Page 80 of Four Promises to Love

“You shouldn’t,” she said wretchedly. “I am not worth⁠—”

“You are worth anything. Everything.”

His earnestness widened the crack in her heart.

“You don’t have to say anything back,” he said. “But I wanted to tell you how I feel.”

Emotions rioted inside her. The promises she couldn’t give burned on her tongue. Before she lost her mind and gave them, she pulled him close and pressed her lips to his.

Owen had never wanted the way he wanted Finn.

Even during the years of captivity, which came with forced celibacy relieved on occasion by his own hand, he had never experienced this degree of pure need. Because this wasn’t just lust or even desire: this was love.

He had convinced himself that his family’s tradition was no longer possible for him. He’d believed that he was too damaged, too dangerous to engage in matters of the heart. Yet Finn had changed everything. She wasn’t afraid of the darkness that lived in him—she understood it. Understood him as no one else did. Her acceptance made his flaws seem more tolerable, and her insights about his work and relationship with nature humbled him.

She dazzled him with her acuity. She also made him randy as hell.

As he claimed her mouth, he didn’t mind that she hadn’t returned his profession of love. When she gave him the words, he wanted them to come from the heart—not out of obligation or reciprocity. He admired her honesty…and truthfully, her kiss revealed her feelings. A woman didn’t kiss a man with such sweet ferocity if she didn’t care for him at least a little.

He tumbled her onto the bank.

“I’ve waited so long for you,” he said huskily.

“It hasn’t been a day since we made love.”

At her quick wit, he hid a grin and nipped her ear.

“You know what I mean.”

“We shouldn’t get too…too entangled.” Her eyes were wide and a bit desperate. “We said this would just be about pleasure and enjoying one another’s company. There can be no strings between us, Owen. You deserve someone better than me. A woman who can give you everything you desire—ohh.”

Her litany of excuses dissolved into a moan for he’d slid his hand inside her stockinet. Praise God for the simplified access. He stroked her pussy, savoring her lush response.

“I desire you and only you,” he said. “And you want me too.”

He brought his fingers to her mouth, painting her lips with her own dew.

“That’s wicked,” she said breathlessly. “And that is just lust.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He took her mouth, the flavor of her desire making him even harder. She moaned as she tasted herself on his tongue. He removed her bodice and undergarments, leaving her in only her stockinets.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “So beautiful you could make the gods weep.”

He trailed his fingers down the center of her body, between her heaving breasts and over her quivering belly. He tugged the stockinets down slowly, baring her inch by luscious inch. When she was naked, he retraced the path of his fingers with his tongue. The plump curve of her breasts pressed against his cheeks, and she shuddered as he kissed his way over her belly.

He paused to appreciate her pretty pussy. Parting the swollen folds with his thumbs, he inhaled the scent of her arousal. He blew softly on her juicy flesh, and she squirmed.

“Do stop teasing.”

“Then tell me what you want.”

She raised her head from the grass. “You know what I want.”

“Tell me anyway. You are not shy, and I like to be certain.”

The way she huffed out a breath was so adorable that he almost gave her what she wanted. But he didn’t. Not because he didn’t want to—Christ, he couldn’t wait to get his mouth on her—but because he wanted proof of her trust. He wanted her to surrender her body and her heart.