Forgotten Promises (Lost Boys #1)

by Jessica Lemmon

  “I was outside.”

  I wonder if she’s mad at me, but I don’t have to wonder long. She lifts the blanket. She’s still dressed in my pants and her lace shirt. I smile. If there was ever a reminder of our two mismatched worlds colliding, this is it.

  “Come to bed,” she invites, her voice soft.

  I can’t say no. I climb in, pulling the blanket over both of us. She curls against my chest and I wrap an arm around her, holding her against my chest.

  She hums, and the sound fills me with undiluted peace. She feels safe with me. And the opposite is also true: I feel safe with her.

  Until just now, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt safe a day in my life.

  Chapter 12

  Promises

  Morgan

  We sleep until the sun shines through the windows and heats the upstairs. I stir, the scent of Tucker invading my senses.

  We’ve kicked off the blanket but I am still pressed against him. My nose is nestled between his chest and his neck. I like being here. Not “here” as on a lumpy mattress in a cramped cabin, but “here” as in against his body with his arm around my back.

  A deep inhalation alerts me that he’s awake. I spread my hand wide on his chest, over his solid muscles and the scant, soft chest hair there. My thoughts wander to last night, and I feel a combination of satisfaction and disappointment. The way we literally came together was both enough and not enough.

  I want him, and wanting him makes me want more. Makes me want to hide out here for the day or for the week…or longer. Long enough to explore this attraction away from both of our fathers. Away from everyone.

  He stretches carefully, like he’s trying not to wake me.

  I kiss his neck lightly. “I’m awake.”

  His body stills before his hips bump mine.

  “Sorry. Mind of its own,” he says, his voice groggy and morning-like. I’ve never spent the night with a boy before. Drew and I have done plenty of things, but we never had sex, and of the things we did do together, nothing felt as intimate as last night between Tucker and me.

  Who knew dry-humping could be intimate?

  Strange, but true.

  In answer to his persistent body, I push my lower half against him, feeling his sturdy arousal press into my hip while wishing it would press elsewhere.

  Eyes closed, his long lashes brush his cheeks. He lets out a thick grunt as his hand twists the fabric on the back of my shirt. He’s trying with all he has to resist me. Little does he know, resistance is futile when I know what I want.

  I want Tucker.

  I slip my hand from his chest to his clenching abs, then down to his boxers, sure he’ll stop me at any moment. He doesn’t. I grasp his erection and squeeze gently, and he responds by scrunching his eyes and groaning long and low.

  I don’t want to break the spell, so I stay quiet and continue stroking him. Slowly, with a sure hand. His beautiful face contorts as pain and pleasure take turns masking his features. His breaths quicken and his hand slides beneath the shirt I’m wearing to flatten on my bare back.

  When he skims his fingers to the front and begins toying with my breasts, it’s my breath that goes shallow; my hips that begin to gyrate with ever-increasing intensity.

  He erases the space between us and kisses me. The kiss is demanding and echoes everything our bodies want to do. The plunging, the exploring, the wet, insistent slide of tongue on tongue. I might explode if I don’t find my release with him, and soon.

  “Condom,” I say, the moment he pulls his lips from mine. His eyes fly open and we are now watching each other. “In my purse downstairs.”

  A small puff of air leaves his throat, and I’m not sure if he’s about to turn me down or take me up on—

  “Get it.” He lets me go but not before he kisses me gently. “Please.”

  It’s the “please” that makes me smile. He wants me. He needs me. Just as much as I want and need him. I scramble from the mattress and down the ladder to fetch my purse and the protection I am thanking God for at this very moment. By the time I climb the ladder again, I find Tucker pushing his boxers off and for a moment, all I can do is hold on to the top rung and stare at his incredible, naked form.

  Strong shoulders, rounded pecs, ample biceps. Clenched abs, slim hips, erect penis.

  I climb up and toss the condom on the bed, then take off my clothes while he watches. I wiggle out of my panties and stand naked before him, waiting to see if I second-guess myself. I don’t. I’m absolutely certain.

  I kneel on the bed, and Tucker does the same, his palm sliding from the curve of my breast, down to my hip, and back up again. I kiss him, and his hands wander to my back, pressing my body to his. His skin is hot, and a keening whimper leaves the back of my throat.

  “No blanket between us this time,” he murmurs. “Better.”

  Though I am almost shaking from anticipation, I manage a smile. He is exactly right. No blanket between us is much better.

  “Just…right now? Or do you want to…?” His eyebrows pinch and I realize he’s trying to figure out what to do next. He’s never done this before, which puts me in the rare position of being the teacher. That’s new. And exciting.

  I want to taste every inch of him, but I’m guessing after saving himself for this many years, Tucker’s going to be less patient. It’s not lost on me that the condom I have is our only shot at sex while we’re here.

  “There will be plenty of time for foreplay later,” I say. “Let’s get to the good stuff now.”

  He laughs and turns his face away as if he’s slightly embarrassed, which is endearing and has the side effect of making me feel brazen and bold. I reach for the condom and tear the wrapper with my teeth. “Want me to do it?”

  His pupils dilate, making his eyes go dark gray.

  “Yeah.” He swallows and I watch his throat bob. I can almost feel his impatience humming like an electrical short-circuit.

  I take him in hand. His eyes close and his mouth drops open the second I touch him. I roll the condom down, sliding the latex and loving the way his penis pulses insistently in my hand. His lips are on mine in the space of a heartbeat, and I know to let him take over. He may have needed my permission on the no-foreplay thing, and he may have needed my guidance with the condom, but by the steady, powerful movements of his hips last night, Tucker knows exactly what to do next.

  He lays me flat on my back and hooks my leg over his hip, lowering his body over mine. It reminds me of having him cradled between my thighs last night. A few eager thrusts forward don’t hit the mark, so I reach between us and gingerly guide him to my center, feeling my own slickness against the tip of the condom.

  I gasp as he moves forward, nudging the tip inside me. He feels incredible. My heart pounds a staccato.

  “Morgan.” Concern etches his face.

  “Slow,” I instruct, my palm on his cheek. He follows my request and pushes forward again. And again. My eyes shut, savoring the feel of him.

  “Almost there.” His hectic breaths siphon through my hair. His arms shake.

  I wrap a hand around his biceps and, my eyes on his, tilt my hips to meet his next thrust. Then he is in and I am lost in the mingling tide of emotion thundering between us. How full I feel with him inside me. How perfect and unexpected this moment is.

  He pulls out and then pushes into me, and I encourage each pump by guiding his ass with my feet, by praising his hard work, and with expelled breaths and moaned yeses.

  His fist tightens on the mattress, followed by the sound of ripping seams. I cry out when another strong thrust lands right where I need.

  “Tucker, yes!” I shout, abrading his back with my nails. The heart of me pulses and my mind blanks.

  A thin sheen of sweat covers us both. He answers my shout of encouragement by pushing in even harder the next time. My praise is equally if not more exuberant than before.

  “Morgan.” The muscles in his shoulders grow tight, and his eyes squeeze shut. I am limp fro
m my orgasm, but continue holding him between my legs and sliding my hands down his slick chest and over the tensed muscles in his shoulders. He works through his release a moment later, coming to a stop over me, the sounds in his throat guttural and loud in my ear. I hold him while he rides out his orgasm, my own ebbing into warmth that engulfs me.

  His breath is in my hair, his lips on my ear, so his voice is clear when he says, “Thank you.”

  Pleased with myself, I smile.

  Tucker

  “What kind of name is Noscalo, anyway?” Morgan lounges against me. We pulled together a meal and spread the blanket under a huge oak tree. I’m resting my back on the trunk, and she’s between my legs, her head on my chest. I like her here.

  Here, she’s not only next to me, but part of me. I’m tempted to push my next thought away, but I don’t. Instead I marinate in it. I could stay like this with her forever.

  “Besides a sexy one.” She snuggles into me and my heart clutches.

  “You think my name is sexy?” I palm her hair and keep my other thoughts to myself.

  “Very,” she answers, and I hear the smile in her voice.

  I looked my name’s origin up once a long, long time ago. One translation says it means “he who departs and forgets his promises.” After making promises to Morgan with my body, I hesitate to share. Even though there is a part of me that knows I’ll never forget her, I have a premonition of sorts. By fault of my own or not, I will depart. The thought makes me melancholy.

  What does “forever” look like to a guy like me? Is it a day? A month? Or is there a pocket in time where I get to live a long life with an angel by my side? I hope there is. I give her a squeeze.

  “Let’s go somewhere,” she says and weaves her fingers with mine.

  “Back home,” I answer. It’s the only answer.

  “No, I mean to a store so we can get supplies.”

  “Supplies?” My voice is comically high.

  “I don’t want to go back.”

  “Morgan—”

  “A few more days.” She turns so she is partially facing me, and it’s almost impossible to argue with her when she’s pegging me with those gorgeous eyes. “We can get food. Beer. Condoms.” The last word she says on a whisper and places her lips briefly on mine.

  “Bribery.” But I take the kiss she gives.

  “I’m your hostage. I can’t bribe you.” She’s smiling, but I can’t call one up. “I’m a willing hostage,” she adds gently.

  I clear my throat and shift so her back is against my front again. “You need to go home.”

  “I will go home. But first, let’s just be us for a few days.”

  Us. The word suggests there is an “us” and that it is different from the way Morgan is without me; the way I am without her. I roll that around my head for a few seconds.

  “You belong with your family,” I state.

  “You belong with me.”

  Her words linger in a dark corner of my soul. I keep my hand linked with hers as the sunlight dapples the grass at our feet.

  Chapter 13

  Opportunity

  Morgan

  Outside a small convenience store, Tucker’s hand clenches and unclenches the steering wheel. I watch, wary as well, but spot nothing suspicious.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “I don’t like being out in the open,” he grumbles.

  “Then we should hurry.”

  He turns his face to mine. “There’s likely a manhunt happening for me right now, Morgan.”

  “Yeah, but not for me. My father knows where I am.” Or where he thinks I am, anyway. I point to a junkyard next door to the convenience store. “Park there and I’ll run over after I shop.” I palm my purse and he clutches it, stopping me before I can get out. Does he not trust me?

  He sets my purse in his lap and he pulls money out of his pocket. “Don’t use your credit card.”

  I accept the large bill, and with one final glance and a “Don’t be long,” Tucker leaves the parking lot. I step from the warm summer sunshine to the air-conditioned store, sucking in the canned air and closing my eyes. The inside of the place is sketchy, for sure. A few undesirable men glide lecherous gazes over me and I immediately regret my short shorts. At least I bypassed the lace shirt in favor of one of Tucker’s T-shirts, which offers more coverage. I sidle by a potbellied trucker in a filthy cap by the candy bars, and past a young couple dropping F-bombs as they argue by the cooler.

  I gather an armload of things Tucker and I can eat and drink and be merry with, the last purchase causing my face to grow bright red. At the counter, I pass the box of condoms to the cashier behind bulletproof glass.

  The guy asks for ID, and at first I balk, then realize the beer is the reason he wants to see it. “Sorry,” I tell him, since my purse is sitting in Tucker’s lap. “I lost it.” I push the one-hundred-dollar bill to him and tip my head. “I do have this.”

  The total on the register is thirty-three dollars. He looks at me and then at the cash I gave him.

  “No change, then,” he says. His eyes are red and glassy. I assume he’s high.

  I smile brightly. “That’s right.”

  He nods and completes the transaction quickly. “Have a nice day.” He shoves a paper bag through the slot and I bag my purchase, carrying the six-pack of beer in my other hand as I stride outside into the sun.

  At the door, a short man wearing sunglasses makes a point to stop and hold the door wide. “Afternoon, little lady,” he says like some clichéd cowboy.

  “Thank you,” I mumble and quickly turn the corner and head for the junkyard.

  “Walking far? I can give you a lift,” he calls after me and I clutch my bag tighter in my arms, feeling very much in danger.

  “No, thanks,” I call over my shoulder and shuffle my feet as quickly as they’ll go in my sandals. And then it happens. I trip over a broken curb and go spilling the contents of my paper bag onto the ground. I lose my hold on the beer, too, and one bottle lets loose a pop as carbonated alcohol seeps onto the hot pavement and dries almost instantly in the heat.

  The man is at my side as I swipe the condoms and various snacks back into the grocery bag, now wet on one corner.

  “There, now, sweetheart. Let’s get you a new bag.” The man is too friendly. Too smiley. And I can’t see his eyes through the dark sunglasses he wears. There is a gap between his teeth, and I try to memorize what he looks like in case I’m abducted.

  Again.

  Before I can get myself out of (or back into) trouble, a black car pulls to a screeching stop in front of me. Tucker, sunglasses on, jerks his head. It’s obvious by the way he’s resting his elbow on the open car window, he’s hiding his face. In a forced southern accent that sounds wrong rolling off his lips, he says, “Darlin’, hustle.”

  Holding the bag by the bottom so that my purchases don’t fall through the wet corner, I hesitate only slightly over the beer before I leave it and hustle as instructed to the passenger side. Tucker shoves the door open and the bottom of the bag gives the moment I drop it onto my lap in the car.

  The man in the parking lot smiles. So creepy.

  “Buckle up,” Tucker instructs.

  I do, shutting the door and ignoring the cupcakes, chips, condoms, lunch meat, cheese, and various other bags crinkling against my lap and under the belt. As he tears out, I sneak a look over my shoulder, heart hammering in my throat.

  “You okay?” Tucker asks.

  “I think so.” But dread coats me like a greasy film. “He scared me.”

  “I’d never let anyone hurt you.” His jaw is welded steel. He’s upset.

  “Do you think…he recognized me?” Oh, God. What if he was a cop? “Or you?” I didn’t even think about that. What if the man recognized one of us? Or the car?

  Tucker doesn’t answer, turning a hard left at a very yellow traffic light.

  I find a discarded plastic bag in the backseat and busy myself packing my purchases into it.
We turn down the bumpy forest lane to our home away from home, and only then do I realize I had a chance to run for it back at the store, and a second chance to memorize the roads we took to get here. I did neither. My only goals are dinner and the possibility of snuggling against Tucker. Again, the thought comes that I’m safe with him.

  Rather than pull the car next to the trees and cover it, he parks behind the cabin and gets out. When I open my door, he’s there and takes the bag, then my hand in his.

  “Sorry about the beer,” I say. Lamely. I have no idea how to apologize for my epic fuckup. It was my idea to go to the store, to expose us. To hang out here. “We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”

  “I don’t know.” He doesn’t look at me.

  “I’ll make another call to my dad and tell him I’m okay. It’s been a little while. He’ll be concerned.”

  Tucker doesn’t respond, only unlocks the cabin door and releases my hand. I go in ahead of him into the sweltering heat. Instantly, I break into a sweat. He puts the groceries away while I pull my hair back into a ponytail band I find in my pocket.

  When he finally speaks, it’s to say, “I could have used one of those beers.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “Me, too.”

  Tucker

  I can’t relax after seeing the bastard slithering too near to Morgan at the convenience store. Every ounce of me wanted to climb out of the car and pound his face into the pavement.

  The idea of her being in danger has settled into my gut, and I feel such guilt over putting her in this position, I could puke.

  “I’ll call him after lunch,” she says around a mouthful of sandwich. I haven’t been able to eat yet. I’m still replaying the moment I looked up from my parking place across the street and saw that bastard eyeballing my girl.

  You mean Morgan. She’s not yours. You can’t keep her.

  I want to, though. Which is insane. I have no right to her but keep trying to convince myself that because she’s decided to stay, she wants this. And who wants to be kidnapped? To not know where they are? I worry about her. About my effect on her. My negative effect. I once told her she couldn’t take something from me just to make herself feel better. Is that what I’m doing to her?