Promises We Meant To Keep (A Lancaster Prep Novel)

THE PREVIOUS AFTERNOON’S incident is seemingly forgotten by the next day. As if it never happened. We treat each other like we’re old friends hanging out at an Airbnb or something. Like we planned this trip together.

We went to our separate bedrooms last night early, both of us too exhausted to keep our eyes open much past sundown. I woke up to the sound of him downstairs in the kitchen, the clatter of a fork whisking in a bowl, a clue that he was making breakfast.

I enter the kitchen to find he’s making eggs and toast, the coffee already brewing, a scowling Roland standing outside on the wraparound porch, glaring through one of the windows.

“Your guard dog is here,” is how Spencer greets me, his attention only for the iron frying pan on the stove as he pushes the eggs around with a spatula.

“I see that,” I say as I wrap my robe tighter around my naked body.

Yes, I’d planned on greeting Spencer by whipping off said robe and asking him to feast on me instead, desperate to experience what we shared yesterday. Thank God I spotted Roland first.

“You should probably talk to him.” Spencer turns off the burner before facing me. “I don’t think he’s happy to still see me here.”

“He’s just…being overprotective.”

“Considering I’ve known you far longer, I’m wondering if I should be the one who’s overprotective of you in regards to him.” The smile Spence flashes me is more like a sneer and I almost want to giggle.

Is he actually…jealous of Roland?

“I’ll talk to him,” I tell Spencer, heading for the door that leads outside. Flashing him a quick smile, I go onto the deck, startled by the cool air that greets me. The fog hangs low this morning, wispy tendrils of it lingering in the trees, and I regret my nakedness beneath the thin robe almost immediately.

“Miss Lancaster.” Roland whips off his hat, clutching it between his fingers. Almost crushing it. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I know you have your guest here.”

“It’s okay. Is everything all right?” I frown, hating how concerned he seems.

“Everything’s fine. I just—are you okay? I’ve been thinking about you all night. Had to come check on you.” His gaze goes to the window, and I can tell he’s watching Spencer in the kitchen. His eyes narrow, as if he doesn’t like what he sees, and I’m almost amused. I might’ve even laughed if my teeth weren’t chattering from the cold.

“I’m all right,” I say, my voice soft. “I’ve known Spencer a long time. He’s my brother’s best friend. We have—history.”

That’s such a simple way to put it. History.

“I don’t like ‘em.”

Now I do laugh, shaking my head. “Why not? What did he ever do to you?”

“It’s more what he did to you. Showing up here without a warning. You were shocked. I saw it all over your face. And you don’t need trouble sniffing around here when you’re just trying to live peacefully by yourself. Because I can tell that’s what he is, Miss Lancaster. Trouble,” Roland mutters, sniffing loudly.

“I didn’t tell anyone where I would be. I don’t have my old phone, so no one can reach me. How could he warn me that he was arriving?” I smile, trying to ease my sweet-yet-sour-when-only-Spencer-is-around caretaker who’s far too invested in my personal well-being. Though I do appreciate his protectiveness, I also want to be alone with Spencer.

Especially after what happened yesterday.

“How did he even find you, hmm? When you didn’t want to be found?”

“Breakfast is ready.”

We both turn to find Spencer standing there, half hanging out the open door. His expression is grim, his eyes dark and aimed straight at Roland, who glares at him in return.

“Sylvie, it’s cold out here.” Spencer’s voice is extra deep. “Come inside.”

He doesn’t ask. He’s telling me.

“We can talk later,” I tell Roland, offering him a quick smile before I turn and walk back into the house, Spencer following close behind me. He shuts and locks the door and I turn to face him, noting the determined look on his face.

“You’re jealous of Roland.”

“I’m not jealous. I just don’t want him convincing you that my intentions are bad,” he says, returning to the stove and plating our breakfast. “He doesn’t know you. Not like I do.”

“You are jealous,” I murmur as I sit at the table, reaching for the cup of coffee waiting for me. I bring it to my lips and take a sip, pleased to find it’s exactly as I like it. “You’re the one I was on my knees for yesterday. Don’t forget that.”

He sets the plate down almost violently in front of me, the toast nearly falling off from the forceful impact. “I haven’t forgotten.”

I remain quiet, sipping my coffee, watching him play house, much like I did yesterday at lunch. We are quite the pair. What’s real, what’s fake? I don’t even know anymore.

That I can’t define us is almost comforting. It’s what I’m used to with Spencer. We’ve never been able to fully define what’s happening between us, and that’s mostly my fault. I’m the one who’s always been sketchy, who can’t commit. Who was forced to marry another man when that was the last thing I wanted to do.

We should discuss what’s happening between us, but I can’t muster up the courage. Not yet. I’m enjoying spending time with Spencer too much to ruin it with a serious conversation, despite his wavering moods toward me.

I like it best when it’s just the two of us, Roland is our only distraction, and he’s not much of one. There have always been other forces working against us. My mother. My brother. School. His friends. Me. His family.

My husband.

My loveless, pointless marriage to Earl ruined things between us, especially when I ran off and married someone else immediately after having sex with Spencer. But then again, I was the one with his dick in my mouth yesterday, so I guess I win in the end.

Bonus, him giving me that spectacular orgasm. I’m still tingly over it. Hence the reason I wore my robe and nothing else.

But is it really about winning and losing between us? It’s not a game, what we share. My feelings for Spencer are real and they run deep. He feels something for me too. He has to. Why else would he come across the country to make sure I’m all right?

We eat in silence, and I marvel at the delicious eggs he prepared. They’re light and fluffy, with just the right amount of salt. The toast is cooked to perfection, buttery and crisp. Don’t even get me started on the coffee.

That he made this for me makes it all taste that much better.

I’m taking my last bite of eggs when Spencer finally speaks, and I nearly choke on my food at what he says.

“I think we need to start over.”

I begin coughing, my fist in front of my mouth, the eggs stuck in my throat. Taking a necessary sip of my coffee, so I can choke them down, I can finally speak.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean exactly what I said. That we need to start over. You and me.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin before crumpling it up and dropping it on his empty plate. “Yesterday probably shouldn’t have happened.”

Disappointment floods me, setting in my stomach and making it churn.

“I’m not saying I regret it,” he continues. “But we do everything out of order, Syl. We always have.”

I keep my head bent, not wanting to look him in the eyes. I might start tearing up, because what he’s saying right now isn’t necessarily what I want to hear. Though it’s not bad either. Not at all. It’s just…

I don’t know how to feel, starting over. I’m finally being given a real chance with Spencer, without any outside influences for once, and this is his solution?

“I don’t want to start over,” I admit, my voice barely audible. He leans across the table with a frown, trying to hear me. “Why can’t we start from this point? There’s too much history between us, don’t you think?”

He studies me, his dark brows drawn together, lips parted. His gaze wanders over my face as if he’s trying to figure me out and I know that’s…

Impossible.

“I don’t know how to move forward with you after this point,” he admits. “I have to go back to New York, somewhere you don’t want to be. We’re living two different lives, and I don’t see how we’ll be able to make this work if you’re here and I’m not. Plus, all of the history we share is…painful.”

“It wasn’t all bad, was it? What we shared?” My voice is scratchy, my throat raw from holding back the tears that want to come.

“No.” He shakes his head, hesitating for only a moment before he says, “But a lot of it was.”

I rise to my feet as if I have no control of myself and storm out of the kitchen, irritated he would say such a thing.

Irritated more because I know, deep down, what he says is the truth. Our relationship was fraught with bullshit, most of it my fault. I kept too many things from him.

Like my feelings.

What would he say if he discovered he’s the only one I’ve ever really been with sexually? There were a few boys here and there when I was younger. Before I became completely fucked up over Spencer. Before I was forced to marry Earl. Spencer is the only boy I’ve ever loved. I still love him.

I could never admit that to him, especially now. He would laugh in my face.

I go outside because I don’t know what else to do, and he follows me. Of course, he does. I’m leaning against the railing of the wraparound deck, the chilly air sinking into my skin, settling in my bones, and then there’s nothing but heat pressing against my back. Strong arms wrapping around my middle and I lean back into him as if I can’t help myself.

Which I can’t.

“I’m an asshole,” he murmurs against my temple before kissing it.

“A truthful one,” I admit.

I relax against him, and I swear I feel his cock press against my ass. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

I don’t either, but I can’t admit that out loud. When I don’t speak, I think he understands that I feel the same way.

His hand sneaks into the front of my robe, beneath the fabric to find my bare breast. He cups it, his thumb slowly brushing against my nipple, and I close my eyes, savoring the touch. Realizing this is most likely the last time I’ll ever experience this. With Spencer.

“You frustrate me,” he admits against my cheek, his lips on my skin. “But I’ve never wanted a woman like I want you, Sylvie.”

I rub my butt against his erection, making him groan, his grip on my breast tightening. Both hands are on me now, pulling my robe apart, exposing my upper body to the cool air. I gasp at the shock of it, squeal when he turns me around in his arms, a low moan sounding deep in my throat when he bends down, his hot mouth seeking and finding my nipple.

He sucks and licks and I clutch him close, my fingers in his hair, my gaze locked on his busy mouth. My breathing is already erratic, my body tingling everywhere, and when he slips his hand into the parted fabric of my robe, his fingers tickling the inside of my thigh, I spread my legs, eager for him.

His assault on my chest continues as his fingers begin to stroke. My legs tremble when he thrusts a finger inside me. Then another. Finger-fucking me on the deck, ruining this space for me forever. I will always think of this moment, I tell myself as I tip my head back, my gaze catching on the redwoods that soar above us. I could live here for the rest of my life and the memory would still be vivid in my head. Of me and Spencer, out here on the deck, letting him take me.

I go easily when he hooks his hands beneath my thighs and lifts. I curl my legs around his hips, helping him shove his sweatpants down so his hard cock springs free, our movements awkward, hands fumbling. Splinters cut into my bare ass when he presses me against the railing, making me wince. The pain immediately forgotten when he slides inside me, filling me up.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he fucks me brutally. The cold air long forgotten thanks to the heat our bodies create, his cock sliding in and out of me, Spence grunting with every thrust. My eyes fall closed when he tears the robe off of my body and I’m completely naked, an offering to nature.

An offering to the beast inside him.

He fucks and fucks as if he could do it forever, his cock nudging a spot deep inside that has me seeing stars. I bite his earlobe, hissing when he hits that spot, and I firmly squeeze my inner walls, strangling his dick.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hands shifting, fingers sliding over my ass, teasing the seam. “I missed you so much, Syl. I’m going to come if you keep that up.”

I do it again, crushing my breasts against his chest, wanting him to feel me. To know it’s me and no one else. His fingers trail lower, until he’s teasing the ridged skin of my asshole, and I part my lips on a silent scream, my pussy gripping him tight.

“You like that?” The tip of his finger barely slips in and I gasp, going completely still, as does he. The only movement the throbbing of his cock. “I’d fuck you here if you let me.”

“I’d let you,” I say without hesitation, my hips lifting as I try to ride his cock on my own. But my position makes it difficult and he helps me, shifting me up and down. God, it feels so good.

It always does with Spence. He understands me. Knows my body and what I like. I don’t have to worry or feel self-conscious when I’m with him.

“You going to come?” he whispers in my ear, his finger pushing into my ass, his cock sliding deeper inside my pussy. “I’m close.”

I turn my head, my mouth resting on the strong column of his throat as I breathe in his scent. “Me too.”

Within minutes, I’m shaking, milking him, wrenching his orgasm out of him. He comes with a shout, his face in my hair, his finger slipping out of my ass as he grips me against the railing. I don’t notice the splinters, the scratches. I don’t notice anything else but the sensation of his semen filling me up, and the dread that consumes me at the realization.

I’m not on birth control. I haven’t been for a long time. He didn’t wear a condom.

“Get off me.” I bat at his shoulders, and he rears up, studying me with a frown. “Put me down.”

He does as I ask and I take off, headed into the house, cum coating the inside of my thighs. I’m in the bathroom in seconds, turning on the shower, diving under the steady stream of water the moment it’s hot enough. My fingers are scooping out as much semen as possible, but I know it’s not enough. I know what I’m doing is futile.

The shower door opens, revealing Spence. He steps inside, completely naked, nudging me away from the water, so it will hit him instead, and I scowl.

“What are you doing?” He runs his fingers through his dampening hair, his voice calm. The complete opposite of what I’m feeling.

The panic is still streaking through me, my mind calculating the last day I had my period. I use one of those apps to keep track though, lately, social media tells us not to. I’ve just been too lazy to delete the app from my phone.

I seriously think I’m ovulating right now, which would be…such a mistake. There is no way I can be a mother. I can’t even take care of myself, let alone a helpless baby. And what if I’m just like my mother? What if I’m horrible and controlling and I’ll eventually want to hurt my child, all for the attention it’ll get me?

I press my forehead against the tile wall, closing my eyes. I can hardly bear the thought.

“Syl?” A warm hand cups my shoulder, turning me toward him, and I open my eyes to find him watching me. “Are you all right?”

I slowly shake my head, finally letting the tears I’ve been holding back all morning break free. I’ve cried more since Spence showed up than I have in a long time. I don’t even think I cried this much when my husband died.

Considering it’s my fault Earl is dead, you’d think I would’ve shed more tears out of pure guilt.