Chapter 38 #2
I lift my chin. He fixes me with a heady stare.
And there he is. The person who feels like home in my heart.
There is no competition. No game, no challenge, no way of one-upping each other.
It’s just us, here, existing in the stillness of the world.
All we get are these moments, a smattering of time when we just get to be.
How careless we are to forget all of it is remarkable.
“I’m saying I love you.”
His eyelids grow heavy as his fingertips reach for me. They trail down my arm and grasp onto my hand, a silent promise that he’ll stay.
I step between his legs, curling my fingers around his.
And as I’m angling my head, the faintest whisper of his lips skates down my neck, the pressure as delicate as a violin’s bow sliding over its strings.
Heat sweeps through my belly. He pulls back, a searching question in his eyes, and I tip my chin in reply, catching a low exhale as his lips finally find mine.
Every particle in me slowly combusts.
My hands wind through his hair as he pulls me closer, a combination of lean muscle and gentle want.
His palms dip down the slopes of my shoulders, my body lit up like an electric current, all my nerves and molecules and atoms scattering and colliding like freed rubber bouncing balls.
Touches like dappled morning sunlight chase away the internal darkness.
We draw this out as though time can stretch on just for us, for this.
Architects of our own little universe. Designers of our fate.
I move backward, guiding him toward my bed, and our weight sinks into the mattress.
A tug of his sweater, then mine. And when our hands lift his shirt over his head, the motion accidentally skews his glasses.
We trade smiles as I adjust his frames, and then I’m tracing the equations written on the inside of his forearm as he plants kisses down my collarbone.
We’re a constellation of loose breaths and fervent gazes, savoring soft pieces of each other.
The intoxicating scent of him envelops me.
Spiced amber that’s woodsy and warm, like the first sip of cider on an autumn morning.
It falls over me like a lullaby. Every inch of my skin vibrates under his closeness, all my hardened composure dissolved into liquid gold.
I shift, making room for him on the twin bed, and we lie side by side atop my duvet. His hand curves over my hip, the other dallying with the bralette strap that’s slipped over my shoulder.
“You’re perfect,” he says, the words low and coarse.
I reach out to stroke his jaw, smiling wryly. “I’m going to need you to carve that on a plaque so I can hang it above my bed.”
His eyes transform into half-moons when he laughs. “Thought you’d dream bigger.”
“Skywriting? No—” I snap my fingers, extending my index toward him. “Giant firework display, each individual letter spelled out.”
He gently grasps my hand and presses his lips against my knuckles. “We don’t have to go further than this,” he says, voice gravelly. “This is more than enough.”
I’d be lying if I say I hadn’t thought about it with him.
I’m on birth control, and despite not knowing exactly what’s going on with my body’s pain levels, I’ve never been against sex.
I wouldn’t call myself an expert, but I was with Brayden for a minute, and I had some consensual fun during my sophomore and junior years.
Those were decisions that didn’t stem from pressure, but from mutual want.
But Sumner—his importance in my life isn’t lost on me. I do want this—deeply—but I also don’t want to rush. Which is a cosmic joke in itself, because it’s not as though we have time.
Instead, I’d rather pretend we did.
I prop myself up on my elbow as his hand hooks around my waist, his thumb drawing languid loops around my hip bone. “Sumner.”
His eyes soften at the sound of his name.
“You don’t need to ever prove yourself to me,” I say gently. “Who you are has always been enough.”
When he cups my chin, gliding his lips over mine, a shuddering exhale sighs from the depths of his chest. And I know he believes it.
We communicate in slow touches and lingering gazes, and later, in the early hours of the morning, I lean away when a question forms in the back of my mind.
“Before—you said you weren’t trying to reverse your wish. What was it?”
A faint smile materializes. “I’d hoped you’d see me the way I see you.”
I’m afraid my fragile heart may burst. I splay my fingers through his, and then out tumbles my biggest fear. “I don’t want to forget. Or be forgotten.”
My words hang between us. He tugs me into his chest, and I tuck myself there as his lips press against the crown of my head.
Outside, the wind whistles a muted screech.
Trees shiver and bend. The world spins on.
My eyes grow heavy, my breathing slowing.
And then, just when I’m somewhere between lucid and dreaming, a hoarse whisper releases from his lips.
“I don’t think I could ever forget you, Delaney,” he says under his breath. “Not in a million lifetimes.”