding your birth mom on your own.” I kiss the corner of her right eye.

“Let me tell you two things I’m not sorry for,” I continue.

Slowly, I drag a hand down the length of her arm, my thumb barely grazing the side of her breast on its way. Her breath hitches.

“I’m not sorry that I’m here instead of your brother.” I plant a soft kiss into the crook of her neck. Then another on her collarbone where the smell of coconut sunscreen invades my senses. “And I’m still not sorry I kissed you.”

Gretchen deserves to be respected enough to make her own choices, to speak up and for the people around her to listen. Rather than dwell on the years wasted on my ignorance, I take the stand I should have taken three years ago.

“I choose you, Gretchen.” I take her hand and place it over my chest, my heart thundering rapidly against her palm. “Do you feel that? My heart chose you a long time ago, but my head got in the way and I’m sorry. But I hear you. I see you. I respect you.” I bracket her jaw, thumb sweeping over her cheek. “And I choose you.”

Her eyes open and mine are right there to hold them—I’ll never leave her again and she knows it. Heat flares between us. She sweeps her tongue over her mouth a second before she lowers my face to hers, both of us sucking in an audible breath when our lips meet.

One hand in her hair, the other grips her waist as I yank her closer. We instantly find a feverish rhythm. Mouths chase, tongues prod and seek, heads turn and then angle deeper. A kiss that feels less like the reckless, lust-ridden haze of three years ago, this one claims—she’s mine and I’m hers.

She pushes up on her toes, arms thrown around my neck, hands in my hair. With a flick of my fingers, I pull the loose tie of hercover-up and the fabric falls open. Even though our bodies are flush, so much skin exposed in our swimwear, she’s not close enough.

I grab her by the thighs, hoisting her up. She anchors her legs around my waist as I spin us to the nearest wall. Pressing her against it to hold her in place, my hands begin to roam. It’s all hunger and passion, years of yearning and pining propelling every touch. I grab a fistful of her hair and tilt her head as she clings to my shoulders, shifting her lower body in search of friction.

The faint remnants of tequila and margarita mix linger on her tongue, but mostly she tastes like forever—my forever.

I press the heel of my palm over her peaked nipple through the fabric of her swim top and she gasps. I smile against her lips and do it again on the other side.

Her head drops back to the wall. “Oh my God,” she whimpers. I swoop in like an eagle clutching its prey, my teeth and tongue moving across every inch of her neck.

My hand finds the apex of her thigh. I hover my thumb above that little bundle of nerves tucked behind a layer of red spandex. With my chest pinning her to the wall, I move my lips over hers once more. I tug her bottom lip between my teeth as I begin to massage her over the fabric.

She moans against my mouth, legs trembling around my waist. I want to rip this swimsuit off and drop to my knees in front of her, worship her. But I don’t want to rush this. Ican’tmess this up again.

“I’ve missed you so much,” I whisper against her mouth before plunging my tongue back in.

Another sweep of my thumb and she jerks back, breathless. “More, please,” she pleads.

With a grunt, I position a hand back under her thigh and push off the wall with the other, turning us toward the bedroom. Her cover-up comes off, tossed aside somewhere between the living room wall and the bedroom.

We collapse onto the mattress, limbs entwined. Her legs fall open as my body settles over hers. My own need for release propels my hips forward, one quick thrust between her thighs. She sucks in a breath, holds it and then releases it in stilted bursts that land hot onthe skin of my shoulder. Even with the layers of clothes still between us, the heat and weight of our bodies plastered together, every inch of her skin somehow in contact with mine, her nails raking down my back, the sounds she makes—God,I could come just from this.

More than anything, though, I want to see her unravel beneath me.

I slow the roll of my hips and run a hand over her cheek. “I need to know this isn’t one and done, Fish. I need this to be real. I need to know if you forgive me.”

She takes my face in her hands. Her resolute eyes, soft and steady, grab me by the heart. “I forgive you, Connor.”

My forehead falls against hers and I breathe a sigh of relief. I kiss the tip of her nose as my hips resume lazy circles down below. “Other than Mr. No Name Viking, have you ever let another man touch you?”

Her throat bobs as she shakes her head. The bulge in my shorts hits the perfect spot and she sucks in her lower lip.

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