Page 65 of Every Promise Broken

Pulling back, he brushes a strand of hair out of my face, his imploring eyes gazing into mine. “What do you need from me?” he asks softly, but it’s easy to spot the intense restraint he’s using on himself right now. I can feel the desire and the lust coursing through his body; he’s practically vibrating with it.

A whimper sounds in the back of my throat. I know exactly what I want, but I don’t know if I can ask for it.

“Tell me what you need from me, baby,” he says as he searches my face, before leaning down to brush another soft, sweet kiss against my lips. Then he brings his mouth beside my ear, and in a low, husky voice, he continues. “I want to hear yousay it. Want to hear you tell me what you want from me. Come on, kitten…”

A shiver wracks through my body. “I want…” Swallowing thickly, trying to bring back some moisture to my mouth, I say, “I want you to have me, Conrad. Ineedyou to make love to me.”

Conrad pulls back, arousal and something else entirely—adoration, maybe—coloring his features as he watches me, maybe trying to see if I mean it. He nods, Adam’s apple rolling in his throat against a swallow as he takes my hand. “Let’s go to bed, baby.”

I follow him on wobbly legs as he leads us down the hall toward the bedroom. My pulse roars in my ears the closer we get. The reality of what’s to come sinking in, and I know without a shadow of a doubt, that I will never, ever recover from this night. From him.

It damn near killed me to walk away the first time, but after we do this, if it doesn’t work out, I will not survive it. With my heart in my throat, we enter the dark room, his rich, woodsy scent filling my nostrils. Stopping in front of the bed, he spins around, grabs me by the back of the neck, and kisses me breathless.

Somehow, this kiss feels different from every one that came before it. It feels like a promise. An oath.

It feels like I’m finally back home.

25

Conrad Strauss

Whit looks like an angel as he peers up at me. I stand over him, unable to look away as desire overflows from his forest green eyes. Eyes I can barely make out in the dark room, the only light spilling in from the hallway. My chest tightens, throat thick with emotion as I stare down at him, truly taking him in.My Whit.The boy who became a man and stole my heart. Who couldn’t be more different from me, yet his soul speaks to mine all the same. The one who has always looked at me like I’m his savior, whether he realizes he’s doing it or not.

But it’s not me who saved him.

It’s the other way around.

My life didn’t truly begin until that night we danced in the barn. The night Whit clung to me and let me lead him around the darkened space. The night he trusted me to keep him safe. The memory of that night flits through my mind as I gaze into his eyes. Whit in my arms, our bodies moving to the music, the stress wrapped around his every bone withering away with each beat that passed. Our very first dance. He was newly eighteen,and I was way too old for him and had no business trying to be there for him in any capacity. I was drawn to him, even back then, even before I really understood it.

He looked so distressed, so lost, standing in the middle of the barn in the dead of night. Feet pacing the length, a sadness filling his eyes that I’d never seen before from him. The sight made me immediately want to help him not look that way ever again. Truth be told, I don’t think I’ll ever fully know what came over me in that moment when I took him in my arms and started dancing.

It’s something my mother used to do with me when I was little. When I’d had a bad day or a nightmare or was feeling sad, she’d let me stand on her feet with my arms wrapped around her hips as we danced to whatever music she had playing because she always had music playing. Catherine Strauss was a beautiful woman with a soul brighter and more pure than anyone I’ve ever known. She was fearless and loving, and she lit up every room she ever walked into.

There is so much about Whit that reminds me of her, even to this day. She had an innate way of bringing out a side of my father that not many people saw. A silly side, playful. Much like Whit has always done with me; something I didn’t realize was true until years later. Whit softens something inside of me, but only for him.

Seeing him so visibly upset, something fierce washed over me, and I did the only thing I could think to do—comfort him. It’s silly, and could’ve ended up horribly, but it worked. He calmed down, and after that night, we danced under the stars or in the middle of my kitchen late at night or in the living room like we just were dozens upon dozens of times.

“How do you always manage to do that?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

My brows pinch. “Do what?”

“Make me feel so safe and seen.” It’s raw. One sentence filled with so much vulnerability and honesty that it nearly chokes me. “Every single time you look at me, it’s like you truly see me. It’s like you know exactly when my mind is too loud, or when I’m feeling anxious, and you save me from myself. How do you do it?”

“It’s easy,” I murmur, bringing my hand up to his cheek, thumb softly brushing along the flushed skin.

“How?”

“Because I love you.” My heart thrashes inside my chest, even though it’s not the first time tonight I’ve admitted that. “And there’s nothing I want more than to take away your pain.”

Leaning down, my lips find his once more. It takes no time at all to heat up. Whit is putty in my arms. Before I know it, we’re nothing more than needy hands and famished lips, both of us clinging to one another. My fingers find the hem of his shirt, and I pull my mouth away just long enough to tug the material up and over his head. Letting it fall to the floor haphazardly, I dip my head down and place open-mouthed kisses all along his shoulder and neck, loving the way he trembles under my lips.

Pleasure zips through my body with every sweet sound coming out of him, my heart pounding so hard, I can feel it in my throat. Whit lifts his arms to remove my shirt next, letting his hands unabashedly roam over the broad expanse of my chest. He looks mesmerized, his eyes darkened behind his glasses and his lips parted ever-so slightly. Peering up at me, I can’t help but be in awe of him. My heart skips a beat.

I drop down to my knees as my fingers sink into the waistband of Whit’s pants. Glancing up at him, finding a staggering amount of lust in his eyes, I work them down slowly, until he’s stepping out of them.

He’s already hard, his cock jutting out, practically begging to be touched. His rosy-pink tip is slick with his arousal, and I can’thelp myself. I flick my tongue over the slippery slit, gathering up all the pre-cum, relishing the broken moan that slips past his lips.

“Connie,” he rasps, voice nearly unrecognizable with how husky it is.

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