Ben, Scott, Monica, and my brother Finn, laugh as they watch the two banter around the table having the Thanksgiving dinner we didn’t get to have before. It’s been a week and three days since Amy happened, and we leave to go back home tomorrow. Monica wouldn’t let us leave without having a proper holiday. Whitley tried to talk her out of it, wanting to go back to L.A. but Monica wouldn’t have it.
“Oh, I know,” Whitley kids. “I’m shaking in my boots, Mom.”
“I’ll miss your smart ass mouth, daughter,” Monica says a bit blue. “How about staying another week? Maybe two?”
Whitley levels her eyes while shoveling a pile of stuffing into her mouth.
“You know,” Ben answers around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “We’ll be in California for Holli’s wedding, Monica. It won’t be long before we get to see her again.”
“Shush.” She smiles. “Can’t blame a mom for wanting her baby to be with her as long as possible.”
Finn snickers over on his side of the table and I can’t help but stare. It’s been years since we’ve been together and now he’s seamlessly worked his way into my world.
My brother.
It’s not easy to let someone go, and I thought I had the day he left. But, it’s so incredibly easy to let him back in.
“So, Finn,” Monica says, dabbing her mouth. “Are you going to be in California for Christmas?”
Finn takes a drink and nods his head. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”
I wink at him, happy to know that something wonderful came out of this horrible incident. My family is whole again. And I’m going to add to it one day. Whitley will be mine forever and I’m never letting her go.
“You know,” I say, smirking at Whitley over my book. “The last time we were on this plane, we had a little fun.”
She blushes a little, but her eyes challenge. “Actually, the last time I was on this plane, I had no fun.”
Oh, right. Coming home from Mexico was not fun.
And, I’m an asshole.
“Okay, well, I’m an idiot.”
Whitley gets up slowly from her seat and walks to me with a predatory gaze. Lifting her leg, she straddles my legs and sits down on top of me. “You’re not.”
I purse my lips.
“Okay, maybe a little.”
“But, you love me?” I finish for her.
“A little,” she whispers in my ear as the light from the setting sun hits her, spreading across her skin like tiny stars. Fragments of red and orange bounce on her flawless body. Her hands skirt across my skin, over my stomach, to my sides, sending my body into electric convulsions, like I just touched an open wire. The charge is able to light a room. The memory of being buried deep inside her, stroking her from the inside out, holding her hostage with my hips, floods my thoughts. Bringing my lips to her neck, and she clenches in anticipation, almost as though she can see what I see and can read my thoughts.
“When did the doctor say you can…?” I ask, breathless.
She moans. “Now, I can, now.”
Heat spreads across my skin like a growing vine. “Okay. Bed?”
She nods her head, moving in fluid motions above me.
“Christ, you’re so beautiful.”
She grins. “You always say that.”
My hands roam all over her body. Up her back and back down over her hips. “It’s the truth.”
She mm’s.
“I want you naked. In bed. Now,” I demand.
She stands up, easy to keep her stomach in her hand as she moves. Her stitches were taken out yesterday, but moving quickly still hurts her. I follow her to the back of the cabin to the bedroom.
Whitley opens the door and I close it behind me, giving us privacy from the stewardess sitting at the front of the plane.
Moving to the side of the bed, she very sexily removes her shirt, taking her time pulling it over her head, and dropping it to the floor. Her pants come next, unbuttoning them with exact, maddening accuracy, pulling them apart, and pushing them over her hips, down to the floor. She turns around, giving me a look at her back. The immaculate lines and porcelain skin rising in goosebumps, as she knows I’m watching. Looking over her shoulder, she smirks, unclasping her bra.
I groan, feeling overwhelmed with the emotions running through me. “Dammit, woman, you only have yourself to blame if I pathetically come in my pants before you’re done.”
She snickers, pulling her underwear over her supple ass and down her legs.
“I used to imagine doing this with you,” she admits, still facing away from me. “After we broke up, I couldn’t forget the way your hands felt on me. Every flicker of your tongue was imbedded in my dreams,” she hesitates. “Sometimes, I could hear you talking to me, imagining what you’d say if you were actually there with me. I’d use my hand to work myself like you would, just to feel close to you.”
I swore, pulling her body to the front of mine. “And, the things I said…in your mind. What did I say?”
She laughs, embarrassed. “I wasn’t very original. Your mouth is a lot filthier than mine.”
I grunt. “True.”
Taking her lips in mine, I kiss her. Harder, deeper, wetter.
“Let’s pretend,” I say in between kisses. “That you’re in your room, all alone, and I climb through your window.”
She giggles. “That’s so not likely to happen.”
I swat her ass. “Humor me.”
“Okay.”
“Show me,” I coax.
Her eyes flash hungry. Greedy. Needy. And she kisses my neck, her lips sliding over my skin like second-nature. I respire, loving having her skin on mine. “Sit on the bed,” she inhales.
I do as I’m told. Rising on my elbows, I watch as she takes hold of my jeans, unbuttoning them.
“What would you do to me if I came into your room wanting you?”
“Jenns,” she groans as I cup her breast, plumping it with my hand.
“What would you do?” I ask, again.
“I’d act like I didn’t hear you, and pretend to be asleep. I’d let you crawl in bed with me.”
I nod, shifting beneath her. “Then, what?”
She pulls my jeans off along with my shirt. “I’d let you know I was awake, shifting closer to you, letting you take hold of my body.”
I grow in size. “Feel that?” I question, pushing my body against hers, meaningfully. “That’s what you’d feel.”
Her hair falls from her shoulders, dropping onto my chest. I move my hand into it, pulling her toward me, listening to her hiss as we connect.
“Fuck, Whitley.” I push further into her.
Lifting on her knees, she slips off my boxer briefs. And as she comes down, she takes hold of my dick, gliding smoothly into her. She’s ready and wet and I quickly pull on her ass, moving fast and deep.
“It’s perfect when you’re hungry like this, Pretty Girl. It never seems to be enough. You, on top of me, this is perfect,” I say.
“Jennings…” She pushes me further into her, holding onto my shoulders.
The loud engine of the jet is muffled by the intensity of our lovemaking. The crumple of the sheets and the movement of our slick bodies moving in harmony are the only sounds in my ears. Everything is put on hold. Almost like the rest of the world has gone missing. Only we exist. No one else matters. No one can penetrate our world. We stand, like this, together, fighting the outside.
My skin flushes warm and I push further into her, meeting her thrust for thrust with grunts that sound primal. Animalistic.
She widens her legs more, giving me even better access. Placing my hand on her injured stomach, I hold her as she moves up and down. She circles her hips, bringing my cock out just enough before falling back down, making me groan in response.
I flip her over, I can’t take it anymore. I need to have her under me. I need to control her. I need to let her know she’s worshiped.
I grip the sheets above her shoulders, struggling to keep myself under c
ontrol. She’s so wet. So fucking perfect. I have to bite my lip, blood pounding in my veins. I push harder, deeper into her over and over again.
Her sweet sounds, those moans and little mews let me know that it’s good—that she’s having a hard time holding on, too. The possessive side of me wants to delve deeper, push tougher, make her come harder over and over, all night long. I’d show her that even this isn’t enough. I want to keep her like this forever. I’d always make her feel like this. Being with Whitley, I’ll try my damndest to make it last for as long as possible.
She grabs at my face, pulling me to her. Meeting my hips, she becomes wild—hands everywhere. On my face, down my torso, her thumb in my mouth, she’s everywhere. Her eyes begin to roll and I pump deeper. “No, look at me. Watch me. I don’t want to be gentle.”
My hands begin to ravage her body when her eyes meet mine. She doesn’t look down at where we’re connected like she usually does, she keeps her eyes trained on me. She watches my every sensation as it passes over my face and relishes in the way my hands almost punish her as they roam and knead at her body. Her hips start to jut further into me as her orgasm pushes up and into her chest, frenzied and clawing. I can see it, the need growing bigger with each thrust. She pushes down on my shoulders, begging, pleading: faster.
“Bossy,” I murmur, laughing through a snarl, feeling out-of-control. The long pull of my cock, in and out of her warmth, I crave to enjoy this feeling. That perfect feeling, the way my blood heats up as I drag my finger from her neck, down her chest between her breasts to feel the light sweat, it makes me want to stop just to hear her beg for more.
With women before, watching a woman was the only way to get off. But, now, with her, with my one, it’s too much. If I watch her for too long when I’m this close, the way her body bows at my hands. The way her legs spread wider the moment my finger connects with her clit, it’s too much. The sight of her is too much. Everything with her is too much and then not nearly enough.
I feel her begin to contract around me, and I nearly lose myself in the way she becomes wetter, more eager. I grasp her breast, pulling and tugging on her nipples with my hungry hands, which is followed by her frantic moans. Her ravenous sounds turn into timid, shallow breaths as we both soar higher.
Moving my hand down her arm, pulling her hand above her head, I lace our fingers together. My hand tightens, the other still clutching the sheet, trying to hold out. Her eyes never shut, she intently watches as we spiral further into space, my eyes telling her to come. “Come, Pretty Girl,” I grunt out. And when she begins to spasm around me, I try to wait. But then, I picture us, how we must look. I close my eyes, feeling that barreling feeling up and down my spine, unrelenting. Infiltrating my senses. Overtaking my every move.
Whitley says my name, moans it and closes her own eyes, moving her head to the side.
“It’s time for the stars to shine, Pretty Girl,” I grind out.
Ascending into the sky, my eyes open wide as I come and I hold onto her. I push deeper, continuing to fuck her until she rides out her orgasm.
After she’s caught her breath, her chest rising and falling at a more appropriate rate, I kiss her neck and pull out. She watches as I move to the windows, pulling the cord, letting the black-out curtains fall.
“Ready for your surprise?” I ask, picking up the remote.
She sits up. “What surprise?”
Pressing a button, the room darkens and the ceiling of the cabin lights up the night sky.
Whitley’s hand goes to her mouth. “How did you…? Jennings, this is—oh my God.”
I glide in bed next to her, pulling her close. “This is for you, Whit. No matter what, the stars are ours.”
Wetness falls on my chest. “You captured them.”
I hmm, and watch the bright lights flit across the ceiling.
“HOW ABOUT LET’S SAY I did but, pretend we didn’t,” Holli attempts to cushion the blow, cowering behind the mirror in the dressing room.
I grind my teeth and try my hardest not to physically seethe.
It’s her wedding.
It’s her wedding.
It’s. Her. Wedding.
“Fine,” I brush her off. “But, if he makes a scene, it’s all on you. And he needs to stay away from me and Jennings.”
“Oh, totally,” Holli agrees. “But, it’s not like I willingly invited Lark. He was on the guest list when you were dating. I couldn’t be like, ‘Oh, yeah. No more invite for you.’” She shakes her head at me, pinning a veil to her head.
“I would have,” I mumble, picking at my nails.
Holli snickers, throwing something with feathers at me. “You’re also sort of a bitch.”
I shrug a shoulder, a shadow of a smile wanting to break free. “True.”
Holli angrily unzips a dress and throws it on the ground.
“Isn’t the bride supposed to have a dress three weeks before the wedding?” I ask. We’ve been dress shopping for months and Holli still hasn’t found something she likes.
“Shut it,” she says, short. “I just haven’t found the one yet.”
I ugh. “If I hear that one more time, I’m going to wrap a potato sack around you and call it a day. You’re being fickle.”
She crosses her arms. Unashamed, she stands in the middle of the empty store in her bra and undies. “You’re fickle, Ms. I’m-Not-Going-To-Tell-Jennings-I-Love-Him-Again-Until-I-Know-For-Sure.”
I glower at her. It’s not that I don’t know for sure, because I do. I love him so much it hurts. It hurts to tell him and not to tell him.
Maybe I am fickle.
“I don’t really know how to love, Holls. I could do it wrong,” I admit.
“You can’t love wrong. You’ll know you’re doing it right when someone loves you back, not wanting anything back in return.”
“What if he wants my heart?”
She gives me a stare, mocking. “Like, an evil witch would take your heart from your chest? Oh,” she giggles. “I’d say run the other way.”
“I’m being serious, Holli!” I exasperate through my laughter. “He wants me and I don’t know if I can give myself to him. The only love I’ve ever seen is you and Blaine.”
“We are pretty damn epic,” she swoons. “What about your parents? Were they ever happy?”
“Not that I ever saw. They stayed together for me, but all they did was fight. Mom is happy with Ben now, but Mom and Dad weren’t shining examples of love when I was younger.”
Holli dresses and huffs next to me on the couch in the store. “It makes sense why you found love in Cade.”
I flinch. “Yeah. He’s another reason why I’m afraid to love Jennings. Cade screwed me up royally. How can I trust myself to love someone when I allowed my heart to love Cade?”
Holli rests her head on my shoulder. “They are two completely different people.”
“Night and day,” I agree. “It’s just, the thought of love used to make me want to puke. Cade already broke me. But, Jennings…he’d penetrate my life and wreck me straight into the coo-koo’s nest.”
“Love is worth all of the trouble. Opening your heart isn’t supposed to be easy. It’s supposed to be difficult and hair-pull worthy. That’s what makes is so amazing when it’s real.”
“Maybe,” I say. I believe every word she’s saying. That’s the problem. “Enough about me. Let’s find you a dress.”
As we walk along the shops in downtown L.A., I can’t help but wonder if we’ll ever find exactly what Holli wants. But, as I let that thought settle, something catches my eye.
“Oh my God, Holls.” I slap her arm. “Look,” I tell her, feverously pointing to the window across the street.
The off-white dress is elegant. Strapless and feminine. The one characteristic the dress had to have was diamonds. Lots at the top on the bodice, and then descending further down onto the bottom of the dress where they break apart. And this dress, the one on the mannequin at the most expensive store in California, it
has everything Holli has looked for.
“Holy shit, screw vintage,” Holli jokes, looking starry-eyed at the dress. “That’s the one. THE ONE.”
“Well,” I say, pulling her arm. “Let’s go try it on.”
“So, I’m filming my last shots on WTP this week in Vancouver,” Jennings informs me. “Maybe you’d like to come with me?”
“You actually want me to come with you?” I ask. He’s been back from Vancouver for a week, but both him and Holli have to go back to finish the Christmas special. It’s live and kind of a big deal. I thought he’d need his space.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
I shrug a shoulder, popping a piece of popcorn into my mouth. “I don’t know.”
“You do, but you don’t want to tell me. I thought we were past this, Whit. Trust me. Let me in.”
I look at him. His scruff is back and the polished actor is on vacation. His hair is shaved short on the sides and the hair on the top of his head is long and slicked back, a few pieces falling onto his forehead. I push them back; reveling in the love I see pouring from his eyes.
“I’d hate to embarrass you.”
He deflates, taking hold of my hand. “You are it. Why on Earth would I be embarrassed?”
I narrow my eyes.
“I love you. That’s it. There’s no more wondering or hoping I change my mind. If you’ll have me, I want to keep you forever. And, that means incorporating you into my entire world.”
I look down at our hands. His fingers playing with the inside of mine, he traces the lines along my palm. “Okay, then.”
“Yeah?” he asks, excited.
“You know, I kind of like you too.”
“What about love?” Jennings questions, apprehensive.
“Jenns,” I start. I don’t want him to push this. “I’m still in the beginning stages of finding myself. How can I love you when—when I don’t know how?”
“So, you’re afraid.” He doesn’t acknowledge it as a question. “You’re lost.”
I sit up from lying on his chest, combing my hands through my hair. I blow a puff of air out of my lungs.
Anyone but Him Page 32
