Forgotten Promises (The Promises Series Book 2) by Elle Brooks Page B

feeling sorry for myself. Ignore me.”
    “Do you really believe that? Please tell me you don’t think you’d be better off dead.” Her face is turning blotchy as she’s furiously trying to rein in her emotions. I hate that I’ve made her this upset. Why the hell did I think telling her this would be a good idea? I know better than to shoot my mouth off—nothing good ever comes of it.
    I shake my head in response and pull her onto my lap. Her legs straddle me as I pull her tightly to my chest, resting my cheek against her hair and burying my face in the soft waves as I make shushing noises softly into her ear. I rub small circles into her back and feel the shudders vibrate from her chest, straight through into my own.
    Her grip on my t-shirt tightens and the realization that I don’t know what to do to make her feel better has me hitting a new low. It terrifies me how connected I feel to this girl. Watching her cry is infinitely more painful than anything the asshole has ever doled out. Her warm tears slide over me and dampen my skin.
    “Blair, look at me.” I wait for her to crane her head back and then move my face down to hers, covering her lips with mine. I can taste the salt from her tears on my tongue, and it’s a bitter contrast to the sweetness of her lips. It’s not exactly a selfless act; I’m trying to make myself feel better as much as I am her. The kiss is slow and passionate. Her lips bounce from mine every time her breath judders. My fingers move deftly under the hem of her shirt and dig into the soft skin above her pants. I can feel her goose bumps erupt under my touch, and the asshole inside of me loves the response I evoke, even though I’m the one responsible for the hurt she’s experiencing right now. What started out to be comforting is now morphing into a desperate plea. My scalp prickles as I revel in the feel of her hands pushing through my hair; my headache feels like a dull memory as she grinds against my lap. I swing my legs off the bed and stand, holding her in place with my good arm as she crosses her ankles behind my back to keep from slipping.
    “Princess,” I mumble trying to speak without breaking the contact of our mouths.
    “Hmm.”
    “You need to tell me to stop.” Kiss. “I don’t want to take advantage.” Kiss. “When you’re upset.” Kiss.
    She presses herself harder into my chest and squeezes her legs.
    “You’re not; please don’t stop.”
    It’s all the encouragement I need. I lay her down on the bed in my spot and position myself over her. I’m shaking with the effort it takes to not place my weight over her stomach, while trying hard to hold myself on one elbow—the other is too weak to take the strain.
    Her eyes are still glassy; her cute button nose has turned red, and her cheeks are tear-stained. I’ve never seen anyone look so perfect. I don’t know what she sees in me, or why she wants to be with someone so broken, but I couldn’t be more grateful.
    “I love you.” It’s the truth, just like there are twenty-four hours in a day, or the earth is round. It’s fact. I can’t remember much about her, but I know with an unwavering sense of certainty that I love her. How could I not?
    “Ditto.”
    I don’t give her a chance to say another word as I claim her mouth once more. My hands are slowly pushing at her pants, trying to guide them and her underwear over her ass and down her smooth, cool legs. She pushes up from the bed to let me drag them down further, and when I’ve pushed them as far as I can reach with my arm, I use my foot to shove them over her ankles and kick them to the bottom of the bed. My hand travels down her waist and stops at the apex of her thighs. I’m dizzy and nervous and a little petrified, but excited at the same time. I hesitate, deciding if I should unbutton my jeans or take care of her first. I’ve somehow lost all of my courage; I don’t normally need to second-guess this type of thing. Her tongue plunges into