A Grateful Kind of Love

by Ellie Wade

  “Fuck.” He buries his face into the nape of my neck.

  With a quick jolt, I’m lifted from the wall and carried toward Landon’s bedroom. I pepper kisses over his face, wanting to taste the salt on his skin and inhale the desire in the breath released from his parted lips. He lays me on the bed and runs his hands from my ankles and up my sides, burning my skin with his touch as he takes my dress off.

  I lie, propped up on my elbows, wearing only my bra and panties, and watch as Landon takes off his suit. His eyes darken as they rove over my exposed skin, and my breaths escape ragged and fast.

  He stands, naked and exposed in front of me. He’s a picture of perfection, and tonight, he’s mine.

  I unclasp my bra and toss it to the side. Landon’s head falls back, and he rolls it from one side to the other with a sigh. He drops to his knees and traces kisses across the top of my feet and up my legs, his fingers massaging the parts his lips don’t touch.

  He reaches my panties, moves them to the side, and inserts two fingers. A collective groan sounds from our lips as he finds me wet for him.

  Ripping off my underwear, he slides his fingers in and out as his tongue caresses my bundle of nerves. It’s everything, and yet it’s not enough.

  I pull at his hair, and my hips buck toward his face.

  “I need you, Landon.” My voice is breathy and desperate. “Now.”

  His tongue moves faster.

  “Landon, please,” I plead, tugging him up toward me.

  He kisses up my stomach and over my breasts. His expression is primal as he holds my stare.

  “Condom?”

  Selfishly, I shake my head, not wanting anything between us. “I’m on birth control, but if you want…”

  I don’t finish my sentence. He enters me in one quick motion, and I cry out. His eyes roll back, and his face is overcome with ecstasy. His forehead falls to mine as his hips move faster. I dig my fingers into his ass, begging him to go harder.

  He pounds into me until our bodies are covered in sweat, and every inch of me is on fire. I feel like I’m going to combust in flames as I chase my release, and then it hits me. My senses explode, and I cry out his name over and over again until it’s a whisper.

  Landon rolls off of me. The two of us breathe heavily into the lust-filled space.

  In my life, I’ve only felt this level of euphoria on two occasions, and both of those amazing nights were with Landon. No one has come close since.

  Our bodies fit together like they were shaped for each other.

  We don’t need words because our bodies are doing the talking, and they say it best.

  Landon and I make love until we physically can’t anymore. We make love until my limbs quake with exhaustion, my body falls limp from pleasure, and my heart beats with a fullness that it’s never felt.

  I drift off to sleep, wrapped in Landon’s arms.

  I’m awoken by soft kisses against the back of my shoulder. A smile stretches across my face as visions of last night flash through my mind. I sigh, remembering the sensation of Landon inside me, the caress of his hands, the touch of his lips.

  Desperate kisses.

  Frantic touches.

  Moans, sweat, and cries of pleasure.

  The way our slick bodies glided against one another.

  I feel him behind me now, his length against my back, his lips against my skin, his hands wrapping around my body and cupping my exposed breasts. I push back into him, tilting my head to the side to allow his mouth full access of my neck.

  I grind my ass against him. He growls low and deep into my skin as his lips continue their worship.

  Instantly, a barrage of unwanted questions inundate my brain. They scream of consequences and hurt. My smile fades. My body stiffens.

  What the hell am I doing?

  I hastily move away from Landon and wrap the bedsheet around my body.

  “What is it?” he questions.

  His just-fucked, dirty-blonde hair is disheveled, framing his tired face, which is more beautiful than I’ve ever seen it before. His day-old stubble begs to be touched, kissed.

  The sight of him hurts because I want him so much, but I’m scared.

  I clear my throat. “What are we doing?”

  He grins, and his teeth pull on his lower lip. “I thought that part was obvious.”

  “Ugh.” I fall back onto my pillow, my forearm covering my eyes. “This is why I don’t drink with you. You and I are trouble when we’re wasted together.”

  “I think we’re fucking magic when we drink together,” he replies, humor in his voice.

  I turn on my side, propping my head up with my hand. “We need to talk.”

  Turning toward me, he mirrors my position. “Okay, let’s talk.”

  “You and I can’t just casually sleep together, Landon. There’s history here.”

  “Amy, there’s nothing casual about the way I want to be with you,” he states, and the conviction in his voice throws me off guard.

  I blink, processing the meaning behind his words. “So, you want to be a couple again?”

  “The question is, why aren’t we already together, Amy? Do you know what drinking does for you? It allows you to act on your real feelings and desires. It lets you push aside your fear for one night and do what you want to do, what we’ve both wanted to do for a long time.”

  “But …” I start to argue, but I’m not sure what to say.

  Landon continues, “I’ve loved you in one way or another my entire life, but I’ve been in love with you for eight years. I’ve played by your rules and allowed your fear to dictate our lives for years, and I’m over it. You know what I was thinking as I watched Jax marry Stella yesterday?”

  I slightly shake my head.

  “I was thinking that my brother was marrying the wrong person. He’s going to spend the rest of his life with the wrong person, and why? Because he and Lily let one incorrect choice send them down the wrong paths. They allowed fear or stubbornness or whatever else stop them from getting back to where they were meant to be, and now, it’s too late.”

  His gaze captures mine, and I listen with bated breath, anxious to hear what he’ll say next.

  “I have a choice. Keep pretending that friends is all we’ll ever be. Or I can choose to fight for you and make you accept what you already know. You’re mine, Amy, and I’m yours. I have been since the very first time my lips touched yours, seven long years ago.”

  He reaches out one of his hands and threads his fingers through mine. My eyes drop to our connected hands and lift back up to his face.

  “I’ve given you space and been your friend while, in the back of my mind, I’ve always thought, Someday. I’ve always seen a future with you, and I tried to be content to let life play out until it was our time. It’s our time now. Because the thing is, I don’t want to wait anymore, or there’s a chance we could lose our someday. I don’t want to wake up with regret one day because I lost you before I truly fought for you.”

  He pulls my hand to his lips and softly kisses the top of it. “We aren’t who we were eight years ago. So much has changed. We’re stronger, better. In fact, I don’t even love you the same as I did back then.”

  I press my lips together, my heart open wide and vulnerable.

  Hopeful adoration consumes me as he says, “I love you more.”

  I absorb his beautiful words and try to be honest with myself. Deep down, I know he’s right. I’ve never stopped loving him. The truth is, by the time I felt emotionally ready to give part of myself to a relationship again, Jax and Lily announced they were dating. And, of no fault of their own, it became the Jax and Lily show after that. I get it—childhood best friends turned lovers. It’s compelling, a real-life fairy tale.

  There was a part of me that feared what the reception would have been like if Landon and I had announced that we were also dating. Would we have been taken seriously? Would our families have found it odd to have two sets of their children in a relations
hip? I suppose I felt it would be less complicated if we just remained friends. Landon and I are great as friends, and I made myself believe that being friends was enough.

  I take a deep breath. “So, you want to date me, seriously, exclusively?”

  “Absolutely,” he says without reservation.

  “And what if we don’t work?”

  “Then, at least we tried, Amy.” His fingers tighten their grip on mine. “We’re not going to know until we try.”

  “But if we don’t work, it will ruin our friendship again,” I warn.

  Landon sports a charming smile, and I can picture him as a ten-year-old boy, his smile so sweet.

  “We’ll get it back. We did before.”

  “What about our families?” I ask.

  “What about them?”

  I press my lips together. “What will they say?”

  He chuckles. “Who cares? They’ll be surprised. Or they won’t. Maybe they’ve always known. Regardless, they’ll support us. But all that matters is what you and I think, what you and I want. It’s our lives, Amy.”

  He’s right. I know he is. Regardless of whether or not I’ve admitted it to myself, he’s all I’ve ever wanted.

  “Life’s about choices, babe. Have the courage to make the right one. You and me? We’re right. You feel it, too, yeah?” He rubs his thumb along my hand.

  “I do.” I nod.

  “Because you love me?” He smirks.

  “I do love you.” The weight on my chest leaves with the simple admission.

  He leans forward and kisses me on the lips. It’s soft, just a peck, but that doesn’t stop the rush of longing that I feel for him. This need, right here, in the daylight, the fog of the alcohol absent, is real. The sensation that comes with saying these words out loud, truly acknowledging feelings that I kept buried for so long, is terrifying.

  My heart pounds with fear of the future because it’s not guaranteed. Admitting my love to Landon doesn’t promise that he’ll be mine forever. Nothing guarantees that.

  Landon’s right though. I have a choice. By choosing us, I risk losing everything I’ve spent a lifetime building with Landon—our friendship, our closeness, our bond.

  The choice is clear.

  Releasing my hand from his, I lift my arm and run my fingers through his hair. “So, we’re doing this?”

  “God, yes, Amy. This, us. And this …” He slides his hand down my waist, stopping when he reaches the spot that needs his touch the most. He starts to move his hand between my legs, and my breath hitches. “All of it, Ames. We’re doing all of it. No more messing around.”

  I groan in response, my eyes rolling back.

  “I want you, Amy, in every possible way I can have you.” He continues his delicious assault below as he moves closer toward me.

  His lips press against my neck. I dig my fingers into the skin of his back. Landon works to ease an ache I didn’t even know I had. I’m putty in his arms—expectant and eager for him to bend me to his will. I want him to stretch me the way that only he can.

  “I just want you,” he repeats against my skin, his voice almost pained with need.

  “I want you,” I moan. “I want you, Landon.”

  I’ve always known this, but I was just too terrified to speak it. I’m not afraid anymore.

  This time, when Landon enters me, it means so much more. It’s not a stolen moment, driven by alcohol. It won’t be fleeting or hidden. There’s a commitment behind it that will last, a truth that sets me free, and a love that keeps me safe. It’s right, and it makes me so happy that I could scream.

  And, as our connection pushes me over the edge, I do.

  Amy

  Seven-minute risotto.

  Surprise concert tickets.

  Gratitude showers.

  My cell phone to my ear, I lie, sprawled on the couch. My big toe traces the flower pattern on the pillow at the other end of the sofa.

  “Oh my gosh. I can’t wait to meet her,” I say into my phone as Bass tells me about the latest ultrasound on what we now know is a little girl. “She is going to be so loved. Have you and Ryan agreed on a name yet?”

  “He’s still rooting for Elsa, but isn’t it lame to name her after a Disney princess?” he asks me.

  “But you’re not naming her after the ice queen. He just likes the name,” I offer.

  “Right, but comparisons will be made nonetheless.” If I could see Sebastian right now, I’m sure he’d be rolling his eyes.

  “Well, I think it’s cute. Baby Elsa. Adorable.”

  “Not as amazing as Sebayan. Come on. Original. Cute. Perfect.”

  Bass loves his pick of names, which is a mix of his and Ryan’s names.

  “I like Sebayan, too. I like both of them,” I tell him.

  “You’re not remotely helpful,” he states, a mock disdain present in his voice.

  I can’t help but laugh.

  “She’s not my baby. It’s your and Ryan’s call. I stand by my opinion; both are great names.”

  He sighs dramatically. “Whatever. Moving on. I found the most incredible nursery decor at this chic little shop in LA.”

  He continues to regale me with the back-and-forth between him and Ryan—everything from said nursery decorations to what car seat is best—and all I can do is smile. He’s come such a long way since I first met him freshman year. We both have.

  The conversation moves to me.

  “How’s Landon? Everything still pure bliss?” he asks.

  “Yeah, we’re great. I’m super happy.”

  “Ahh, about time, my love. About freaking time.”

  “I know, right? It took us a while.”

  I start to tell Bass about a date that Landon took me on last week when I feel his eyes on me. I turn toward the entryway to my living room and let out a yelp when I see him.

  I hold my hand to my chest. “Oh my gosh. You scared me,” I say to Landon. “Hey, I gotta go. Landon’s home from work,” I say to Bass.

  “All right. We’ll chat tomorrow, chica. Love you,” Bass tells me.

  “Okay. Sounds good. Love you, too.”

  I click the End button and toss my phone onto the couch cushion beside me.

  I stand to greet Landon. “You about gave me a heart attack. I didn’t know you were getting off early.” I wrap my arms around his neck.

  He kisses me. “Yeah, I finished my conference call early.”

  Landon’s the head project manager for a local research and development firm. Sometimes, he works odd hours if he has a video conference with clients from other countries.

  “You should’ve called. I would’ve … I don’t know … gotten out of my pajamas.” I chuckle before kissing him again. I’ve enjoyed my lazy day after working four twelve-hour shift days in a row.

  “No, this was better. It’s fun, walking into a conversation about us. You were giving Bass some juicy details.” He grins, kneading his fingers into my hips as he pulls me closer.

  “I have to. You should hear the stuff he tells me. Our craziest nights are equivalent to his tamest. He and Ryan did it in a restroom last night while out at dinner. I’m not even kidding.”

  Landon’s lips tilt up. “It’s not a competition, Ames.”

  I caress the short hair at the nape of his neck. “I know, but still, I feel compelled to let him know how hot our sex life is.”

  “How hot is it?” he asks as he lifts me off of the ground. I circle my legs around his waist.

  “Oh, it’s hot.” I giggle, tightly wrapping my arms around him.

  “Well, it’s going to be scalding hot tonight, like pressure-cooker hot.” Landon walks us toward the kitchen.

  “Pressure-cooker hot?” I purse my lips in a smirk.

  “Yep, I bought ingredients for a new dish to try.” He sets me down on my kitchen island, next to a bag of groceries.

  I clasp my hands in front of me. “Ooh! You went shopping?”

  “I did. Christine brought in the best mushroom risotto
for lunch today. She gave me the recipe.”

  Christine is Landon’s secretary, and she’s an Instant Pot master. Landon and I bought one of the pressure cookers a month ago. We’ve been obsessed with finding the best recipes since.

  “Guess how long it takes?” His eyebrow rises in question.

  I squint. “How long?”

  “Seven minutes, baby.”

  “Ah-mazing.”

  There’s a certain pride that comes with cooking things fast, and truthfully, I don’t know why. But it sure is fun. Our meals are now labeled in pressure-cooker time. Some of our favorites have been twenty-minute chili, six-minute mac and cheese, ten-minute goulash.

  Landon pulls the ingredients out of the bag and sets the recipe in front of us. “Ready?”

  “Ready!”

  We get to work on making our masterpiece. I chop mushrooms while Landon measures the rice and other ingredients and pours them into the pot. If there is ever an Olympic team sport for Instant Pot greatness, we’ll win gold.

  I wipe the mushrooms off of the cutting board and into the pot. Landon sets it to seven minutes and seals the top.

  “Make sure the pressure seal is in the right place,” I tell him. “I saw this news story today in my newsfeed about a pot that basically exploded, and the skin from this woman’s whole face and arms were burned off. It was horrible.”

  “Yep, it’s locked.” He double-checks the pressure valve.

  “Okay, you go first.” I jump off the counter and face Landon, pressing my hands against his chest.

  “All right, waking up to you, tasting Christine’s risotto, and coming home to you. Go.”

  “Okay.” I nod. “Sleeping in, talking to Bass, and kissing you.”

  The second the last word has left my mouth, Landon’s tongue enters it. I thread my fingers in his hair, and I kiss him with everything I have for seven whole minutes.

  I don’t recall exactly how our daily ritual started, but it’s by far my favorite part of the day. I love cooking dinner with Landon, saying what we’re thankful for that day, and making out like teenagers.

  We both groan in protest when the timer goes off.

  Landon places one small peck on my lips before grabbing the dish towel and setting it over the pressure valve. He lets out the hot air, and it steams through the cloth of the towel.