𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧.✓ completed

Untitled Part 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

Willow

I'm so glad Beck decided to get out of working with his father. Sure, blackmailing him might not be the best way, but honestly, I think it's the only way other than Beck selling his house.

As Beck talks to his dad on the phone and explains to him what he found, I wander out to the kitchen to make some breakfast. I feel so well-rested I don't even know what to do with myself other than smile, smile, smile and do jazz hands apparently. Honestly, I kind of feel as happy as a cartoon character as I dance my way across the spacious kitchen.

But in the middle of my best robot move, I screech to a halt, my jaw smacking to my knees.

"What the heck is this?" I mutter, plucking up a piece of paper held to the fridge by a magnet.

Task #1: Get Willow out of that house.

Task #2: Prove to her that I'm not going to destroy her.

Task #3: Tell her I love her.

The letters are written in Beck's handwriting below the list of rules I gave him; only, my list has been scribbled out.

Tell her I love her.

Tell her I love her?

"Beck loves me?" I whisper, nearly dropping the list.

My heart rate accelerates. My palms begin to dampen. My brain is wired, soaring a million miles a minute. I'd think I was having a panic attack, except for two things: One, those goddamn flutters go elatedly crazy. And two, I don't want to run to the front door. I want to go back to the bedroom. So, that's what I do with the list clutched in my hand.

Beck is off the phone when I walk in, looking both terrified and relieved.

"Well, the good news is that he's going to sign my house over to me," he says, tossing his phone onto the bed.

I step toward him. "And the bad news?"

He rests his elbows on his knees and massages his temples with his fingertips. "I'm probably not going to be allowed to family dinners anymore."

"Aw, Beck, I'm so sorry." Another step toward him and my fingers tighten around the list. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine. Family dinners suck, anyway." He waves me off, but I can see a tiny bit of hurt in his eyes.

"What can I do to make you feel better?" I ask, stopping in front of him.

He leans back on his arms as he angles his head up. "Well, if you're offering ..." His lips curve into a naughty grin.

I tap my finger against my lips. "You want me to tickle your feet again?"

He gives me a tolerant look. "That's not quite what I was thinking you could tickle. Maybe go up a little higher."

"What? To your ankle?"

Shaking his head, he snags hold of my hips, lifts me up, and drops me down on the bed.

I let out a laugh as I bounce against the bed and then squeal as he rolls on top of me and tickles my side.

"Just for that, I'm going to make you pee your pants," he teases, sketching his fingers up and down my sides.

"Please, don't!" I squeal, wrestling to get out from underneath him.

Laughing, he straddles me, snatches hold of my wrists, and pins my arms above my head. "You are so going down ... Wait, what's in your hand?" His gaze shifts to me, and his Adam's apple bobs up and down as he gulps. "Where did you find that?"

"On your fridge," I whisper, struggling to get oxygen into my lungs. Breathe. Just breathe. "Is it true ...? Task number three?"

His throat muscles move as he swallows hard. "It is, but I don't want you to panic. That's just where I am, but I won't say it aloud. I know that you're not there yet, so we can wait for now. I don't want to overwhelm you or make you feel uncomfortable while you're living with me. You've already spent way too much of your life being uncomfortable in your own house. I don't want to ever make you feel that way."

Silence ticks by, filled with our heavy breathing.

"Princess, please, say something," he pleads, still holding my wrists.

"You make me feel safe," I sputter, unsure what else to say other than the truth. "All the time. You're the only one who ever has."

"Good." He relaxes, skimming a finger along the inside of my wrist right along my thrashing pulse. "That's all I've ever wanted. To make sure you feel—are safe. Ever since the first time I had you come home with me and spend the night."

"Well, you completely and one hundred percent succeeded." I aim for a light tone yet sound uncontrollably breathless.

"Now that I got you out of that house, I did." Then he leans in to kiss me.

"Beck," I whisper right before his lips touch mine.

He pauses, his eyelids lifting open. "Yeah?"

"C-can I hear you say it?" I whisper. "I've never heard anyone say it to me without a manipulative meaning behind it."

He nods, swallowing hard. "Willow, I love you."

He says it so easily, without any effort, without wanting anything in return.

I've often wondered what it would be like to hear the word love and not cringe. When I was younger, it used to happen, but only because I was so naive. Maybe I'm being naive still, but I really don't think so. And I don't cringe. I don't run. I don't think of lists and jobs and classes. I think of Beck and everything he's done for me: when he saved me from sleeping in the car, when he comforted me during the rougher days, when he didn't judge me for the bad choices I made, when he made me laugh, even when he made me almost pee my pants.

Then I hold my breath and let every single damn syllable sink into my heart.

"I love you, too," I whisper. "I think I have for a while."

His eyes widen, but that look only lasts for a heartbeat. Then his lips are on mine. His hands soon find my body, slipping underneath my shirt. His fingers brush my nipples, and my back bows up, my knees pressing against his hips. He repeats the movement again, whispering that he can stop if I need him to. I don't want him to stop, though.

Ever.

And that's exactly what I tell him.

He peels off my shirt, and I tug down his pajama bottoms and boxers. Then he lays me back down on the bed and slips his fingers inside me as his tongue parts my lips. He feels me until I can't breathe. Kisses me until I can't think straight. Loves me until everything seems right and nothing seems wrong.

I never want him to let me go.

His thoughts seem to match mine as he only moves away to put on a condom. Then he places his body over mine, kissing me slowly, as if memorizing every single brush of our lips.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asks, looking into my eyes.

I nod with a hint of nerves surfacing. But I shove the feeling down and wrap my legs around his waist, really wanting to do this.

"I love you," I say.

"I love you, too," he promises.

Then he kisses me as he slips inside, and I hold on to him, never wanting to let go.

It might not be perfection, but I think it's definitely close.