Page 81 of The Promises We Broke
"Then be terrified with me," she whispered, rising up on her tiptoes to kiss me.
This kiss shattered every careful restraint I'd been holding onto. I tangled my hands in her hair, pulling her closer as she pressed against me, all softness and warmth and perfect curves that fit against my body like they'd been designed for me.
When we broke apart, both breathing hard, I rested my forehead against hers, trying to catch my breath and my sanity.
"I want to do this right," I said quietly. "I want to take my time with you, show you how much you mean to me."
"We have all night," she said, her fingers finding the buttons of my shirt. "All the time in the world."
Her hands were gentle as she undressed me, mapping the changes the years had brought to my body. I'd been self-conscious about the scars, the way my shoulders had broadened with construction work, the fact that I wasn't the skinny teenager she'd once known. But the way she looked at me, like I was something beautiful and precious, made all those insecurities disappear.
When her fingers traced the faded scar on my ribs from the accident, I caught her hand.
"Not exactly the body you remember," I said, uncertainty creeping into my voice despite her obvious acceptance.
"No," she agreed, and my heart stuttered until she pressed a soft kiss to the mark. "It's better. It's real. It's survived."
Her words broke something loose in my chest, and I had to close my eyes for a moment against the overwhelming emotion. When I opened them again, she was watching me with such love and understanding that I thought I might come undone before we'd even really started.
I returned the favor, taking my time removing each piece of her clothing, my hands learning the curve of her waist, the soft skin of her shoulders, the way she shivered when I kissed that sensitive spot where her neck met her collarbone. She was morebeautiful than I'd dreamed during all those lonely nights over the past eleven years.
"You're perfect," I murmured against her throat, feeling her pulse flutter beneath my lips.
When we finally came together on my narrow bed, skin against skin, I had to pause just to breathe. The sensation was overwhelming—not just the physical perfection of her body against mine, but the emotional weight of it. This was Billie. My Billie. The woman I'd loved since I was twelve and never stopped loving, even when I'd convinced myself I had to.
"Look at me," I said as I settled between her thighs, bracing my weight on my forearms so I could see her face. "I want to see your eyes when we do this."
Her blue eyes were dark with desire and something that looked like wonder as she looked up at me. "I'm here," she said softly. "I'm with you."
When I entered her slowly, carefully, watching her face for any sign of discomfort, we both went perfectly still. The sensation was incredible. Heat and pressure and a rightness that made my chest tight with emotion. She felt like home, like everything I'd been searching for without knowing it.
"God, Billie," I breathed, fighting the urge to move, to take what I wanted. "You feel like heaven."
"So do you," she whispered, wrapping her legs around my waist to pull me deeper.
I started moving slowly, savoring every sensation, every soft sound she made, every way her body responded to mine. Her hands traced patterns on my back, her nails digging in when I found an angle that made her breath catch and her back arch beneath me.
"More," she whispered against my ear, her voice breathless and needy. "I need more."
I shifted my position, driving deeper, and the sound she made, half moan, half prayer, nearly shattered my control completely.
"Like that?" I asked, doing it again, watching her face as pleasure washed over her features.
"Yes," she gasped, her head falling back against the pillow, exposing the long line of her throat. "Just like that."
I could feel her getting closer, could see it in the flush that spread across her chest, in the way her breathing became ragged and desperate. I wanted to watch her fall apart in my arms, wanted to be the one to give her that kind of pleasure, to make her forget everything except my name and the way I was making her feel.
"Let go," I murmured, pressing kisses along her throat, tasting the salt of her skin. "I've got you. I'll always have you."
When she came, it was with my name on her lips and her body arching beneath mine, her inner muscles tightening around me in waves that threatened to pull me over the edge with her. The sight of her lost in pleasure, the feel of her responding to me so completely, sent my own control spiraling away.
I buried my face in her neck as my release crashed through me, her name a broken prayer against her skin as I poured everything I had into her—eleven years of longing, of regret, of love I'd never been able to forget.
Afterward, we lay tangled together in the moonlit darkness, both of us breathing hard and slightly stunned by the intensity of what we'd shared. I could feel her heart beating against my chest, could smell her perfume mixed with the musky scent of our lovemaking.
"That was..." I started, then trailed off, not sure any words could capture what I was feeling.
"Perfect," she finished, her voice soft and satisfied as she traced lazy circles on my chest. "That was perfect."
