“You wanted me close?” Rowan whispers, pushing a knotted and frizzy curl behind my ear—so goddamn lovingly. I want him to do that again and again, forever.
I nod, holding his gorgeous fucking face in my hands like I’m holding the world—the entire universe, for that matter.
“I’m close,” he says quietly, his hands at my waist as he moves me on his cock with each of his upward thrusts. “I’ll always be close to you, sweetheart.”
“You promise?” I moan, undulating my hips so my clit gains the friction it aches for.
“I promise,” Rowan moans too.
It happens faster than expected—faster than I’d like. What I would love is for it to last forever, really.
His strong arm comes around my entire body and his other hand holds the back of my head just as he crashes his lips onto mine. And all I know then is,I love you.
Don’t ask my name or where I live or what year it is, because all I knowarethree little words.
Rowan whispers my name as an incantation, and my name will never sound the same again. No one, not even me, should ever say my name ever again. Only him—only ever him. Always.
My body trembles. I can’t see or breathe and my fingers are twisting in his hair. I don’t have time to tell him I’m coming but it doesn’t matter anyway because he jumps off the edge with me, his hand in mine.
“Natalia,” he breathes, and all I hear are those three words.
Three words that feel like freedom, but three words that terrify me the most.
I moan his name anyway, wondering how he hears those five letters. If he hears them the way I mean to say them.
CHAPTER 26
Natalia
The plushie I bought years ago is still in her room—Zero fromThe Nightmare Before Christmas. I’ve seen it on her bed, except now it’s on the floor, mixed in with piles of clothes. I never ask about it, or mention the topic, because I’m terrified she’ll just hide it every time I go to her place.
Natalia isn’t used to her vulnerability—not like that. She wears her strength differently, and if that falters she pulls away.
She used to do it with the girls until they had something sort of an intervention. The girls are the only people she’ll allow her strength to fade with, and I’d give anything to be another person she does that with. With her, I feel defenseless—like I’ve stripped myself of everything I’ve ever built and handed her my heart.
Does she know she holds my bleeding heart in the palm of her hand?
If she doesn’t then I’ll just have to tell her—shout it from a rooftop like someone in the movies would. Hold up a boombox outside of her window, or pierce my heart with a dagger.
We lie here, side by side, naked and slicked with sweat. Her hair is in the new half-up and half-down look, all frizzy and curly. Ever since she’s started doing that I can’t help but love it because it showcases her face. The constellation of freckles, bright hazel eyes, and face of an angel.
Her eyes look right into mine.
“You’re staring.”
“It’s a bad habit of mine.”
She huffs, amused to say the least.
Her softening eyes somehow turn sad. “Why?” she murmurs. “I can’t be that pretty.”
“You’re the prettiest girl in all the land.”
“Shut up.” She giggles and shoves my shoulder.
“What.” I laugh. “I’m serious.”
“Stop it.” She barely smiles as she mumbles, “I can’t be that pretty.”
