Page 76 of I Promise You

His arms flex as he holds me. “Pick something easy.”

“Hmmm. How about an Elton John and Kiki Dee duet?”

“‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart?’” He pops an eyebrow. “Is that a subliminal message?”

“Mmmm.”

I’m ready for this crazy thing with him. I’m along for the rollercoaster ride, and I know the end waits for me. It might hurt, but for right now, I’m hanging on for dear life.

“Let’s enjoy this,” I say, repeating his earlier words, keeping my fear buried deep.23Rustling sounds bring me awake as I pop my head out of the covers. I tend to sleep burrowed down deep. Dillon has gotten out of bed and is pulling his jeans on. His back’s to me as he peeks out my window, and a slow smile curls my lips. Last night we ended up back at my place after hanging out at Sugar’s. We walked in the door, got the important parts of us undressed, and had unrefined, furious sex on the couch. I couldn’t get him inside me fast enough, and he was the same, his groan when he slid in loud enough to wake the dead. When we finally did get our clothes off, he spread me out on the kitchen table and took me slow and careful, dragging out his strokes, his hands gripping my hips as I went over the edge and saw stars. We eventually made it to my bed.

It just made sense for him to stay the night. Of course.

Too fast? At this point, I refuse to think about it.

He slips his shirt on and I sigh at the loss of the view.

“It’s five in the morning,” I murmur, and he looks over his shoulder.

“Did I wake you? I was trying to be quiet.”

“Running with Owen?”

“Yeah, and I don’t want your nana to see me leaving.” He runs his hands through his hair, straightening his bedhead. I like him like this. I like everything about him. His intelligence, his complexity, his sense of humor, his words last night…

I scoot up to the headboard, the camisole strap slipping down my shoulder. “Coffee?”

“Nah, go back to sleep. It’s too early.”

“I’m not sleepy.” I feel alive and exhilarated. I pick up his pillow and take a long breath in.

A smile twitches his lips as he bends over the bed and gives me a kiss. “You like my pheromones.”

“Vanilla and man—what’s not to like?” He nuzzles my neck, and my fingers start undoing his jeans. “Is it creepy that I want to roll you in sugar, dip you in chocolate, cover you in whipped cream, and devour you? I swear I’m not a cannibal.”

“Attraction at first sniff. You smell like cherries.”

“Shampoo, thank you for entrancing the football player.”

He kisses me fast and hard. “You have no idea.” He pauses. “Did you kiss anyone your freshman year at the bonfire?”

I pull his jaw to me. “The legend again? You’re the only man I’ve kissed at a bonfire.”

My hands have managed to push his jeans down, and I stroke his thick shaft. His crown is mushroom-shaped, a pearl of white at the tip. Rising up, I take him in my mouth.

He groans, his hands in my hair. “Serena…”

“No run?” I say as my tongue licks up his hard length.

“No run,” he says gruffly as he pulls me up and kisses me.

I ease away and stand up, whipping my cami and thong off. I let my panties dangle on my finger as I throw him a glance over my shoulder. “I’m going to shower.”

“Now?” His heated eyes stroke over me.

“Hmmm.”

He jumps off the bed and stalks toward me. He whips his shirt off. “Not without me.”

I giggle. “So macho.”

“This body is all yours, Dandelion.” He sweeps me up and into his arms and carries me to the bathroom.Dear Asking for a Friend,

Recently I reconnected with an old flame from college. We were the perfect couple. People said we “belonged together”, and I fell deeply in love. After we graduated, he moved to Seattle for a job. We tried long distance, but it didn’t work, and he broke up with me.

Now, he’s back in town and begging me for another chance, but I’m torn. I never got over him, but how can I trust that this time it’s for real? Please help. I don’t want another broken heart.

Torn in Magnolia* * *Dear TIM,

Truth? There are no perfect couples or relationships. Heck, I’m still upset over Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston’s divorce—then Justin Theroux. Tears. Why can’t she find love?

The fear of risking our hearts is scary. (Alexa, play “Love Hurts” by Joan Jett.) Yet, it’s this humble writer’s opinion that by pushing him away, you might miss out on something wonderful. Perhaps the timing is right. Give yourself an opportunity to discover if this is real. I say, roll the dice and take a chance.


Tags: Ilsa Madden-Mills Romance
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