Page 60 of Late Nights & Love Lines
I don’t want to be a broken record, but he knows I’m not planning to stay, so why is he putting in all this effort?
“Two weeks,” he says, acknowledging our expiration date, and possibly every thought sprinting through my mind.
“Two weeks,” I repeat, but the words cut like glass leaving my tongue.
“I think I’ve gone through a lifetime of emotions in a very short amount of time with you, Peach.” He lowers himself to his elbows, then lies flat on the blanket.
It’s uncanny how easily he reads my mind.
“The kids are adjusting well,” I say.
He smirks up at my weak attempt at keeping us on safer topics.
“They are,” he agrees. “Thanks to you.”
I wave him off. “Any nanny could have done it, Seb.”
His hand snatches mine out of midair. He places the softest of kisses on the inside of my wrist, right over the tattoo that’s kept me tethered to him even when I thought I’d never see him again. When did that become so damn sexy?
“No.” He swipes gentle kisses across my wrist. Back and forth. Back and forth as if he understands the tattoo is a reminder of the only time I’ve ever truly been happy. “Not everyone could have gotten through to Seren as you have.”
His movements on my wrist steal my attention, jumbling my thoughts and making it impossible to form a coherent sentence.
“We have two weeks left, Rowan. Do you really want to wonder? Years from now, will you regret not jumping in and taking a chance on something that in our souls we know is right?”
“Maybe, if things had been different,” I say, then shake my head. “But they weren’t. And now I’m this version of me. You may not like that, or who I’ve become, but this is me, Seb. Every broken promise, every bruised rib, every hardship I’ve ever faced is tied together with fraying ribbons that sometimes slide this way and that, but never allow me to stay because if I do, they’ll eventually untether, and I’ll never find myself again.”
He simply continues to kiss my wrist, and then up the sensitive skin on the inside of my arm.
“What if I want to undo all those fraying ribbons and tie you back together with something stronger, more stable?”
A tear slides down my cheek. Years’ worth of sadness constricts my lungs, and every time he speaks of a future, or of not wanting to change me, the sadness squeezes harder.
“I am stronger.” I am. I’m not the little girl who gets crushed anymore. I did that. I made myself strong.
“You are. But are you stable? Is your foundation stable?”
At some point, he’s risen to his knees and climbed between my legs. How did I miss that?
His languid kisses now reach my shoulder, and the ties that hold my dress together feel flimsy at best.
I’d be a fool if I didn’t know exactly where this was headed the second I saw the setup. And perhaps a small piece of me, the piece that has been denied for so long, is fighting against everything I’ve made to be true.
I want to know what it’s like to be held and not equate the sensation to fire ants feasting on my skin.
I want to know what it’s like to be cared for and adored.
Taken care of.
“For today.” The words, my final attempt at keeping my armor in place, hit the air with a hiss when his tongue darts out to touch my collarbone.
I wouldn’t mind collaring you.
His sexily inappropriate comment from earlier flitters across my conscience, and for a split second in time, I can easily envision what being tied to another person would entail.
And for the first time in my life, I don’t run.
“For today and tomorrow,” he agrees, giving me this, my safety net, because I need it despite my best efforts, and he understands me in a way I never imagined another living soul could.
