Page 130 of It Happened on a Sunday
And not for us.
Chapter 55
Sloane
I wake up slowly, to soft kisses on my forehead, my cheeks, my lips. They feel good—Sly feels good—and I loop my arms around his neck even as I keep my mouth sealed shut.
Morning breath is no joke, and my non-singing, non–Black Widow toothbrush is in my overnight bag, which I vaguely remember him dropping in his kitchen last night when other, more pressing things were on our minds.
“Open up,” Sly whispers as he kisses his way across my jaw and down my neck before slowly making his way back up my chin to my lips again. Of course,hesmells delicious—a combination of toothpaste and warm, sexy male that gets my whole body heating up despite the night we just had.
I shake my head, still with my mouth firmly closed. But then I arch against him, hands clutching at his hips to let Sly know that it’s not him I’m objecting to.
He laughs, warm and wicked, and settles for nipping my lip—hard—before reaching between us and flipping me over onto my stomach.
I barely have a second to register what’s happening before he’s on me, his legs tangling with mine as he slips one warm, calloused hand between my abdomen and the bed.
“This okay?” he whispers, his fingers stilling as he waits for my answer.
“More than okay,” I answer a little testily as I press my hips into the mattress—into his hand—in an effort to get his fingers exactly where I want them.
He laughs quietly at my attitude but gives me exactly what Iwant, his hand moving with a confidence that makes my breath hitch. His fingers trace over me—slow circles, teasing strokes—until I feel like I might melt beneath him.
He shifts my hips gently, and I feel the warm press of him behind me—solid and sure and aching with intent. I lean into the contact, my whole body going liquid under his touch, under his weight, underhim.
“That’s my girl,” he whispers against my ear, and I swear something sparks to life inside me. Electricity dances across my skin, low and slow and impossible to hold still under.
He’s barely touched me, and already I’m unraveling. Already I can feel the tension curling in my belly, winding tighter with every breath, every word, every careful slide of his fingers.
My body remembers him from last night. Knows his rhythm. Craves it. We move like we’ve always known how to find the spaces where one of us ends and the other begins.
And in another time, with another man, the feeling would terrify me. But here, now, and withhim?
It only makes me want more.
“Please,” I whisper, pressing myself into the mattress, into his touch. Because being with Sly isn’t just about wanting and being wanted. It’s about being seen. Being safe.
And when he presses a kiss to the curve of my spine and murmurs, “I love you so much,” I feel it in every part of me. My breath. My heart. My soul.
He whispers it again and again, in between kisses along my shoulders, my upper back, my spine.
It’s not the first time he’s said the words to me. It’s not even the first time I’ve let myself believe them. He said them so many times last night as he worshipped my body. As he made me come apart in his arms time and time again. As he made promises to me no one ever has before.
It is, however, the first time I feel safe enough to return them.Last night, I forced them down, swallowed them back. Refused to let myself be that vulnerable to anyone, even Sly.
But this morning, all those inhibitions—all those fears built on years of being used and hurt and broken—melt away in the face of his gentleness and concern, the fact that he keeps on loving me even when I’m not saying it back. For the first time in a very long time, I let myself believe what a man is telling me. Because he’s not just any man. He’s mine. And from the moment we met, he’s done nothing but prove himself to me time and again.
Which is why I don’t try to hide. I don’t retreat deep inside myself. Instead, I turn my head to look him in those eyes I love so much, so I can see his beautiful face and even more beautiful soul as the words bubble up inside me so fast and powerful and sure that there’s no way I can contain them anymore.
“I love you, too, Sly.”
The words tremble out of me, soft and breathless, but they carry everything I’ve been holding back. Everything I am. “I love you so much.”
Because I’m looking straight at him, I see the exact moment they land.
And the moment after—when hebelievesthem.
His eyes shift, deep brown turning into warm honey, and his whole body stills like he’s trying to memorize this feeling. His smile blooms slow and wide, bright enough to light up a stadium. Bright enough even to light up the dark in me.
