Promise Me Nothing (Hermosa Beach Book 1)

by Jillian Liota

  I shake it off, smiling that I can make him feel such a surge of emotion, such a big physical response.

  His fingers, which have been resting calmly on my stomach, do a light sweep, his thumbs rubbing lightly against my soft top, just below my breasts. And then it happens again, and again, and I picture him raising his hands and cupping them again, like he did in the Jacuzzi earlier.

  I rest my hands on his knees, tracing the soft skin on the outside of his thighs, unable to help myself when I squirm a little bit against him.

  His fingers stop, and I feel his soft pants of breath against my neck behind me. I feel overwhelmed, like a wire pulled taught, like I might snap at any moment. Which is the only reason I can explain how my hands lift and rest on top if his, urge them upwards, pressing his hands against my chest. My breathing picks up as he takes my lead, his fingers stroking my nipples softly through the fabric.

  I moan, my body still so primed, so on edge after our moments in the hot tub earlier.

  Wyatt’s hands continue to rove, caressing me lightly over my sweater, then sweeping down along the tops of my thighs. Then the insides of my thighs. He does this over and over again, until I can barely take it.

  His nose presses into my neck and I hear him inhale. “I love that smell,” he says. “That peachy lotion. You wearing it again?”

  I nod, loving that he likes it, but unable to form any words to respond.

  Then, finally, one hand slips over my aching core, cupping me softly and stroking lightly over my cotton pants. It eases something inside of me, and I just want to moan out yes, finally, thank you.

  But within just a few seconds, I realize his movements haven’t eased my need. He’s only turned up the heat, raised the bar, stoked the fire to grow bigger and bigger.

  His other hand slips under my sweater, reaching for my breasts.

  “Are you not wearing a bra?” he asks, feather light kisses peppering my neck.

  I can’t manage any words, his hands so distracting that I think I might collapse if I wasn’t already held so close to him.

  “Are you a bad girl, Hannah? You like to taunt me?”

  I nod. “Maybe a little.”

  He groans, then pinches my nipple, pulling it just enough that the bite of pain has my own fingers gripping his thighs.

  Wyatt slips his hand under my pants, the stretchy material giving him plenty of room to make his way down to where I’m wet and achy, a pulsing, needy thing that’s writhing under his touch.

  “Please,” I whisper, the only word that comes to mind.

  He sucks on my neck, his tongue coming out to lap at me, just as his fingers slip between my lower lips.

  “You’re so wet,” he whispers, continuing to rotate his attention between my breasts and my legs. “Is this for me?”

  I nod, though I’m shocked I can do that much.

  He rubs the wetness, trails his finger down to my center and slips it inside, then pulls it up to the little bead that’s throbbing for him. And then he circles my clit, careful not to touch.

  I feel like I could cry out in frustration and desperation and anger and need, like I might burst into pieces at any moment if he doesn’t just touch me and give me what I need from him.

  “Wyatt, please.”

  He nibbles on my earlobe. Groans in my ear. “Wait.”

  It’s all he says, continuing to tease and torture, his fingers dropping down and sliding inside of me, then coming back up to circle me. Again and again, but never allowing me to surge to the top.

  “God, you need it so bad, don’t you?” he whispers, his own voice sounding strained. “Fuck, Hannah, you need it?”

  I nod my head, a whimper escaping from between my lips.

  A loud pop has my eyes flying open, and I see the fireworks show has begun on the pier.

  But at that exact moment, Wyatt brings his other hand down, uses two fingers to spread my lips wide, then uses his other hand to stroke me right on the center of my clit.

  I cry out, something loud and painful and pleasured and frantic. The surge of need hits a new level as he strokes right over me, again and again and again, until I’m in near tears.

  “I love the noises you make when you’re about to come,” he groans in my ear. “Like you might die if I don’t give you what you need.”

  “I will,” I pant out, my hips writhing, my body unable to sit still.

  Then a finger dips inside of me again and he strokes me in just the right way, groaning in my ear, telling me to come, promising me how good it’s going to feel.

  I shatter.

  My bones and muscles and tendons and every atom in my body flies apart, the wave of euphoria pushing out all sensation so I can only feel where he’s touching me.

  My knees try to slam together but Wyatt’s arms hold me open to him, allowing his fingers to continue to rub and slide, stretching out my orgasm until I literally can’t breathe.

  I can’t breathe.

  When he finally relaxes his fingers, I gasp for breath, my entire body going lax against him, like I’m melting into where he sits behind me.

  He pulls his hands out, and presses them back into my stomach, making sure my body is as close to him as possible. I turn slightly to my side, nuzzling into him like a cat desperate for attention.

  Because that’s exactly what I am.

  A needy, desirous thing that just wants Wyatt as close to me as possible.

  And then, as I pant and try to catch my breath, my body lying sluggish in his arms, the tiny flickers still popping along my nerves, we watch the fireworks show together.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Wyatt

  “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

  Hannah’s voice has my eyes cracking open. She’s running around her room, stopping for a second to peer out the window to the street.

  “Wyatt,” she hisses. “Wyatt, wake up.”

  I roll over, reaching my arms above my head, a small smile stretching lazily across my face when I see Hannah in a pair of little panties and a tank top, her skin a little pink from our day in the sun yesterday.

  “You have to get up,” she says, right before a shirt lands on my face.

  I chuckle and push it away, reaching for Hannah’s hand as she walks past me and tugging her back into the bed.

  It seems like she’s stressed about something, but I can’t seem to care right in this moment. This might be the first time I’ve ever woken up with a girl and felt this kind of groggy, morning, joyfulness that comes with sexual release and an amazing woman.

  Normally, I’m tugging my clothes on and slipping out the door. But this morning, I can only focus on Hannah’s skin and her smell and the idea of bringing her back into this bed so we can do more of what we did last night.

  Jesus, we didn’t even have sex and I feel almost lovesick. Like I’ve been drugged on something.

  But this is apparently what Hannah Morrison does to me.

  Makes me want to drag her beneath me and kiss her in the places that make her blush.

  “Wyatt,” she says, her voice firm even though she’s trying not to giggle as I pull her against my chest, kissing her neck and biting her shoulder. “Wyatt, Lucas just got home.”

  I lift my head back and give her a smile. “So. Is he going to ground you for having a boy spend the night?” I joke, giving her a grin.

  Her expression pinches, and something inside of me tilts just slightly. It’s a new feeling. One I don’t think I’ve ever experienced before.

  “I’m just not ready for him to know anything is happening between us,” she says.

  I nod, my eyes searching hers.

  She looks apologetic. Like this isn’t what she wants to say, but it’s what she should say anyway.

  And she doesn’t take it back.

  So I climb off the bed, trying to leave this unpleasant feeling tangled in her sheets, and start slipping my clothes on.

  Last night, after the fireworks, Hannah and I made out for a while on the deck. Th
en we packed up the donuts and made our way down to her bedroom. We crawled into bed, spooning together, my need to have her near me almost overwhelming.

  It was perfect.

  One of the best nights of sleep I’ve gotten in years. I feel rested, relaxed, happy.

  Except for this whole Lucas thing.

  There’s a knock on Hannah’s door and her eyes widen. I shake my head and step backwards into the bathroom, then into the shower so I’m out of the line of sight.

  “Come in,” she says, her voice slightly off.

  “Hey.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Did I wake you?”

  “No. No you didn’t. I was just… about to get some laundry together.”

  There’s a pause.

  “Welcome back. I missed you.”

  “Thanks. You know, I missed you, too.” He chuckles. “It’s weird, right? Like, I didn’t know you a few weeks ago and now I go out of town and I have a person to miss.”

  Hannah laughs as well. “I know what you mean.”

  “We left really early this morning to get back to town, and I’m starving. Wanna grab breakfast?”

  “Yes, please! Can we go to Mary’s?”

  “Sure. I’m gonna go shower and change first, that okay?”

  “Sounds good.”

  A few seconds pass and then I hear her door close.

  I step out of the shower and stand in the doorway between her bedroom and bathroom. “Can I ask you a question?” I say, before I can think better of it.

  She nods.

  “Why don’t you want Lucas to know I’m here right now.”

  It isn’t a fair question to ask, but can’t seem to help myself. The idea that she wants to keep it a secret twists something inside of my chest.

  Hannah looks away, crosses her arms. “Joshua was already gone by the time I was finally old enough to date,” she says, her voice soft, her expression slightly pained. “He was never able to have the awkward sex conversation. To harass the boy.”

  She lifts a shoulder, and my heart slumps. I read this situation all wrong.

  “I’m still getting used to having family. And if I let Lucas know about us, it means Joshua won’t ever get to be the one who does those things.” Her eyes close. “I know that sounds so stupid, because he’s gone. I get that. But I just…”

  “Hey,” I say, my voice soft. I put hands on each of her biceps, rubbing up and down on her arms. “You don’t have to explain. I understand. I’m sorry I pressed.”

  She nods.

  “I just… thought maybe you were embarrassed of me. That’s why I asked.”

  Her head flies up, her eyes wide. “Absolutely not. No way.” The vehemence in her voice puts my fears to rest. Fears that came out of nowhere and that I didn’t even know I could feel.

  Especially this soon.

  “Wyatt, you’re one of my favorite parts of life right now.”

  My heart thumps, and I grin at her.

  “Now, will you hate me if I ask you to sneak out while he’s in the shower?”

  I laugh, press a kiss to her forehead. “Not even a little bit.”

  Hannah helps me collect the last of my things, then walks me out, down to The Strand where my bike is parked in storage.

  “I’ll text you soon,” I say, taking her face in both of my hands and looking into those gorgeous green eyes of hers. “Last night was amazing. Be prepared for me to annoy the shit out of you this summer.”

  Her expression is soft but her eyes are bright as I lean down, kissing her on the lips. She kisses me back, her hands resting lightly on my hips. Then she smiles, kisses my nose.

  “Bye.”

  I swing a leg over to sit on my bicycle and head down The Strand, turning back to give Hannah a wave.

  But as I’m turning my head to focus on where I’m going, my eyes catch on a figure on the rooftop.

  It’s Lucas, standing on his third floor balcony, watching me with a flat expression as I ride away.

  Hannah: Lucas is having a party on Friday night. I work until 10, but I’ll be home after. Are you going to come?

  Me: Well, that’s up to you isn’t it?

  Hannah: Is that a jizz joke?

  Me: Ha! Yup. Yes it is.

  I put my phone down, laughing at Hannah’s ability to take a sexual innuendo and make me laugh as if it were her joke.

  She’s starting to come out of her shell, and it makes me happy for her. And I feel like that’s a big difference between her and other girls I’ve spent time with.

  I’m happy for her, not for me because I get to enjoy the changes I’m seeing. I mean, yes, I’m happy I get to see her changing and coming out of her shell. But my primary interest is in how it affects her, changes her relationships, bolsters her own confidence.

  The Hannah that showed up in Hermosa Beach a month ago was shy and insecure. Beautiful, yes. Caring, absolutely. And I loved how she treated Ivy, though it was quite the kick to the gut to find out the truth. That she was Ivy’s sister, the one I’d fought hard for Lucas to keep away from our town.

  Now, she’s making her own relationships, planning for things she wants to happen in the future, smiling and laughing more.

  It makes me happy for her, knowing she’s enjoying her life here. Hoping that a part of that happiness is because of me.

  I shake my head, wondering when I turned into this heartsick fool that gets sentimental about a girl. A woman. I grit my jaw as I remember her coming apart in my hands as we watched the fireworks on Monday evening.

  My guess, if I had to make one, is that she’s a virgin.

  From the way she’s talked about men since I’ve known her, the stories she’s shared about her life, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she doesn’t let anyone with a penis get close to her.

  It only occurred to me at the worst possible time. When I was going down on her after our date. I’d seen her face, the absolute surprise and awe rippling through her expression, and I’d had a moment of concern.

  Was I pushing her?

  Was it too fast?

  But she’d gripped me hard and pulled me in, and I was lost in her again.

  During college, and then when I was in San Fran, I was quite the busy body. Literally. And normally, virginity is a deal breaker. I ascribed to the belief that virgins fall in love after their first time, and that was just never something I saw in the cards for myself. So the best thing I could do was steer clear of the cherries.

  I thought about it a bit between Saturday and Monday, and for some reason, with Hannah, it isn’t something that matters.

  If anything, it’s a bit intimidating. Knowing I might be her first time. There’s a lot of pressure in that. Expectation. The possibility for disappointment.

  And again, another reason why things with Hannah are so different. In the past, it was always about avoiding the girls who would put expectations on me that I didn’t want.

  With Hannah, it’s about wanting to live up to the expectations I assume she might have. Especially knowing that she’s had some… bad experiences in the past. Times when people took advantage or hurt her.

  That’s the last thing I want.

  So I’m going to let her set the pace. She’s a strong person, a sexual being with desires and needs, and I’ll just need to pay really close attention to make sure I’m reading her correctly. Giving her what she wants.

  My phone beeps again and I look down at where it’s sitting on my coffee table.

  Hannah: If you come, I think we’ll both have a good night ;)

  I bite my lip. God, does she get under my skin in the best way.

  Me: I’ll be there.

  I drop my phone on the bench and get back to my workout.

  I like to spend most mornings exercising, if I’m not too hungover from the night before. When I was younger, exercise was almost all cardio. Runs with my teammates, playing on the field.

  But once I got to college, I wanted a slightly bulkier frame. Nothing monstrous. Just something that lo
oked filled out and strong. So I do a modified CrossFit. Jumping rope, lifting weights, medicine balls, short sprints, and then I add in some swimming in the pool.

  This morning, I’m only half into it, though, with my mind scattered on so many different things. So eventually, I give it a rest and just head upstairs to shower.

  On my way back to the guesthouse, my phone begins to vibrate in my hand.

  Calvin Calling…

  I roll my eyes and hit ignore. The last person I feel like talking to right now is my dad. Not with how he treated me the last time I saw him.

  It’s been almost a month since that night at the yacht club, and I haven’t seen or heard from him the entire time. Not even when I let his secretary know when Ivy’s doctor’s appointment was in case he wanted to come.

  Of course he hadn’t been there. I don’t know why the things he does are both so surprising and so expected at the same time.

  I slam the medicine ball into the padded ground. Pick it up. Do it again.

  My dad hasn’t always been this person I can’t stand. I remember being a kid, spending time on the beach with him and Ben, going on family vacations.

  But somewhere along the way, something changed.

  I’m self-aware enough to know that it’s possible he hasn’t changed but that I have. That I’ve grown up and now understand who he really is.

  A self-centered, money-hungry, over-indulgent, obnoxious jackass who doesn’t care if he has to kick his own family out of the way to get what he wants.

  The hard part with my father is that what he wants can change on a dime. So it doesn’t matter what you do, how you ebb and flow around his whims… you’ll never be enough because what he wants can never be measured.

  I remember hearing my mom crying when I was a kid, maybe five or six years old at the time. Being the angry and somewhat rebellious child I was, I asked her what was wrong. Like I might be able to fix the problem if I just knew who was responsible for hurting her so I could go hurt them.