“Fall,” I whisper, because I need him to know I’ll keep him safe. Just like he keeps me safe. “Fall and I’ll catch you.”
He shivers, surging into me with a growl.
Closing his eyes, he grips the headboard, thrusting hard and fast.
Jesus.
The tendons in his forearms flex as he pumps frantically, chasing the high.
A rush of heat swarms my body and I squeeze him in response. My breaths come out in quick pants as pleasure coils low and deep.
A roar rumbles out of him as he pries another orgasm from me.
I peer up at him on the comedown, and immediately notice something is wrong because he stops moving, his face frozen in agony as he grips the headboard for dear life.
He’s in that place again.
Reaching up, I grab his face with both hands. “Look at me.” When his eyes open, I whisper, “It’s me.”
He collapses with a tremor and I wrap my arms around him.
“It’s me,” I repeat as he buries his head in the crook of my neck and thrusts.
He clutches me as his body goes tight and a guttural sound leaves him. “Kit.”
“I’m here,” I assure him. “I’m right here.”
Little spasms shudder through him when he comes, his open mouth on my neck as he whispers my name.
I draw tiny circles up and down his damp back as he settles.
I used to think love was supposed to be perfect…like a beautiful, flawless fairy tale.
That when you met your soul mate, the universe magically shifted, and everything fell into place.
That being in love meant never experiencing any more pain.
But I was wrong.
Love isn’t a fairy tale.
It’s getting the best parts of someone…but also getting their worst.
Love isn’t always beautiful.
Sometimes it’s ugly and painful.
Love isn’t happily ever after.
It’s the highest of highs and the lowest of lows.
But you’re in it together.
Because when one of you hurts, so does the other.
Love isn’t flawless…it’s imperfectly perfect.
It’s taking on their demons and being vulnerable enough to show them yours…because you want every single part of them.
I thought I’d been in love plenty of times, but I was dead wrong.
I’ve only experienced it once.
“I love you,” I choke out, my heart swelling with every ounce of it I feel for him.
His sharp exhale fans across my shoulder, like he’s been holding his breath his entire life…waiting for me.
His voice is gravel when he speaks. “Say it again.”
My lips curve against his skin. “I love you.”
Another sharp breath leaves him. “It happened when I was seven. After I moved the coffee table…”
I hold him tight as he continues.
Because I wouldn’t just walk on land for him…
I’d walk through hell with him.
Chapter 55
Preston
It’s been three days since I told Kit the one and only thing I’d still been keeping from her.
Introduced her to the monster under my bed.
I feel like I’ve been stripped bare and the gaping wound inside me has been put on display.
But Kit’s not pouring salt in it by treating me like less of a man…far from it.
She’s healing me.
Not with her cooking, though.
I inwardly groan when she places a plate of eggs and pancakes in front of me.
Am I hungry? Yes.
Do I want to eat burned chicken babies and cardboard? No.
But I accept the plate anyway because I know Kit’s trying her hardest to take care of me.
She kisses my cheek. “I love you.”
The heavy weight in my chest dissipates every time she says it. “I love you, too.”
The only thing more astonishing than me saying those words…are hearing them back.
It wasn’t something I’ve ever heard growing up.
Unless I count the two times Asher said it to me…and both times I told him to stop being a sissy and shut the fuck up.
The muscles in my chest draw tight with remorse. Jameson won’t ever hear it growing up, either. Not with Becca who only utters those words when she’s manipulating someone.
I regret every opportunity I had to say it to him…but didn’t.
Kit winces as she takes a seat across from me at the table. “How are the eggs?”
Bringing the fork to my mouth, I take a bite. They’re not as burned as they usually are. In fact, it’s palatable. Mostly.
“They’re good.”
Her face lights up. “Really?”
Nodding, I take another bite. “Yeah.”
“How about the pancakes?”
I dig into those next.
Big mistake. Should have stopped at the eggs.
I’m not sure how she managed to make them both rubbery and bursting with ten different flavors that hit you all at the same time, but she did.
She sits up in her seat. “Well?”
That’s when it dawns on me that she’s not eating. In fact, she’s usually the last person to eat whenever she cooks. “Angry girl, do you ever taste your food before you serve it to others?”
“No. Why?”
Because then she’d know what the rest of us do. It’s fucking terrible.
I bring my coffee mug to my lips and take a sip so I can mask the weird aftertaste. “The key to becoming a good chef is tasting the food you make.”
“Yeah, but what if I think something’s good but other people don’t—”
Reaching over the table, I shove a forkful of pancake into her mouth.
“Yuck.” She reaches for a napkin and spits it out. “That’s disgusting.”
So disgusting, not even Lola will take the piece I’m trying to feed him under the table.
Getting up, she takes my plate away and walks over to the garbage can. “I’m sorry. I tried a recipe that I thought sounded good, but I must have screwed something up.”
The cute little pout on her face, albeit adorable, means she’s beating herself up about it.
“Your eggs are better, so you’re getting the hang of it.” Or at least the hang of one thing that’s mostly edible. “Don’t give up.”
A weird look crosses over her face.
“What?” I press because we’re so in tune with one another it’s fucking eerie.
She finishes scraping the contents off my dish. “I wasn’t gonna say anything, but Asher’s been calling me constantly. He really wants to know how you’re doing.”
The tiny hairs on the back of my neck lift. “Tell him to mind his business.”
She walks over to the sink. “Okay. I’ll do that.” I see a knot of tension in her back when she turns around. “It’s just…can I say one thing and I promise I’ll never bring it up again after?”
“Go ahead.”
She spins back around. “If Asher knew what happened to you, do you still think he would have paid the police off?” She wrings her hands. “You don’t have to answer me. However, if the answer is no…then I think you should talk to him.” She looks away. “Or not. The choice is yours.”