Forgotten Promises (The Promises Series Book 2) (14 page)

It’s not until the sound of her sob escapes into the quiet room that I truly realize what I’ve just said. I can’t decide if it’s shock, worry or horror in her stare; maybe it’s all three.

“Don’t cry, Princess, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that. I’m tired, I guess.” Her tears are hot against the pad of my thumb as I run it over her wet cheeks.

“Ethan…I,” she can't manage to verbalize the rest of her sentence, her cries are making her breath stutter.

“Hey, shush…I’m a dick. I don’t even know why I said that. My head hurts, and I’m feeling sorry for myself. Ignore me.”

“Do you really believe that? Please tell me you don’t think you’d be better off dead.” Her face is turning blotchy as she’s furiously trying to rein in her emotions. I hate that I’ve made her this upset.
Why the hell did I think telling her this would be a good idea?
I know better than to shoot my mouth off—nothing good ever comes of it.

I shake my head in response and pull her onto my lap. Her legs straddle me as I pull her tightly to my chest, resting my cheek against her hair and burying my face in the soft waves as I make shushing noises softly into her ear. I rub small circles into her back and feel the shudders vibrate from her chest, straight through into my own.

Her grip on my t-shirt tightens and the realization that I don’t know what to do to make her feel better has me hitting a new low. It terrifies me how connected I feel to this girl. Watching her cry is infinitely more painful than anything the asshole has ever doled out. Her warm tears slide over me and dampen my skin.

“Blair, look at me.” I wait for her to crane her head back and then move my face down to hers, covering her lips with mine. I can taste the salt from her tears on my tongue, and it’s a bitter contrast to the sweetness of her lips. It’s not exactly a selfless act; I’m trying to make myself feel better as much as I am her. The kiss is slow and passionate. Her lips bounce from mine every time her breath judders. My fingers move deftly under the hem of her shirt and dig into the soft skin above her pants. I can feel her goose bumps erupt under my touch, and the asshole inside of me loves the response I evoke, even though I’m the one responsible for the hurt she’s experiencing right now. What started out to be comforting is now morphing into a desperate plea. My scalp prickles as I revel in the feel of her hands pushing through my hair; my headache feels like a dull memory as she grinds against my lap. I swing my legs off the bed and stand, holding her in place with my good arm as she crosses her ankles behind my back to keep from slipping.

“Princess,” I mumble trying to speak without breaking the contact of our mouths.

“Hmm.”

“You need to tell me to stop.”
Kiss.
“I don’t want to take advantage.”
Kiss.
“When you’re upset.”
Kiss.

She presses herself harder into my chest and squeezes her legs.

“You’re not; please don’t stop.”

It’s all the encouragement I need. I lay her down on the bed in my spot and position myself over her. I’m shaking with the effort it takes to not place my weight over her stomach, while trying hard to hold myself on one elbow—the other is too weak to take the strain.

Her eyes are still glassy; her cute button nose has turned red, and her cheeks are tear-stained. I’ve never seen anyone look so perfect. I don’t know what she sees in me, or why she wants to be with someone so broken, but I couldn’t be more grateful.

“I love you.” It’s the truth, just like there are twenty-four hours in a day, or the earth is round. It’s fact. I can’t remember much about her, but I know with an unwavering sense of certainty that I love her. How could I not?

“Ditto.”

I don’t give her a chance to say another word as I claim her mouth once more. My hands are slowly pushing at her pants, trying to guide them and her underwear over her ass and down her smooth, cool legs. She pushes up from the bed to let me drag them down further, and when I’ve pushed them as far as I can reach with my arm, I use my foot to shove them over her ankles and kick them to the bottom of the bed. My hand travels down her waist and stops at the apex of her thighs. I’m dizzy and nervous and a little petrified, but excited at the same time. I hesitate, deciding if I should unbutton my jeans or take care of her first. I’ve somehow lost all of my courage; I don’t normally need to second-guess this type of thing. Her tongue plunges into my mouth, and I decide that I need to lose the jeans and fast.

MY HEAD IS swimming with his confession. He daydreams about dying. I don’t know how to process what he’s told me. I can taste my tears as they mingle with his kisses and I want nothing more than to focus on the feel of him hovering over me, kissing me, loving me, but it’s tainted with sadness. He whispers that he loves me and I feel my heart squeeze painfully in my chest. I’m trembling as he sucks on my bottom lip and removes my pants, caressing my skin as he does. The cotton sheets bunch where I’m digging my fingers into them as my heart ricochets against my chest rapidly. He must be able to feel it; I’m all but waiting for it to burst out of my chest. I fiddle with the button of his jeans, my intrepidness diminishes and suddenly nerves are getting in the way of my attempt to open the fastener.

“Here, I got it.”

He pushes back on his haunches, flicks the buttons open and shrugs out of the dark denim. He doesn’t take his eyes from me as he grabs his wallet from the pocket, and then tosses the jeans aside and places it on the pillow next to me. His expression has me clamping my thighs trying to ease the stir he’s rousing. I watch as the corner of his mouth lifts and his dimples appear from my movement. He’s looking at me with such reverence I don’t think I’ll ever be able to convey in words how this makes me feel.

I’m transfixed on his face and miss the way he removes his underwear. He pulls his shirt up from his back and over his head, breaking the spell, and then he’s propped up before me, entirely naked. I greedily scrutinize every inch of his beautiful body. I track the peaks and hollows of his torso, noting the bruising that colors his taught skin. My fingers trace the dips in his abs before moving over his chest. I slow my exploration as it comes to rest over his heart. I can feel the wild thrums vibrate against my palm, and he’s looking at me tenderly. I almost smile; thank god he seems to be as nervous as me. I pull him closer with my free arm and place his hand over my heart, so he knows he’s not the only one feeling this way. We spend what feels like minutes, but could be hours, silently watching each other and saying so much without uttering a single word. I feel myself sink slightly as the bed slopes and he reaches to pick up his wallet and produces a blue foil square. I use his distraction to remove my shirt and bra. Just do it, I think as I take the packet as he’s opening it and gently begin to roll the condom down over him, hypnotized by the moan he lets escape as I push the latex all the way down to his base. I maneuver myself so that he can guide himself into me, and he pulls away furrowing his brow.

“I need to take care of you first, Princess.”

I smile at the restraint I know he’s trying to exercise and pull him closer.

“I need you inside of me now, Ethan.” My voice is embarrassingly breathy and doesn’t even sound like my own. Brie would be impressed with the salaciousness of it.

His smile is instant and then I feel him slowly push himself inside of me with careful deliberation. Warmth flows from my head to my toes and I still as every nerve ending ignites and spreads like wildfire through my veins. My toes curl and my heels dig into the mattress.

“Let me know if I hurt you.”

I respond by tilting my hips and letting him sink deeper inside. His groan infiltrates my senses and then it's my turn to whimper as he begins rocking into me in a slow deep rhythm.
Nothing has ever felt this good.

Our bodies collide and become slick with sweat as we move against one another, exulting in the desire and hunger we’re trying to sate. I feel as though I’m drowning, and he’s my lifeline. I give him all of me, every ounce of passion, every fragment of my heart. He owns me body and soul.

My body thrums as I’m overcome with a surge of intense heat and I’m struck by a rapturous wave of pleasure that rolls over me again and again.

“Blair, I…” His body stills and then I feel him throb inside of me as his shoulders tense and it kick-starts a tirade of aftershocks.

I sink further into the mess of sheets as his body dips and his head drops down to the space between my shoulder and neck.

“Are you okay? Was that okay?”

I smile up at the ceiling and suppress the laugh I want to release.

“It was more than okay, Ethan. In fact, I’m pretty sure it was about perfect.”

“Promise?”

This time I do let a laugh escape. “You want me to promise that your bedroom skills are perfect?”

“No.” The wetness of his lips skate along my neck before he continues.

“I want you to promise that we are perfect, that what we have is real, and you feel it too; because I haven’t allowed anyone or anything into my life for so long, I’m kind of terrified that I’ll lose the way I’m feeling right now.”

My arms tighten around his waist, and I bow into him, trying to make contact with every inch of his body. I can’t seem to get close enough.

“I promise.”

He falls asleep, and I spend hours lying tangled within his long limbs, listening to the steady beat of his heart and the little snores that rumble from his chest. I can’t turn my thoughts away from the admission he’s entrusted me with. My heart physically aches with the gravity of his sadness. How can he think for one moment that his life would be better ended? Tears well up as I imagine him switching off, shutting his body down and standing unmoving, letting his dad beat him. I have a hard time contemplating what it must have been like for him growing up. Knowing that the person most little boys look up to as their hero was responsible for such terrible actions. The way he told me that he wished his father dead scares me. It sounded almost sociopathic. Emotionless. Cold. That’s not Ethan; he’s funny and witty and has such a beautiful heart. It tears me apart to think of him in any other way. Maybe he needs to talk to someone that can help him, a therapist, or counselor; hell, maybe even a psychiatrist. Someone that can help him make sense of his emotions regarding Frank. I don’t think I’m the right person for the job. I’m pretty sure I hate him just as much as Ethan does.

The bed creaks as I untangle myself from Ethan’s legs and slip under his arm. I pick up my cell and pull his soft cotton Nirvana t-shirt over my head, filling my lungs with his soapy musky scent. I pad out of the room toward the bathroom, careful not to trip on the clothes that have been cast all over the floor in our haste to undress. The nylon of the carpet tiles scuff on the tips of my toes as I sneak over to the door. I’m zapped with a bolt of static as I reach for the handle and cuss under my breath, sneaking a quick look over my shoulder to make sure I didn’t wake him. I slip around it vigilantly, trying my best not to open it too far, and expose the light from the street lamp that’s filtering through the tiny window in the corner of the room. I hold my breath and grit my teeth, as if that would make some monumental difference as I press the door closed, hoping I don’t disturb him. My stomach lurches as I press the button on my cell and the home screen illuminates, displaying three new messages from my mom, Brie and Moira. I scan over the message from my mom, asking for me to let her know how everything is going. I quickly type a reply that lets her know we are both fine and hit the send button before opening Brie’s message. I read through the essay-long correspondence that details in impressive depth exactly what she’s eaten today, what she will be wearing for her date with Jackson, and how she thinks he could be the one in spite of the fact that this will be their first official date. I smile and make a mental note to respond to her later. Moira’s name is highlighted in my list of texts, and I hesitate before opening it. I have to tell her that I can’t go along with keeping Ethan in the dark. After the revelations of this evening, and then his words to me after we had made love, I can't risk him finding out that I haven’t told him about his mom, especially with all the chances he’s given me to tell him. I stare down at the message with my thumb hovering over the screen.