Page 43 of Saving Saul

"But I couldn’t stay away. God knows I tried, but I had to be close to you. To watch over you. To love you, even from afar. I should have come to you sooner, should have told you everything. But you were thriving, and I convinced myself you were better off without all my baggage weighing you down." Hesteps closer, his eyes pleading, searching mine for something I’m not sure I can give yet. "Please, Tessa… forgive me.

He pauses, his hands sliding down to cradle my face as if afraid I’ll disappear. “That’s why I’m here in New Orleans and not back in Ghana with my family. I wanted to wait a little longer before I came to you, begged your pardon, and groveled at your feet. I wanted everything lined up, all my ducks in a row. But now…” His voice cracks, raw and vulnerable. “None of that matters anymore. I love you, Tessa. More than anything, this life could ever offer me.”

Before I can respond, he grabs my chin, tilting my face to meet his. His lips crash into mine with a hunger that steals my breath and ignites something deep in my core. This isn’t the Saul I knew in the hub—the gentleman who lulled me to sleep with bedtime stories and imagined touches. This Saul is a roaring, fierce, and unrelenting lion, claiming every part of me as his own.

I close my eyes, letting the world dissolve into a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations. His rough hands explore my body with a reverence that makes my heart ache while his lips move over mine, soft yet demanding. Between kisses, I hear the deep rhythm of his breathing and the faint hum of his voice, like he’s murmuring a prayer meant only for me.

The man I loved is here, pulling me under, devouring me whole, and I’m lost in every moment of it.

He’s still everything I’ve ever wanted, and as his arms tighten around me, pressing me closer to the solid strength of his body, I realize something I can’t deny: Even if I don’t trust him, I trust what we have together. Our instant and unshakable connection has endured distance, time, and pain.

When Saul finally lets me come up for air, I want to rip this damn yellow bikini off and press every inch of myself against him. Every rational thought disappears under the weight of hiskiss, under the way his hands grip my hips, holding me like he never wants to let go.

I’ve spent six months tangled in heartbreak, tormented by the what-ifs, and now he’s here. Right in front of me.Real. Solid. Mine to touch. I can’t let this moment go—not after all the nights I’ve spent lying awake, craving him, cursing him, needing him like oxygen.

My fingers wander, tracing the hard lines of his chest, desperate to memorize him all over again. I reach for him, my body humming with the kind of anticipation that onlyhehas ever been able to ignite.

But then he grips my wrists, stilling me.

“Tessa,” he murmurs, his breath still warm against my lips, “let’s take a moment before we get too carried away.”

It’s like an ice bath straight to my soul.

I blink at him, my heart still pounding, frustration burning through me as I realize he’sslowing us down. Again.

For a second, I wonder if I imagined the heat between us, the desperate way his hands roamed my body, the way he kissed me like he was drowning and I was the only thing that could save him. But no—his eyes are still wild with want, his grip on my wrists just shy of shaking.

So, why thehellis he stopping?

He helps me sit down against the brick wall, and then joins me, his chest still rising and falling as if trying to steady himself.

I look at him, fuming. And maybe—just maybe—a little humiliated.

Because I should’ve been the one to stop this, I should’ve been the one to pull away first. To demand answers before letting him kiss me senseless.

But no, here I am, breathless and dazed, whileheis being the responsible one.

I fold my arms over my chest, glaring at him. “Are you serious right now?”

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t smile. Instead, he reaches for my hand, his thumb brushing my knuckles in slow, lazy circles. “I just don’t want to rush this,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “Not this time.”

I scoff, yanking my hand away. “Not this time?” I repeat, anger lacing my words. “You left me, Saul. Youdisappeared. You don’t get to decide the pace now.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he will argue. But then he exhales, running a hand over his head like he’s trying to find the right words.

“I know,” he says finally, his voice thick. “And I swear, I’ll tell you everything. But not here. Not like this.”

I narrow my eyes. “Then when?”

“Tonight,” he says, watching me carefully. “Let me take you to dinner. Let’s talk.”

A part of me wants to say yes. To spend the evening unraveling every lie, every secret, every goddamn reason he thought he had to leave me. To demand the truth, no matter how ugly it might be.

Then I want him to fuck me. Because I’m horny and after all he’s put me through, the least eh can do his fuck me properly.

But another part of me—one that still remembers the sting of abandonment, the cold reality of waking up alone—won’t let me.

I shake my head. “No.”

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