Page 60 of Dear Future Husband (The Dearly Written #1)

It was dark now that the sun had vanished behind the night sky. We hadn’t turned on the house lights. The only source of illumination was the candle he lit and the feeble glow of the full moon glancing through the windows.

He didn’t move as he watched me, only nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I did, and I didn’t. I wanted to tell Trey everything. One day, soon, I would tell him about it. Tell him about how I ran, tell him about how I fought, and about Liam, but not tonight.

Tonight, I just wanted to be with him.

“I do,” I answered lowly, meeting his steps with my own. Our bodies were so close they nearly touched with each deep breath. “But not tonight.”

He nodded, his eyes searching mine.

“Can—can I hold you?”

His question was so soft, a breath that almost blew me away into oblivion. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t function normally, but I managed to bob my head once.

He didn’t hesitate. He closed the remaining distance and grappled me against him. His hand cradled the back of my head while his other arm encircled my waist.

“God, you scared me,” he said. His breath warm against my ear.

“I’m sorry,” I tried but squeaked. Trey held me tighter.

“May.” The timbre of his voice shook with his rising emotions, and I gripped the collar of his shirt in my hands.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing. I’m just happy you’re okay.

I don’t know what I would’ve done with myself if—” he trailed off, pressing his words into my hair.

Then he cupped my face with both of his hands.

“I’m afraid my heart is just too vulnerable when it comes to you, Maybelle Mason. ”

I smiled at the use of my words on that beach all those long months ago. When we’d both been so young, so scared, and so na?ve to what our future offered us.

I needed to speak, but words evaded me. So, I responded the way Trey would’ve on the beach that night before we were interrupted.

I kissed him.

The kiss was gentle, but it was deep and so full of feeling. It wasn’t a fleeting, subconscious show of affection. It was a finally. A coming home. A deep breath and a morning in bed after the longest sleep.

His thumbs stroked my jaw. Then cautiously they moved down, skimming over my neck. His body was magnetic and a force I had no other choice but to hold with all my strength to.

I tilted my head back, pleading for more.

I missed him.

I missed his hands, his heat, his gentle touch. And the desperation in which he held to me like I was the only way to breathe. Trey’s hand laced around the back of my neck, tangling with the curls at the nape. He parted from me then, watching and waiting.

“Talk to me, May. Tell me what you want.” His voice was strained. Like it was painful for him to stop, but he did.

I licked my lips, tasting the slightly swollen feel of them. My grip on his shirt flexed, then my hands flattened on his chest as I realized this pause pained me as well.

“Trey,” I breathed, testing my voice.

It was as unsteady as I anticipated, but his eyes only softened as he continued with patience.

I lifted my hand to his cheek, swiping my thumb near the corner of his mouth.

Like I could coax that heartbreaking smile from him.

The hand at my waist palmed my hip and I could feel the rapid beating of his heart under my fingers.

“I know you,” I whispered. “And I love you.”

He sighed into me, his forehead falling against mine. Like my declaration broke a dam of anxiety in him, allowing relief and stability to flood him. I looked up into those deep depths of green, whispering, “I need you.”

And he was kissing me.

His kiss shifted from reverence to hunger, pure need as his hands found my thighs and lifted me. I wrapped my legs around him. My fingers tangled with the silky tufts of his chocolate and caramel curls.

Trey was walking, but I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think about where he was taking us. I could only feel, think, inhale, exhale, and taste him.

He lowered me onto my feet, the back of my knees meeting with the bed in my small bedroom. He peeled himself from me, his hands back to holding my face as he studied the scene. His gaze devoured the sight of me, the bed behind me, and I trembled with the need to have him on top of me.

“I just need a second,” he said through a tight breath and my brows rose, surveying him.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, and he chuckled deeply.

“No, everything is perfect,” he assured, his eyes gleaming with wonder. Then his mouth dropped to the base of my throat, trailing tender kisses across the exposed skin.

“The teenage boy in me is over the moon right now. It’s been a dream of mine to kiss you in this bedroom—in this bed.” He smiled into the skin of my shoulder, as his hand lifted to slip the strap of my tank top away and down my arm.

I giggled, half-gasping when he sucked at the skin under my collarbone.

“Well, I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t been a dream of mine to be kissed by you whenever or wherever you wanted.”

My mouth quickly snapped shut.

Wow. My life .

I was confidently flirting with—my boyfriend, Trey Turner, while he kissed the skin beneath the neckline of my top.

His amusement vibrated against my skin, sending a rush of feeling and goosebumps all over. He was a drug and I the addict. There was no rehabilitating me of the obsessive addiction.

“Sit, May.”

I perched on the edge of the bed. Then he knelt in front of me, reaching for the laces of my shoes. He made quick work of them, slipping them off and then my socks.

He reached over and gave the hem of my shorts a tug.

“Stand for me, love.”

I smirked. “Make up your mind, Turner.”

But I obeyed, my knees buckling as I stood in front of him on his knees. Trey’s grin was devastating as he smiled up at me.

“There’s that attitude I love so much.”

His face leveled with my sternum. His large hands tickled up from my exposed calves. They moved up behind my knees to cup the back of my thighs, pulling me flush against him. He nuzzled his face into the bare skin between my rising shirt and the falling waistband of my shorts.

His hands latched onto the bottoms of my shorts. He shimmied them down my legs, as he kissed the newly revealed skin of my hips, then my thighs.

My shorts were pooled at my feet. Pausing, he looked up at me from where he knelt, his eyes glazed over with so many emotions, wants, and needs.

“I am going to kiss every square inch of you, and I am going to take my time,” he breathed, and I nodded, not sure if it was a request or a warning. He spun me so I faced the bed. He pressed his deviant smile into the skin of my lower back.

“I love you. You’re perfect. ”

Trey pulled my tank top up as he kissed up my spine, standing with the climb.

My shirt was off, and he tugged at the end of my frizzy braid.

He removed the hair tie, combing his fingers through the long-crimped coils.

When his fingers knitted through my loose hair, I followed his gentle pulling.

My head rested back on his shoulder, allowing his mouth to find mine.

This kiss was crucial—pivotal as his other hand splayed out across the bare plane of my stomach. I was shattering in the best ways for him.

He knew my skin, my hair, my fingers, where to kiss me.

But I wanted all of him. I wanted his skin.

I twirled in his grasp, facing him fully and fisting the fabric of his shirt, tugging up.

“Off,” I demanded, and when he quirked a brow, I sweetened the command with a soft, “Please.”

He chuckled, kissing me as he worked to pull his shirt over his head. “Yes, ma’am.”

Trey stood before me in his black briefs, pulling me toward him. I let my finger pads trickle across his chest, travel down the valleys and hills of his large, warm arms.

His intense, heavy stare followed my every move, my every caress along his skin, but his hands and body were still. He let me do my own amount of feeling and exploration of him. I kissed, I admired, I touched and learned the body that I loved, the body I knew.

It was different now, though.

The intimacy between us was warm, buzzing with the infatuation of my crush from before. From when I only adored from afar, and my deep resounding love for him after, now .

“I love you. With my whole heart and soul, I love you,” I gasped.

All my life, I’d been running away, trying to escape. But as he pulled me in tight, I never wanted so badly to stay. To be kept by this beautiful, safe man .

He laid me out on the bed, and he kissed me.

He kissed my knees, my inner thighs, the places that we both wanted to touch and be touched. He wasn’t timid nor cautious. He was praising, driving, consuming.

He was home.

I was home in his arms, engulfed by his touch. He hovered over me, deliberate and gentle, as he loved me to the pinnacle point of sensation. As I free-fell from the heights we’d flown together, Trey lowered himself to my ear.

His heavy breathing was a welcome constant as he whispered, “I need you too, May. You are my whole heart and soul. You’re my end game.”