“I’ve never been to Los Angeles,” she stutters, swallowing hard. I’m affecting her almost the same way she affects me. “What if I move there? I can try something different, start from the beginning. No one knows I’m a loser.”
“Is that what you want?” I redirect her conversation, the last thing I want to do is engage in depressing subjects. “Why did you choose New York instead of Hollywood?”
“Performing live is what I enjoy the most.” She moves her hands away from my crotch and combs her long dark hair with her fingers. Shifting it to her left shoulder and leaving her thin, stylish neck bare, tempting me to kiss it. “But it hasn’t worked out. Maybe I did something wrong.”
“You love it,” I state, redirecting her insecurities. How can I deal with them when I’m just swinging with the conversation the best I can without losing my shit? “What’s your favorite part of your job?”
“The applause I receive after each performance is unique. Never the same.” Her posture relaxes, her neck stretches, and her voice fills with excitement. “I like the vibe and energy coming from a live audience. The reward, the love, and the mutual feedback are irreplaceable.”
“Do you want us to go to a play?” I suggest.
“I’d rather go to the Frick museum,” she counters my suggestion. Maybe we both are avoiding what we fear the most. “But I think you’re trying to avoid it.”
Can she blame me? There are too many memories inside that building. Mom loved that place. The old mansion has one of the most unique collections of art from the old world. She was a member and brought us every chance she got, at least once or twice a month. Each time she spent hours explaining every era, artist, and technique. Scott continues to pay the membership in memory of Charlotte Everhart. I’d rather avoid places where I’m reminded that they’re gone.
“What’s there to avoid?” I turn my focus to the scenery, pretending to enjoy the trees that are starting to awaken from the long winter. Spring hasn’t stuck to the program. There was a light snowfall only a couple of days ago. “If you want to go to the museum, we’ll visit the Museum of Natural History. Isn’t that the one where they filmed that movie Night at the Museum?”
She twists her lips to the side, sucking on her cheek. I want to be the one sucking her lip, or her sucking my dick. The arousing thought is shut down when a kid behind us wails.
“You watch too many movies, don’t you?”
“Mostly action and sci-fi. You’re making me watch musicals.” I wink at her. “And I love it.”
I tolerate musicals—I don’t notice them when Willow is around. Fuck, I would go to a Justin Bieber concert if that is what it takes to make her smile. Grasping Willow’s hand, I hold onto whatever we’re feeling right now. I erase the thoughts of my parents, continuing to appear like a normal guy hanging out with his girlfriend. I’m fine now, at least I think my heart is beating back to normal. No one, not even her, needs to know what’s happened to me.
Fifteen
Just Breathe
Everyone keeps a darker place, you’re not alone. ~ Birdy
What is wrong with the freaking weather? This is the chilliest April I’ve experienced in my entire life. I wouldn’t give a shit if we weren’t on day four of our New York touristic adventure. Yesterday, we went to the Empire State Building, Rockefeller Center, and the American Museum of Natural History. Unlike the first day, we didn’t ride the forsaken hop-on bus. Instead, we walked and rode the subway on our way to take the ferry. Whose idea was it to tour New York? I was in the most enclosed space in the city with lots of people around us. People coming in and out at every stop. I stiffened and relaxed as many times as they breathed.
I was a ticking time bomb ready to explode. It happened within seconds, it felt like a long, painful sequence that lasted hours, and I was its hostage. A kid, it was a kid who grinned and lifted his hand and pretended to have a weapon. One guy with a thick mustache and beady eyes was about to step forward, opening his jacket ready to pull the trigger. I ducked, covering my head.
“Stay with me, Hunt,” Willow’s gentle voice said, her hands holding my face, lowering so my eyes could find hers. “Breathe, in and out, we are almost outside. The next station is coming up, you’re safe.”
And fuck those words felt like a stab. I promised to protect her, and here she is taking care of my handicapped psyche. My mind went to the morning when I watched the towers burn, knowing my parents were there, and there was nothing I could do to save them. The loneliness, the first punch of panic gutting me. I was a coward who pretended to slay dragons and save women. No such thing, I’d rather be inside the tower hiding.
“Hunter,” she repeated. Her eyes trying to remain calm but mirroring the fucking fright I was experiencing.
She gave me an empathic smile. Her eyes spoke softly, as if they were saying, I know what you’re going through. It’s okay, I’m with you. Having her there with me calmed me enough to stand up and pretend I could inhale oxygen. I almost forgot everyone around me. She understood me. My first instinct had been to take her mouth and devour her alive, releasing the pent-up energy inside me.
As the metal doors slide open, she takes my hand while yelling, “Run with me.”
Exhaling hard, I push us to hurry over the threshold of my bedroom.
“I’m sorry,” I say the moment the door closes, worried about the backlash from the scene I made in the subway.
“Tell me how to make this better, Hunt.” Her voice is sultry, yet sweet. Her soft hands caress my face. Desire lights up in those enigmatic, green eyes. Her behavior surprises me. No, it stuns me. I was ready for her to drop my ass for being a weak son of a bitch. Instead, she’s asking me how she can help. She’s stealing yet another piece of my heart.
“I didn’t mean to ruin your day,” I repeat, finding an excuse for my behavior.
There’s nothing I can say that will make me sound normal. The baggage I carry on my back is revealing itself. She’s going to notice that I have to count every step I take. In case where I stand crumbles, and I have to give someone my exact location from the door to where I might be situated. The gun under my bed, the first response kit inside my closet, and the list of places to go in case we’re under attack, are anything but normal. Every day, I expect another life changing catastrophe. Just as I pray that I make it to live for another day.
I’m not a religious person, but I believe in God. I believe that entity that plays with our lives and takes pleasure in moving us like peons on a chess board for his or her amusement. Because if God was all-loving like Mom taught us, he or she wouldn’t have let my parents die. At least, not the way they did.
“You didn’t ruin anything, Hunter.” She kisses me on the lips. “Perfection is nonexistent. So what if the subway isn’t for you? We will take one of your luxurious cars the next time.”
“Tourists don’t have those,” I remind her of the game we’ve been playing.
“What do tourists do then instead?”
“It depends.” I move her hair to the side, kissing her neck. “They are on their honeymoon, remember?”
Staring at her button-down sweater, I smirk, claiming her lips. As we kiss, the weight of the subway incident melts away. My hands carefully and slowly unsnap each one of the pearl buttons holding the fabric on her chest together.
Stopping to check on her, I stare at the long dress she wears. It hides her curves, but shows her hardened nipples pushing against the cloth.
I observe her, trying to figure out my next move. Is this some kind of game to make me forget? Fuck, I hope not. This should be the prelude to us finally having hard, sweaty sex.
Taking a breath and her hand, I whisper my next question, “Have they made love?”
She tsks, snatching her hand away and showing me four fingers. “Four days, and he hasn’t made a move.”
“She’s a virgin,” I suggest.
Her head tosses back and the most beautiful sound fills the room. Her laugh is like the sound of the b
irds singing as the sun rises from the east. The idea of leaving New York and moving closer to a lake where we can live peacefully hits the back of my head. What if I take her to California?
“Impossible! She’s almost twenty-seven,” Willow discloses more about the mystery bride. “She made a few mistakes in the past. But this time, she wanted it to be perfect. At least perfect for her—for both of them. It was an impromptu proposal.”
“Was it?”
“Unlike her, he’s impulsive.” She nods, excited, those playful eyes brighten as she speaks, “‘We have a lifetime to get to know each other,’ you said as you dropped to one knee holding a candy ring. It was blue raspberry, my favorite.”
Looking at the back of her left hand, she wrinkles her mouth. “Five days ago, we were at the City Clerk’s office saying, ‘I do.’ You flew us to New York City—my dream city to celebrate—before we told our families.”
“What were you wearing?”
“A white, cross-strap, mini-dress with lace,” she describes, looking down at her dress. “It was simple. Once we’re ready to tell everyone, we will have a big wedding.”
“Why not now?”
“We aren’t ready to tell everyone about us. It doesn’t matter, we’re happy.”
“Are we ready for the next step?” I continue the fantasy tracing circles around her bare shoulders making her shiver.
Placing her hands on top of my chest, she propels herself forward, stretching her neck, and her mouth finds mine. A fire within us ignites the moment our lips touch. This time, she doesn’t hold back. Her lips, her tongue, and her hands are as demanding as mine. I unzip her dress, as she undoes the zipper of my jeans. I pull off my shirt, breaking our connection. For a moment, I stare at her beautiful body. Unlike the last time, I appreciate every inch of her flawless, silky skin. Until I spot them. Thin, rosy lines tracing her upper thighs and her stomach.
What happened to her?
She pulls off the lace fabric covering her tits, letting those full globes burst freely. Fuck, I could suck on them all night. We are kissing again. I’m walking us closer to the bed, stumbling on top of it.
“Is this really happening?” I dare to ask while reaching for the condoms inside the nightstand drawer.
“Do you want it to happen?” she repeats, narrowing her gaze. “Maybe the groom is the real virgin.”
We both laugh, breaking the tension I created with my question. Her hand lifts, and she traces the ripples of my muscles. Pleasure floods my brain, and my body as her fingers continue drawing circles on my bare skin.
My mouth dips in to take her pink nipple, sucking on each of those succulent breasts. I kiss my way up her neck until I slam my mouth down on hers. She kisses me back thrusting her tongue deep, tangling with mine. Her hands travel down, closing over my dick. She’s stroking me as we continue kissing.
“No, wait.” My voice is a plea. I need her to stop before I come in her hand like a teenager having a wet dream.
Roaming my fingers up her thighs, brushing a kiss along the inside coming closer to her hot center, kissing it. She moans, and I flick my tongue against her clit, sucking it.
“You’re beautiful,” I say when I slide two fingers inside her. I taste her sweetness.
I could do this forever, be at the mercy of her pleasure. I live for her gasping moans. My fucking body is charged with desire, lust, and flying high with her taste. She’s so close, I can feel her legs quivering. Her precious pearl pulsating against my tongue as I flick it hard against her. Lifting my gaze, I meet her shiny eyes. Her hips rock back and forth against my mouth, searching for release.
“Let it go, Willow.”
Her lips part as she screams my name, letting her head fall onto the pillow. I can’t fight it anymore. I need to be inside her.
“I need you,” I say.
She watches me intently. My heart thunders inside my chest as I ask, “Are you okay with it?”
She nods. I rise up above her to be level with her eyes, parting her legs. Lowering myself as I brush her lips with mine. Pushing myself inside her slowly, I see a plethora of emotions running through her eyes. The last one feels like love. The one that has grown inside me every second since I met her.
This is what I’ve dreamed about, what I’ve always wanted—her.
I remain still, thinking of the words. Whispering them inside my head, Love makes us one. All of you in me, all of me in you. Everything you are is now fused with who I am.
Sixteen
I don’t want perfect, I want happy
Being happy means that you’ve decided to look beyond the imperfections. ~ Gerard Way
Hunter’s eyes look at me fiercely as he thrusts inside me. The haunted shell of a man is long gone. I want to know what happened to him as much as I want to lose myself while he’s inside me. His hands slide over my body, caressing every inch. It’s his musk scent, his tender, loving eyes, the lust. Everything that’s happening wraps me into a cocoon I want to stay in forever.
Today, my heart is full.
Today, I’m what he needs.
From now on, it’ll be my goal to give him what he needs. He’ll never leave me.
“Willow,” he gasps, throbbing within me. My legs wrap around him, taking all of him. His movements are slow. Sweet. Loving. “You feel so good.” He pulls back, sliding out of me, then, pushing himself inside me deeper and harder.
“Hunter,” I moan, my legs shaking, my swollen clit desperate for more friction. I want release.
I push my hips forward, seeking release. My hand searches for my slit. He grabs my wrists, stretching them over my head. Holding them in place with one hand as he grabs my ass with the other. The leisurely moves become faster. He pumps in and out, and the heat floods my center. Lowering his face, his mouth kisses mine. The velvet lash of his tongue stroking inside my mouth the same way his dick continues pushing in and out of me causes my core to clench, tightening. It demands more, faster; but I also want slow and tender.
I. Want. Everything.
Most of all, I want to melt with him.
Fuse.
Belong with someone, to someone.
“Willow.” He presses a kiss on my neck, rolling his hips and pushing himself deeper and deeper. Every inch of him stretches me, keeping me on the edge lusting for him. “You. Are. Mine.”
Yes, yours.
Though I’m about to explode, I’m also wrapped in a bubble where I’m finally safe. Such a big word. The safe haven is near. A place I see from afar but never get to touch since I fuck things up before I reach it. But today I’m here. I claw at his back as I gasp and moan when he drives me to the edge. Pleasure rippling through every cell of my body. My walls tighten, squeezing him. Feeling him.
His head tosses back. His muscles tense. He screams my name as his eyes squeeze shut and his body shudders. The intensity of his voice fills the room with my name.
For a long time, we hold onto each other. The silence is comfortable and much needed after the ethereal experience. Sex has never been this powerful for me. Glorious. Sublime. Unique.
After a while, he rises from the bed and heads to the en suite bathroom. I stare at his muscular rear wanting to bite it. I have zero energy to lift a finger, let alone my head. For a few minutes, I debate about joining him or not. I listen to the water of the faucet run. The toilet flush. I watch his powerful, naked body walk back to me. I thoroughly inspect his broad shoulders and every sharpened muscular line of his hard body. His package is semi-hard, already, pointing at me. He’s carrying a towel and gently cleans me between my thighs. I’ve never seen someone so concentrated on cleanliness. The silence is killing me.
“Are you okay, Hunt?”
His jaw twitches. Without answering, he turns around and walks away. A sharp ache spreads through me, replacing the sweet feelings our lovemaking had created. I wonder suddenly if everything had been planned so I would finally have sex with him. Tomorrow, he’ll kick me to the curb. Or will it be after he finds someo
ne to replace me with?
“Hey,” he says, sauntering toward me. He’s now wearing a T-shirt and a pair of boxers. “Don’t check out, gorgeous.”
“This is it, isn’t it?” The beating of my heartbeat becomes erratic. Fuck. I knew better. I shouldn’t have let myself believe anyone would give a fucking shit about me.
His long lashes lower, following them I stare at the tent forming under his boxer-briefs. “I recover fast if you want to give it another go.” He reaches out, taking my hand and kissing it. “I like you flushed.” He brushes the strands of my hair, clearing them away from my face. “I’m better. Thank you for being there for me. For staying with me.”
“Want to talk about it?”
He exhales harshly, rubbing the back of his neck. Those clear, blue eyes concentrating on mine. He reaches forward to the nightstand, opening the drawer and taking out a pen. “Can I write it for now?” His voice lowers. “I’m not ready to explain more than I have, but I’m grateful for the way you helped me get through it.”
I’m not sure if I should run or stay. He freaked out in the middle of the subway. It isn’t the first time he’s acted strangely while we’ve been walking in the middle of a big crowd. Terrified of what would happen, I tried my best to remain in control of my own feelings. The one person I’m leaning on showed the same symptoms I have before a panic attack. I wonder what triggers them and if I’ll ever understand him.
Leaving is out of the question. He’s everything to me. Today, he became my entire world. Is it right that it happened this fast? I’m confused as how to act. He said I helped him get through it. I, Willow Beesley, helped one of the strongest guys I know get through a bad moment. This is an example of how even the greatest have low moments.
Hunter is a pillar everyone leans on. Since the night we met, he’s tried hard to help me. He’s given me space while showing he’s capable of dealing with my darkness. And he’s so sweet. He’s always bringing me flowers—colorful, gorgeous bouquets. The gesture is everything. If today I can reciprocate the care and love he’s giving me, I’ll do my best to be the person he wants.
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