Page 119 of The Delta's Rogue
“¿De verdad eres tú?”Her fingers shake, trailing down my face to my neck.
I open my eyes to meet hers as I confirm that it’s really me.“Sí.”
Her mouth splits into a watery grin. Relief floods through her, and she draws my face closer to hers so our foreheads press together.
I slide my hands along my thighs, too afraid to return her touch, but I soak in the moment, focusing on the tiny spot where our foreheads meet. Warmth and life emanate from that infinitesimal point of contact, spreading through me and easing the unrest in my soul.
“¿Cómo es posible que estés aquí?” She leans away enough to hold my gaze again.
She wants to know how I’m here? I’m here because I made a promise. I promised I would find her again.
“Te prometí que te encontraría de nuevo,”I tell her.
She blinks in surprise, her thick lashes fluttering and pushing unshed tears over the rims of her eyes.“¿Aprendiste español por mí?”
I grin, unable to hold it back. Of course I learned Spanish for her.
I spent countless hours poring over textbooks, listening to lessons, and taking online classes. I immersed myself in the Spanish language as much as possible, all so I could understand every word she might ever say to me without her having to translate.
I offer my palm to her. She glances at it and, with a shaky inhale, places hers in mine before meeting my eyes again. Wrapping my hand around hers delicately, I lift it to my chest, placing it over my heart so she can feel how it beats for her.
Only for her. Because I would do anything for her.
“Yo haría lo que fuera por ti, cariño.”
“Sebastián…”
Sarina covers her mouth with her other hand, hiding her trembling lip from me. She dives forward to press her face into my chest, but not before I see her expression twist as a fresh wave of sobs hits her.
Tears soak my tie and vest as she presses her face harder against my body. I grip my thighs again, squeezing the muscles as I slide my hands to my knees. I’m still hesitant to touch her, to lay my hands on her without her express permission.
But I remember our nights together. I remember what she asked me in earnest every time after we played. “I just need you to hold me, Sebby,” she insisted that first night in the club, the night we pretended it was just pretend.
“I just want you to hold me,” she said after I tied her up on top of my desk.
“Hold me until I fall asleep and don’t leave me,” she demanded the last night we spent together, the night I gave her my everything.
Hold me.All she ever wanted when seeking comfort from me was for me to hold her.
Maybe—just maybe—she’ll want that now.
“Sarina, may I hold you?”
“Abrázame, Sebastián.”
Our identical requests overlap, our voices saturated with undiluted yearning for each other.
It’s all the permission I need.
My arms wrap around her frail body, and I pin her to my chest with all my might. My nose buries into the top of her hair, and I inhale her sweet, incomparable scent in deep lungfuls, ingraining it into the very fibers of my existence.
Her arms wind around my middle, tugging us somehow closer together. She curls into a ball in my lap, and I sway us from side to side, reveling in our closeness and the feel of her in my arms again, in the way her heart beats in time with mine.
She gazes up at me as I rise to my feet, taking utmost care not to jostle her too much as I reposition her in my arms and cradle her to my chest. Her fingers trace the already healing gash along the right side of my face. I bite back a hiss at the slight sting of pain, and she yanks her hand away with a frown.
“I hurt you,mi vida.”
I stroll to a chaise lounge positioned at the foot of the bed and sit with her legs draped across my thighs, my heart soaring when she refers to me as “her life”. “It’s nothing,” I reassure her.
