Forget Me Not by Julie Soto

33

Ama

NOW

This time when we kiss, I focus on the taste of him. The way he threads his fingers through my shorter hair, as if he learned his lesson yesterday about reaching up my back for the tendrils that aren’t there anymore. The way his arm wraps around my waist and lifts, trying to keep my weight off my foot for me.

I open my mouth to him, and I feel like a million questions will pour out. He clutches me closer, and then spins us and drops me onto the old worktable. His hands run up my thighs, and he puffs out a laugh. “The one day you’ve ever worn jeans, and we can’t even take them off.”

I look down at the massive black boot over the top of my right jeans leg. I smile up at him. “And you? Did you wear these jeans today for any particular reason?” I reach forward and rub my hand over the front of him.

“I didn’t expect you,” he says.

“Didn’t you?” I kiss him, pressing my chest into his and reaching forward for his Henley. I roll it up his stomach and whisper, “Let me see the new one.”

My hand travels up toward his left pec, where I’d seen the ink creeping toward his collar. He freezes and stutters out, “I—I don’t …”

“I have to see it. Please. What is it?”

I push the sweater up and reveal a Red Pearl. An amaryllis. Its petals bloom out, covering his heart. The stem vines up to his shoulder. I can’t breathe.

“Amaryllis?” I ask. “But it’s not extinct.”

He runs a hand through his hair, and I can tell that I was never supposed to find out about this.

“It’s … It was never about extinction. The tattoos …” He blows out his air. “They’re ones that I—that I can’t have. Ones that can’t be used in arrangements, can’t be kept in the shop.” He looks up to me. “Ones that are likely to disappear before I can love them.”

I take a shuddering breath. My fingers trace the edges of the Red Pearl petals. I lower my face and kiss the ink, like I used to. His stomach tightens, like it used to.

“You’re a sap, Elliot Bloom,” I whisper into his skin.

A laugh bubbles from his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.” He pushes my hair out of my eyes. “I’m not going to marry you.”

I blink at him and swallow. “Okay.”

“I’m gonna date the shit outta you, though.”

Biting back my smile, I look up at him through my lashes, just like he “hates.” He leans in to kiss me again, dropping his hands on my knees.

There’s a lot that goes on when Elliot Bloom kisses. Things he’s not even aware of. Things I’ll never tell him. He moans in the back of his throat—a lot. It’s completely intoxicating. Also, he tugs my body as close as physically possible to him, and it drives me insane. He kisses like someone who didn’t kiss a lot, and although we’ve found a rhythm together by now, it still shocks me when he fumbles or when he loses concentration as I unzip him. Like now.

Elliot looks down at my hands, as if he might stop me, but my favorite thing in the entire world is putting my hand down his jeans. His breath catches, his eyes haze, and he looks like he can’t believe I want to touch him. And I get to feel him lengthen in my palm, harden and swell.

“Ama,” he murmurs, and I kiss him again.

His hands tug at the bottom of my shirt, and once it’s off, his mouth latches onto my neck. My skin tingles when I remember the bruises he likes to suck into my skin, the way I’d have to cover them, and the reaction he had to finding the ones I didn’t cover.

A sudden thought hits me, and I have to tell him—

“Elliot,” I say, pushing him back. “I wasn’t with anyone this year. You—you told Jackie I had someone over, but I …” I swallow. “I think you heard Mar on the phone one morning.”

I watch his jaw work as his gaze flashes between both of my eyes. “Okay,” he says, almost distrusting. “It’s okay, though, if you were—”

“I wasn’t. I couldn’t—I wasn’t able to.” I glance down at his amaryllis tattoo so I don’t have to look at him. “I tried a few times, but it didn’t go well, so …” I take a deep breath. “And you were seeing someone? Kate? Was it serious? I mean—god, sorry. You don’t have to—”

“No, it wasn’t serious.”

I look up at him. His eyes are black.

“I haven’t been with anyone since you.”

I’m on the verge of bursting into tears when he wraps his fingers under my knees and tugs until I’m on my back on the worktable. He’s quick to unbutton my jeans, shucking them down my legs. I’m out of breath, completely floored by my own emotions. He rips off my one shoe, pulls my jeans off one leg, and places a hand on my stomach to hold me down as his full lips drop over the lace covering my center.

I gasp, slapping a hand to my mouth. “Ell—”

His fingers tug the lace to the side and then his tongue is on me again. And just like it did years ago, my brain leaves my body. I’m hardly aware of my jeans dangling from one leg. I can’t even keep my eyes open as his mouth moves over me, kissing and licking and sucking.

“I miss you,” I mutter to the ceiling.

“I’m right here.” The vibration of his voice curls my knees to my chest, and he quickly presses my thighs open, spreading me wide for him. I start heaving for air as his tongue dips inside of me—and the moaning starts from his throat.

I’ve never come as quickly with anyone as I have with him. It’s not just the size of him; it’s moments like this when he takes his time, driving me crazy until I pop like a cork.

I slap my hands down on the sides of the workbench. “Did you think about this when you worked on this table?”

His answer is quick. “Every time.”

My thighs shake. I’m cresting the ridge that he always rockets me toward.

“It was the worst professional decision of my life,” he says, “to keep the table.”

I laugh, and then his lips close over my clit and I scream. I can hear myself cursing, mumbling nonsense words about love and forever, sucking air back into my body.

He doesn’t stop. He pushes two fingers inside of me, and I quake with it. His lips are sucking at me, his fingers pumping into me, and I break apart again, shaking and sobbing. I can’t keep my hips still, fucking his mouth and rolling against his face.

When he pulls back and quickly pushes down his jeans, he says, “I’m gonna come. I—I can’t—”

“Inside. Inside please.”

My thighs are still shaking when he tugs me to the edge of the table, lines himself up, and pushes in. He groans from his chest, and I can’t believe how wrong I got his size. I tried toys to match him, and I was wrong. My eyes roll back in my head and I’m coming again. I can’t focus on anything but the pleasure ricocheting inside of me, the sound of his hips slapping against my skin.

I hear him yell out, and I know from experience that he’s coming. But my knuckles are between my teeth to keep myself grounded, to keep from screaming again.

He grabs my wrist and tears my fingers from my teeth, thrusting once, twice more, and I let loose a cry that would embarrass me if I had a brain anymore.

When we’re panting against each other, he leans down, moves the fabric of my bra to the side, and lays kisses on my breasts. Like an afterthought. Like he forgot to, and he needs to make it up to them. My skin hums.

“I love you,” I whisper.

His dark eyes flick up to me. “That’s the second time you’ve said that to me.”

Heat fills my cheeks as I realize he hasn’t said it back. Not since his mother’s wedding. “Oh. I can stop if you—”

“I’m just so mad that you thought you could walk in here, propose, and tell me you love me.” He smiles, his nose brushing against my cheek.

“Things don’t really change, do they?” I say. “I’ve always done whatever I wanted in this back room.”

He brushes my hair over my ear. “That’s why I love you.”