Promise Me Nothing (Hermosa Beach Book 1)

by Jillian Liota

  Spending time with her is magical. And I find myself wanting to promise her the world.

  “Promise me nothing,” she’d said to me one night as we snuggled in my bed, our mostly naked bodies wrapped together, our skin warm and flushed from recent orgasms.

  “What?”

  “I know you’re leaving for London soon,” she’d continued. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to make me any grand promises or… I mean, I don’t know where this is going, between us. And I…”

  She’d paused, and I could hear her trying to steer clear of being too emotional.

  Hannah had mentioned once to me that she had to try really hard to take people at their word, that too many people used to let her down, would make promises that they couldn’t keep.

  So even though I hadn’t liked the idea of her thinking we were going to end any time soon, I knew her request was said as a way to protect herself.

  “Hannah, I won’t make any promises to you that I can’t keep, okay?” I’d said.

  She hadn’t responded, only snuggling closer into me, pressing her face to my chest.

  Now, as I sit at my desk in an office that contains a file with all of her personal information, I think about that night, and wonder if I’ll be able to keep that promise.

  Because Hannah is a secret I want to keep just for myself. Someone I want to hold on to, and I can’t seem to get enough of.

  But with the news I got a few days ago from Ivy’s doctor that they haven’t found a match yet from the bone marrow registry, I’m feeling a heightened pressure. This intense feeling that we’re just living on borrowed time.

  "Are you even listening to me?”

  I glance over from where I’ve been watching Hannah walk around the dining room.

  I’m at dinner with Ben at his restaurant, one of the first times I’ve come in to eat since things between Hannah and I started to escalate.

  Hannah suggested this, actually. We’ve been talking about siblings, the importance of working things out. And I couldn’t help but take her advice.

  After coming out of such tragedy and loss, I feel like I owe it to her to try and patch things up with my brother.

  Though, really, I don’t even know where to begin.

  “Sorry, I was just…”

  “Ogling my waitress.”

  I finally really look at Ben, grimacing when I see his smirk.

  “You know, I wondered why you wanted to sit inside, downstairs, instead of at your precious rooftop table.” He waves out a hand in Hannah’s direction. “Now I know. It’s because of the girl.”

  I roll my eyes, irritated that he caught me.

  That it was so easy to see.

  “Don’t roll your eyes at me,” he says, though I can hear the bit of teasing in his voice.

  It gives me pause, because normally, Ben and I aren’t teasers. We don’t play with each other. At least we haven’t in years. A decade, probably. Maybe longer.

  But I stay silent, feeling awfully broody for a man who is supposed to be trying to patch things up. I should be saying something important. About family and relationships.

  All I can manage to do, though, is watch Hannah smile at patrons and move lithely between tables carrying a heavy tray of food, her figure looking just as sexy in her uniform as it does in a pair of panties and a bra.

  “Why are we here, Wyatt?” Ben finally asks. “I can count on one hand the number of times in my entire life that you’ve wanted to get dinner with me for the fuck of it. So there has to be a reason.”

  I sigh, looking over at him. Seeing the focus of his attention directed at me.

  Sack up, I tell myself.

  I’m here for a reason. A good one. An altruistic one. It’s time for me to just say what have to say.

  “We should spend more time together. That’s what I wanted to say.”

  Ben freezes, a fry half-way to his mouth.

  “I know things are awkward and tense and there are probably things I’ve done to bother you, because there are definitely things you’ve done to bother me.” I shake my head. “But we can’t keep going with this hatred anymore. This resentment. With what’s happening with Ivy, we can’t let this rift be here anymore.”

  He drops his fry back to his plate and leans against the booth behind him, his expression solemn.

  “You could have bet me a million dollars and I never would have guessed something like that would have come out of your mouth.”

  I furrow my brow.

  “Something is different. With you.” He leans forward, folding his hands together on the table. “And I can’t figure out what it is. But I like this version of you. So don’t stop whatever is going on.”

  I swallow thickly and can’t help it when my eyes stray to Hannah.

  Ben laughs, a sound I haven’t heard from him in a while. Not with any real joy behind it.

  “Of course it’s because of the girl.” He glances back at Hannah. “She’s beautiful, I’ll give you that. But you know who she is, just like I do. And I think you’re gambling with something, here. Something bigger, with more risk than you have the ability to bet.”

  He’s right. I’m taking a huge risk. My feelings for Hannah continue to develop. My desire to see her happy growing by leaps and bounds.

  But Hannah’s happiness isn’t the only one I have to consider. And when I take all of the lives I care about and balance them out, it becomes pretty clear that one wrong move will tip everything over.

  “Can I give you some advice?” he asks, and I nod. “Be honest with her. About everything.”

  “That worked out so well for you,” I say, drily, remembering what happened to him a few years back.

  “It did work out,” he says, surprising me. “It wasn’t easy. And there were a lot of consequences along the way, things I had to atone for, ask forgiveness for… but it all turned out okay in the end.”

  He picks up his beer and takes a sip, then lifts his hand up to flag Hannah to come over and give us the check.

  She smiles and nods at him, and my heart pitches over.

  Because when I look back out at the girl I’m falling for, when I consider all of the intricacies and the delicate relationships and problems moving forward, I just know.

  I’m not able to see a future where things turn out okay.

  For either of us.

  That evening, when Hannah shows up at my door, I can tell something’s different.

  She went home after her shift.

  Showered.

  Changed.

  She smells amazing when she walks past me into the house, her hair damp and loose around her shoulders, that peachy lotion wafting around her and making me eager to press my face into her smooth skin.

  We don’t open any alcohol, don’t turn on the TV, or focus on anything other than each other.

  She just takes me by the hand and leads me into my room.

  I follow her wordlessly, mesmerized with her sudden shift in confidence. Enamored by the way her eyes connect with mine.

  “I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” she says, pushing me lightly so I’m sitting on the edge of my bed. “And I think you were right. Sex isn’t something that we need to rush into. It should be something that happens when I’m ready.”

  I nod, though a part of me wants to pop that earlier version of me in the face.

  “Well, see, the thing is…” she pauses, takes a deep breath and lets it out. “I can’t imagine my first time being with anyone other than you.” She steps forward so she’s standing between my legs, brings her hands up to my neck, leans just slightly into me. “You’ve been so thoughtful, and caring, so intent on protecting me from making a premature decision about something that feels bigger than I can really imagine. And thank you. Thank you for caring enough that you didn’t just take because something was possibly available to you.”

  She leans in and kisses me, just a soft kiss on the jaw. “But I know this is what I want. I know that if I were to ever have a
man be with me in the most intimate way possible… that it wouldn’t be right if it wasn’t the man I was falling in love with.”

  Her eyes search mine for just a second, but then she kisses me before I even have the capacity to respond. Her mouth opens against mine, her tongue tangling, tasting lightly of citrus and chocolate.

  Before I can think about anything, I’m overwhelmed by her smell, by her taste, by everything she wants to give to me in this moment.

  And like the selfish man I am, I decide to take.

  I pull her into me, my hands on her ass, lifting her so she straddles me, and then I turn and lay her on the bed against the stack of pillows against the wall.

  Taking a moment to look at her, I see flushed cheeks and pouty lips and eyes looking at me, wide and filled with desire.

  And then I press my lips to hers, and our kisses are frantic. Like we’ve been so starved for so long and we’re finally being given some sort of sustenance in an unlimited supply. I can’t help but take and take and take, hoping to fill me to the brim when I’ve been living on empty for so long.

  We pull off our clothes quickly, having gotten used to being partially naked with each other from all of the other times we’ve fooled around. But this time, as I hover above her in just my boxers, and she reaches behind her back to unclasp her bra, a lacy black thing that I’ve never seen her wear before, it feels supremely different.

  Infinitely more important.

  Like she’s offering herself to me as a gift, and it’s my job to accept it with incredible gratitude. With the slow reverence she deserves.

  I hold her in place, stopping her from removing it herself, and she gives me a questioning look, probably worried that I’m going to stop us from moving forward. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. I only want us to slow it down. Savor every breath and sigh and moan and peek of skin.

  My hands rise to pull her straps over her shoulders, and I bend my head so I can kiss the areas being revealed.

  She smiles, sighs, rests her hands in my hair, relinquishing control to me so I can lead us where we need to go.

  “You smell so good,” I say, tracing my nose up the crook of her neck and up to her ear.

  She giggles softly when I nibble her there, but it turns into a moan when I drop my mouth to her neck and suck, my hands moving to finish taking her bra off.

  I peel back the lacy cups, pulling back to watch as I reveal her pert nipples, a dark pink that always makes me salivate.

  Sliding further down the bed, I take her breasts in my hands and mouth, lathering her in the attention I know she wants. That she deserves.

  I’ve never been a breast guy, always preferring hips and ass over the top heavy look so many women seem to prefer nowadays. But Hannah could convert me. She doesn’t have anything crazy going on, just the perfect handful. But it’s enough to grip and touch and play.

  I suck one nipple into my mouth, keeping my eyes on her face, twirling my tongue around the tip until I can see her squirm. I love when she gets to that place, when just the light stroking and gentle sucking tugs threads down and starts tugging on her core, makes her start to beg for it, pant with need.

  Her hands run affectionately over my body, her fingernails pressing in just enough to raise the hairs on my neck and cover my body in goose bumps.

  I continue mapping her body, slipping my fingers into the hip of her underwear and sliding them off, her legs lifting to help me. And then I waste no time putting my mouth between those long stems, licking her over and over, sucking hard and soft and fast and slow, trying to make sure she feels everything I feel when my mouth is pressed against her.

  Everything I’m too afraid to voice out loud.

  I kiss my way back up and refocus my mouth on hers, but allow my fingers to dip into the well between her thighs, tracing over the spaces that I know make her mindless and flustered and flushed with pleasure.

  I slide in a second finger and she cried out my name.

  “Wyatt,” she says, “oh please, Wyatt.”

  I strum over her clit, suck on her neck, search for that spot, the one deep inside of her that makes her fly over that peak at the top.

  And when she falls apart, her body going rigid then sinking lax back into the mattress, I reach over to my nightstand and get out a condom.

  She looks at me with so much love as I slide it on and then hover above her.

  “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” I say, and I’m almost overwhelmed by how much I mean it.

  Because the idea of bringing her any kind of pain is too much for me to process. But there’s a place inside of me that know I mean more than just right now, more than just the physical pain.

  Instead of responding, she brings her hands to my face and looks in my eyes, kissing me softly as I begin to slide inside of her.

  She looks into my soul as she gives me everything.

  It’s so different like this, the depth of emotion surging through me as she welcomes me in, her arms wrapped around me, her face so close to mine.

  She winces as I slide deeper, whimpers slightly, but her eyes stay focused, those greens so beautiful she’s all I can see.

  When I’m all the way in, our bodies already covered in sweat, I hold myself still, wanting to give her some of the control.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, wondering what she’s feeling, if her heart is pulsing with the same amount of emotion that’s thundering around inside of me.

  “I feel so full,” she whispers.

  I smile and press my lips to hers. “I think you’re trying to say ‘you’re so big.’”

  She laughs, and her walls squeeze around me. I can’t help the moan, and how my hips pull back just slightly and then go forward again on their own.

  She feels so good. That slick heat enveloping me, pulsing around me as she continues to adjust to this new sensation.

  Her hands rest on my ribs, lightly tracing my skin. So delicately.

  I slide a hand down and lift her left leg, pressing my fingers against the back of her knee and changing the angle as I pull out and then go back in.

  Her mouth drops open, something like wonder on her face.

  “I love having you inside me,” she whispers, and then she tilts her head back and closes her eyes, bliss on her face.

  I work hard to keep my movements slow, even though every muscle protests, directs me to take and pound and chase the orgasm I know is at the end of this.

  But I don’t want it to be over. And I don’t want it to be just about me, and what I can get.

  I want this to be everything she’s ever thought it could be.

  I press my mouth against hers, kissing her deeply, my tongue mimicking the plunges of my cock into her depths. And when I shift my hips just slightly, she lets out a gasp.

  “Fuck, Wyatt. Can you go faster?”

  I grin. “Absolutely. Just tell me what you want okay?”

  She nods, and I revel in the awe apparent on her face.

  I move, then. Faster. Pulling out and then sinking back in, over and over again, Hannah’s moans and sighs and little noises getting louder and louder.

  “Harder,” she says, and my nostrils flare as I begin to pound into her warmth, the sound of our hips slapping together, the primal drive to bring us both pleasure guiding my movements.

  Hannah’s breasts bounce when I thrust, her nails digging in, that delicate touch long gone as her desire grows.

  And then I feel that tingle at the base of my spine, the warm glow that tells me I’m getting close.

  “I’m going to come soon,” I say, dropping her leg and bracing over her. “I want you there with me.”

  She shakes her head. “Can I come again?”

  I smirk. “Oh, baby. You have no idea.”

  My fingers move to her clit, and I begin to rub that tiny spot as I continue to thrust in and out.

  Hannah cries out, an almost feral call, her fingernails dragging down my back. She looks like she wants to crawl out of her skin, like she
might explode out of it any minute.

  And then the flutter happens, the pulsing inside of her that I can feel on my dick, that tells me she’s almost there.

  Almost. Almost. So close.

  Her eyes fly open again. “Wyatt,” she whispers.

  And then she explodes, her chest bowing off the bed as her orgasm streaks through her body, her inner walls clamping down around my dick.

  Two more hard thrusts and I’m falling after her, my body splitting wide at the force of pleasure racing through me.

  I call out her name, hold my body still.

  We’re like needy cats, after that, petting and kissing and caressing each other. Pulling each other close and touching each other everywhere that we can. Any skin-to-skin contact we can manage.

  Eventually, I have to chuck the condom, but when I crawl back into bed, Hannah is laying on her side, facing me, a tiny smile on her face.

  I crawl in next to her, tuck her in close so we’re looking at each other.

  Then I run a hand through her hair.

  “Was it everything you hoped it would be?” I ask.

  She smiles, presses her lips to mine.

  “Better.”

  We wake once during the night and reach for each other again. This time when we come together, she’s above me, straddling my hips, tossing her hair back like a goddess, giving me one of the most powerful orgasms I’ve ever experienced.

  She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

  That night, I hold her close, my body spooning hers, wanting her near.

  Almost like it knows I won’t get to hold her ever again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Wyatt

  We’re eating a hearty breakfast of frosted flakes when Eleanor calls and asks if Hannah can pick up her opening shift since she’s sick in bed. As much as I want her to stay, I also know she cares about her friend and wants to make the extra money.

  So when she grabs all her stuff, kisses me goodbye and heads out the door, promising me a repeat of last night when she comes back this evening, I don’t complain.

  Too much.

  I also don’t complain that I’m naked and about to turn on the shower when I hear a knock on the door.