Say You Will (Trust & Tequila Book 3)

14. Henry

fourteen

This wasn’t on my schedule yet, but I’m in it now, and I’m not sorry.

The physicality. The instinctive reactions. The back and forth. The way I’ve lost conscious awareness of everything in the world, just the two of us and what we’re doing right now, feels like fighting. But so much better. It’s my body and hers. The two of us coming together. Pulling apart and coming back again. The way we anticipate each other feels like we’re circling a target, but rather than colliding for maximum damage, we’re all about feeling good.

So. Damn. Good.

Franki’s lips are soft. Her skin beneath my palm, pure warm silk. Her tongue tangling with mine shoots electric arousal straight to my cock.

I hadn’t expected kissing Franki to be like this. Sex, maybe.

I explore Franki’s mouth with mine. Clutch her head and move it one way, then the other. The silky strands of her hair spill through my fingers and over my forearm, and I slide my other hand from her neck across her collarbone, her shoulder, and the long, elegant line of her arm, finally coming to rest at her waist and tugging her closer.

Adrenaline floods through me, my veins alight with it, but, unlike combat, I don’t have the slightest desire to hurt or defend. I want to turn this heightened awareness into pure, decadent, pleasure for her, the way it is for me.

Dizzy with the sensation flooding me, I’m standing in one place, but feeling as though we’re spooling out into space. She could slay me where I stand, and my last words would be, “Was it good for you?”

Be careful. Don’t hold her too tightly.I need to stay aware of her reactions and signals so I don’t accidentally hurt her.

She tastes like honey, some type of lip balm maybe. Her tongue is glassy and smooth as she tentatively tangles hers with mine.

The feel of it has my cock, already stirring behind my zipper from her closeness, hard as steel.

I told Gabriel once that kissing was disgusting. Mouths aren’t sanitary. I’ve never kissed anyone before this moment.

Not only do I no longer care about sanitary, there isn’t a part of Franki that I don’t want to taste.

I’m attuned to her every reaction. Her indrawn breaths. Her elevated heart rate. The slight flush on her cheeks. When I slide my hand down to her hip, I feel the stiffness in her posture a split second before she pulls away.

I allow my hands drop to my sides, and Franki fusses with her skirt, chin down, almost as though she’s embarrassed. Surely, she isn’t afraid of me. I would never hurt her.

She kissed me first. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Without lifting her chin, she raises her eyes to mine, peeking through those gorgeous long lashes.

“Was that okay?” I ask.

Cheeks pink, she smiles. “It was wonderful.”

“I can work with wonderful.”

She laughs, though I wasn’t trying to be funny, and I find myself laughing too. “Do you need to rest?”

“No. I’ve been sitting in the car too long. I need to move. I’m stiffening up.”

“Would you be interested in accompanying me to a pumpkin patch?”

“Pumpkins? Really?” Her eyes are huge, but I can’t figure out if that’s because she likes the idea or is shocked by the horrible thought of a rural autumnal adventure.

“Do you dislike pumpkin patches?”

“I’ve never been to one. I’m not sure I can keep up with everyone. It might be a drag for people to wait around on me.”

“Anyone who has a problem with you moving slower than they do is garbage at being human, but, as it turns out, this trip is you and me only. And I’d never leave you behind.”

She gnaws on her lip.

“Franki?”

She swallows hard. “Tell me this isn’t you manipulating me. Tell me you meant it.”

“I’m not manipulating you, and I absolutely meant that kiss.”

She looks at the rug. At the window. At our hands.

“Trust me,” I say.

She blows out a breath.

“Maybe that’s too much to ask.” Dad cautioned me against asking for too much too soon.

“I do trust you,” she says.

I trace my fingers down her throat, coming to rest lightly at the divot between the wings of her collarbones. Her pulse flutters, and the space contracts and expands with her breath. This thing between us is fragile. Attraction almost staggering in its intensity, combined with what, for me, is soul-deep knowing, and a history that she almost certainly doesn’t remember the same way I do.

This isn’t a “done deal.” If I don’t approach her correctly, her attraction for me could melt away like cotton candy in a pop-up thunderstorm. How can I say, “trust me” when I don’t understand exactly what she needs from me to feel happy and secure? Love. Romance. They’re vague concepts that mean different things to different people.

Meanwhile, the ticking clock of Grandmother’s ultimatum looms over us. I have just under three weeks left to make her mine.

New emotions are seeping unbidden into my psyche, like water settling into cracks in concrete. Two weeks ago, I believed nothing was worth the pain of allowing myself to feel, but if my own vulnerability is the price for her heart, I’ll pay it. For Franki, I will.