He lowers me to the bed slowly with the soft press of his hand. He kisses me, leaving nothing behind. His tongue traces the seam of my lips—exploring and tasting—before dancing its way to mine.
I lift my hips, craving all of him, but he ignores it, kissing his way down my throat. My hands slide up and down his spine, smoothing over his rigid muscles. When his mouth covers my breast, I whimper. The pressure between my legs is undeniable.
“Please,” I whisper. His fingers curl around my head, massaging my scalp. Maybe it was meant to pacify me, but every nerve in my body is lit.
His lips travel lower, trailing toward my stomach, while his hands slip from my hair. His hot mouth covers the pulsing spot between my legs, and his fingertips trace my nipples. It’s sensational overload. It wasn’t enough, and now it’s too much. He alternates between sucking and flicking his tongue against my center.
“Blake,” I moan, reaching for his hair. I hold it between my fingers, pulling it as I lift closer to heaven. And then he pinches my nipples, and I fall apart. He holds me down, his fingers burning into my hips as I scream out his name. The entire way through, he stays with me until all that remains is the rapid drum of my heart.
“That will never get old,” he murmurs as he kisses his way back up my body.
I dig my fingernails into his shoulders. “What?”
“Hearing you scream my name.”
He softly kisses my lips, and without warning, he thrusts into me, filling me in one quick motion. “Tell me he’s never been in you like this.”
I look up into his eyes. He stills above me. “Only you, Blake. Since the day I met you, only you.”
He pushes back in—all the way in. I feel the burn in my chest . . . I love him. On our good days and bad days, I love him.
And this time, it’s different than the others. It’s raw. It’s sensual. It’s two souls searching at the same time, slowly finding their place in this world.
My legs wrap around his waist.
His lips cover every inch of my neck.
I fall apart first, my body squeezing his. He’s only moments behind, filling me. Our bodies tremble as we hold onto each other tightly. Right away, I want to do it all over again.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
I cradle his face in my hands. “For what?”
“For letting you go. For leaving you. The moment I walked out that door tonight and saw you with him, I saw my life without you. I hated every second of it.”
I shut my eyes then open them, staring him straight in the eye. “I won’t leave you unless you leave me first.”
He pulls out of me, rolling to my side and wrapping his arms around me. “I’m not going anywhere.”
A smile curls onto my lips as I rest my arms on his. We lie together, drawing off each other’s warmth, and drift to sleep.
ONE AMAZING NIGHT WITH an amazingly unconventional guy has me waking up with a huge smile plastered on my face. The first thing I realize is his body isn’t pressed to mine like it had been yesterday when I woke up. I miss it—crave it like an addict. Rolling over, all I see is an unmade bed.
My heart shrinks until it’s invisible. My stomach clenches in the worst possible way. I listen for a sound—anything—but there’s only silence.
He’s left so many times. It’s the first place my mind wanders off to . . . the worst-case scenario. He made a promise, but I learned way back when I was still with Derek that those mean nothing.
I crawl off his bed, tiptoeing naked toward the kitchen. The hope of finding him seated at the table eating breakfast dissipates, and then I start to think that maybe he left me to get coffee up the street. There’s no note, but I still hold on to hope—barely.
Deciding I need something to keep my mind occupied, I step into the shower, letting the hot water wash over my skin. I let memories of last night consume me. The way he made me feel so much by barely touching me at all, the pads of his fingers brushing against my skin. It was lustful worship, a feeling of complete appreciation. He filled my heart without using any words at all.
As I turn off the shower and step out onto the soft cotton mat, I pretend Blake is out there waiting for me because in my mind, he is. He has to be. I take time drying myself off and throw on my clothes. While I work on my hair, I think about all the things I’d want to do with Blake today when he gets back—it’s Christmas after all.
With hesitancy, I walk back out into the living room. It’s just as I left it before. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe he’ll walk through that door at any moment with a ridiculously sexy grin on his face, but I can’t escape that feeling that something is wrong. I can’t help but wonder if it had to do with last night. Was it too much, too soon? Did we cross a line he wasn’t ready to cross?
I can’t sit around all day wondering. I need answers. Walking back to his bedroom, I look for anything that might tell me where I can find his studio. Mallory won’t tell me so this might be my only hope. Searching the top of his dresser first, I find nothing but loose change, receipts and an old White Sox baseball cap. I open drawers next. The top one holds nothing but an old, tattered picture. It’s a woman about my age. She’s sitting in tall grass in a white sundress, her arms hugging her knees. Her long, dark hair blows past her shoulders from a light breeze. She looks content—contemplative. As I trace the edge of the picture with my fingertip, I realize I’ve seen her before. She’s the woman in the painting that hangs in the corner of Blake’s studio. There are things I know now that I didn’t know then. Things that give new meaning to the painting. She has to be Blake’s Alyssa, and to hold on to something like this, to still have the painting . . . she still means a lot to him. She’s more than just a faded piece of his past.
I lay it back in the drawer where I found it and search the apartment for my phone. He can’t just leave like this . . . he’d tell me. As soon as I spot it on the counter, I hit the button to light up the screen. Nothing. No texts. No voicemails.
I have to know . . . I have to try.
Lila: I’m worried about you. Where are you?
Staring at the bright blue digital clock on the microwave, I wait five minutes. Nothing comes. Desperate, I dial the one person who might be able to help me.
“Merry Christmas,” she answers, sounding extra chipper.
“Mallory, I need your help.”
“What happened?” she asks, picking up on the tone of my voice. “Oh my God. I almost forgot about today. It’s Blake, isn’t it?”
My heart beats rapidly. I hate the tone in her voice. “What do you mean? What’s today?”
She whimpers. “I can’t believe I forgot. Have you seen him yet?”
“No,” I answer, losing some of my patience. “That’s why I’m calling you.”
She’s silent for several long seconds. When she finally speaks, her voice is low. “You need to find him.”
“Where’s his studio?”
I find a piece of paper and write down exactly what she says. I hope he’s there. If he’s not, I don’t know what I’ll do.
“When are you going?” she asks.
“I’m going to call a cab as soon as I get off the phone with you. Mallory,” I say, making sure I have her full attention, “can you please tell me what all this is about?”
“He lost someone who was very special to him three years ago today. He’s probably thinking about her . . . searching for something that reminds him of her. Honestly, Lila, you’re the first person he’s let in since her, and there’s got to be a reason for that. You need to find him.”
“How do you know he’s let me in?”
“Because you care. If you only saw the side of him he lets everyone else see, you wouldn’t.”
I pause, thinking back to how Blake was when I first met him, and how he’s changed. “I’ll call you when I find him. I didn’t mean to scare you, but he usually says something before disappearing. This time, there was nothing.” Tears well in my eyes when I think about the promise he made me last night. Didn’t take him long to break it. “Is he going to be all right?”