Breathing Wisteria

by Rose, Amali

  “Ah, fuck.” He moves toward me, but I sidestep him and move to the kitchen. I feel him follow me, watching as I pull a bottle of vodka out of the refrigerator and grab a glass from the sink.

  “It’s okay to be angry, no one would blame you.”

  “Well, gee, thanks for that insight.” I slam the drink down, enjoying the burn of the straight alcohol.

  I storm back past him and suddenly all I can think about is getting out of this apartment. But of course, I can’t. Because of him.

  I turn around and face him. “I want you to go. Leave, now.”

  He leans back against the wall, not even slightly conflicted.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Cherry.”

  “Yes, you are. Now!” I raise a hand and point to the door somewhat hysterically.

  He pushes himself off the wall, frustration rolling off him in waves.

  “Talk to me!” he yells. “If anyone understands this, it’s me, so talk. To. Me.”

  “You think you understand?” I snort out an ironic laugh. “You don’t understand shit.”

  “I lost her too, Wyatt.” His voice is low and gravelly, full of pain. “You don’t have a monopoly on grief. I have to live with it too.”

  I close my eyes and shake my head emphatically, tears biting behind my eyelids.

  “It’s not the same,” I scream, losing all pretense of control. “You can have another baby. You can have a hundred babies if you want.” I point a finger at him aggressively. “So don’t tell me you understand. You understand nothing.”

  “Wyatt.” His voice calm and he walks purposefully toward me, his hands landing on my upper arms and squeezing gently. “You will too. We’ll get our family. It might take us longer than we thought it would all those years ago, but you will hold our baby in your arms one day.”

  His words are meant to comfort me, but instead they steal the fight from me and I sag into his arms in defeat.

  “No, I won’t,” I whisper. “Because I can’t have children anymore.”

  Flynn

  Her face crumples slightly as the words leave her mouth, but she stares at me defiantly.

  “What?” I need her to repeat herself because there’s no way I heard what I think I just heard.

  “I can’t have kids, Flynn. So now you see why we will never work.” She moves away from me, in the direction of the door. “You should go now, please.”

  I shake my head, walking in the opposite direction, and I take a seat at the small dinette set.

  “I don’t understand. The doctors never said you couldn’t have kids.” My mind is refusing to accept this. I was there. I was at every appointment. Every exam. We were warned that any future pregnancy would be high risk, but never, not once, did they say we couldn’t have a baby.

  Her shoulders drop, and she walks slowly over to the table, taking a seat opposite me. Her eyes are so fucking sad I have to look away.

  “It happened a few years later. I was having horrible abdominal pain and when I went to the doctor, I was diagnosed with endometriosis. More tests showed that I had severe scarring on both fallopian tubes.” Her entire demeanor is resigned. “The chances of me getting pregnant are almost zero.”

  I can’t look at her. Her pain is too much for me, so I keep my eyes locked on the huge picture window on the other side of the room and concentrate on keeping my breathing even.

  “I warned you,” she whispers, her voice aching with grief. “I told you we couldn’t happen, I wish you’d just left it alone.”

  Her admission snaps me out of my trance and for the first time, I feel a surge of anger toward her.

  “You think we won’t be together because you can’t have kids?”

  “You want kids, Flynn. God, when I was pregnant, you were already talking about the next one.” She leans forward and rests her head in her hands before continuing, her voice slightly muffled. “I can’t give you what you want anymore.”

  I act instinctively, my hand slamming painfully down on the table.

  “You are what I want. Don’t you dare act like you’re doing this for me.” I fume. “You don’t get to break my fucking heart again and tell me it’s all for me.”

  “It is for you,” she screams, shooting up. The sound of her chair crashing to the floor reverberates throughout the room. “I’m broken, Flynn, and do you know why I’m broken? Because I fucking ran toward a fire instead of away from it.” Her voice cracks on a sob. “What kind of fucking idiot does that, huh? I lost everything because I made one wrong decision. All of this”—she waves a hand between us—“is my fault. Mine.”

  She sinks to the ground, her hands covering her face and her body convulsing as tears slide down her face.

  It’s a moment before I can move, her words paralyzing me, but when I do, I can’t get to her fast enough.

  I wrap my hand around her neck and pull her to me, her cheek soft against my own. She clings on to my t-shirt, pulling me to her as though she is trying to climb inside me. I wish to God I had the words she needs, the words that can heal her. But all I can do is hold her and make promise after promise that we are going to survive this.

  So that’s what I do.

  I hold her until her body calms and her pained wails taper down to quiet whimpers.

  I hold her until her face turns to mine, her eyes troubled and her mouth swollen.

  I hold her until her hands land on my jaw and the sound of her fingertips scraping along my stubble is all I can hear.

  I hold her until our pain and need become entangled, charging the air around us.

  Only when her lips find my neck do I let go. But just long enough to stand.

  I drag her body up with me before my hands slide down along her curves and grasp her ass. Any illusion of control vanishes, and I slam my mouth to hers, all skill I have deserting me. It’s messy and it’s real. Just like us.

  She moves against me, pushing me back, her mouth never breaking our connection. I take the hint and lower my grip to her thighs, curling around them and lifting her up. She wraps her legs around me, crossing her feet at my back, and grinding her pussy against the waistband of my jeans.

  I turn and move quickly to her bedroom. Our bodies are connected from head to foot, but it’s still not enough. The need to consume her, to wreck her once and for all for anyone else, fuels my movements.

  She moans around my tongue and my cock hardens to the point of pain. I want to take my time with her, cherish her the way a real fucking man should, but neither one of us has the patience for that now.

  I step blindly into her room, darkness enveloping us. Our bodies are movement and music, shadowed by melancholy, but driven by hope.

  The last few steps to her bed are filled with urgent touches, her tongue sliding along mine with demanding strokes. I swallow her moans eagerly, the desire to taste her everywhere is devastating.

  She bounces lightly when I drop her on the bed and a giggle falls from her lips that are now red and swollen and will look pretty fucking spectacular when they’re wrapped around my cock later.

  “Flynn?” The sound of her voice, small and unsure, distracts me, drawing my gaze up until I meet her eyes. “You gonna write a song about me one day?”

  My heart thumps in my chest, racing in a way that makes me want to live forever just so I can experience it a million fucking times over.

  The curve of Wyatt’s breast is pressed against my chest, and I revel in her softness, the way she feels under me. Over me. Any fucking way I can get her.

  This feeling is slightly unsettling, but far from unwelcome. I fucked a lot of girls back home, but none ever consumed me the way Wyatt Monroe has since the moment I saw her.

  Her hand is playing across my stomach, her fingers teasing patterns along my skin and when a soft sigh slips out, her breath warms my chest.

  She pulls back, turning slightly so she is facing me, and her eyes are assessing.

  “I liked that.”

  A loud laugh rolls through me and not f
or the first time I consider how much I love her honesty.

  “I liked it too.” I chuckle, punctuating my words with a kiss to her nose.

  “You gonna write a song about me one day?”

  I shake my head at her question because she has no. Fucking. Idea.

  Rolling over, I press my body up along hers and thread a hand through her hair, pulling her mouth to me. She tastes like cherry Chapstick and I can’t get enough.

  I pull back slightly, only a fraction of space between us, the heat of her breaths comforting, and I give her the only answer I have.

  “Every song until the day I die.”

  I can’t take my eyes off her, this moment shining a light on the vulnerability she normally hides so fiercely. Regret punches me in the gut as I realize exactly what I lost all of those years ago. I let guilt steal what I loved the most. I let it feed my demons and fuel my nightmares. Only she can heal me.

  We can finally heal each other.

  She watches me closely, exposed and waiting.

  “Every song until the day I die.”

  Her smile is explosive, the pull between us proving too much for her to fight.

  “Cherry?” There’s an edge to my voice as I reach behind me and pull off my t-shirt.

  “Hmmm.” Her voice is perfectly distracted, her eyes locked on my hands that are now working my zipper down.

  “Get your damn clothes off.”

  She balks at my demand, her eyes narrowing, a glint of defiance shining bright. Her mouth opens, probably to curse me out, but it closes just as quickly when I step out of my jeans and fist my cock roughly.

  “Now.”

  She hops to her knees, teeth biting down on her bottom lip in a way that has me desperate to lick the sting away with my tongue. She makes quick work of removing her simple white tank and yoga pants leaving her incredible curves in black lace that I’m tempted to rip off.

  “Turn around.” There’s a moment where I think she’s going to argue with me, but instead her face softens and her eyes heat.

  “You’ve gotten bossier, you know that?”

  “I’ve just learned that sometimes you have to take what you want. Now, turn around.”

  This time there is no hesitation in her movement. She swings around and falls onto her hands and knees, ass up in the air just begging for my mouth.

  I move toward her, my hand slowing on my cock before I remove it completely and glide it down her back. Slowly, following the curve of her spine, my hand splays out over her waist, spanning almost the entire distance. I press down, forcing her upper body down to the soft mattress and a harsh grunt pushes past my lips at the sight of her looking at me over her shoulder, her mouth open in a soft O.

  Unable to hold back any longer, I step forward and slide her panties over her ass and down her thighs. I give her ass a fast, sharp slap and then slide my hand down, two fingers slipping easily through her pussy.

  Her groan is muffled by the sheets and it causes my dick to pulse against her thigh.

  “You want my mouth on you, Cherry?” I goad, a fingertip circling her already swollen clit. “You want me to take a little taste? Fuck you with my tongue first?”

  Her eyes close and she pushes back against my hand.

  “Less talking, more doing.” She groans.

  I smirk at the sound of her desperation and climb onto the bed. Pushing my aching cock into the mattress, I spread her legs as wide as her panties allow and swipe my tongue along her cunt. My first taste results in a full-body tremor from Wyatt and a strangled whimper that has me ready to come from that one sound alone.

  My tongue plays with her clit until I can’t take her sounds anymore, the need to get inside her too much. I stop playing around and start eating her out with the urgency of a desperate man. I use my tongue, my fingers, my teeth, loving the grind of her pussy against my face.

  When I feel her clenching around my fingers, and my ears are ringing with the sound of her breathless stutters, I raise my face to her ass and bite down on her rounded cheek.

  Wyatt falls limply to the bed, completely sated, her breathing harsh and I kneel behind her, a lewd smirk on my face.

  “Don’t wimp out on me just yet, baby. I’m not done with you.”

  I reach down and get a firm grip on her hips before I turn her over so she’s on her back, pussy glistening and her hands making their way to her tits. Which are still, unfortunately, encased in the black lace I was getting a hard-on for, only moments ago.

  Leaning down, I hover over her. My mouth ghosts along her lace-covered nipples, my heated breath sending a shiver of anticipation through her body. I lower my lips, running them over the pebbled tip, teasing her and enjoying the groan of frustration that hisses from between her teeth.

  “I swear to God, if you don’t put your mouth on me in the next three seconds, I will never blow you again.” She lifts her head so she can meet my eye. “Ever.”

  I love it when she plays dirty.

  I latch my mouth onto her nipple, sucking hard and enjoying the way her back arches off the bed, before biting down.

  Kneeling back, I take a moment to savor the sight of her before moving down her body and placing a quick kiss on her cunt. Then I straighten and take my cock in hand, gently tapping it on her clit while I watch her watching us, her eyes locked on my dick sliding through her juices.

  I ease the tip in, loving the stretch of her as she takes me, and when her hands grab at my ass trying to draw me in deeper, I give up any pretense of control and thrust in, fully seating myself.

  Refusing to move just yet, I lower my mouth to her neck, kissing along the curve and enjoying the delicacy of her skin. My hands claim her; my touch marking her as mine.

  She is pushing up against me, raising her hips in an effort to get some kind of friction, but I need something from her first.

  “You want me to move?” I whisper, my mouth by her ear. I roll my hips just once.

  “Yes. Please.”

  “We’ve got some stuff we need to work out first.”

  “Now?” Her voice is indignant and her face creases in frustration as she digs her hands into my ass harder.

  “Well, I figure I have your full attention, I should probably take advantage.” I pull back until just the tip of my cock is inside her and she groans out in annoyance.

  “Fine.”

  “Good.” I press my hips forward, pushing back into her roughly and she pushes her head back into the pillow. “You and I are married, yes?”

  “Yes,” she grits out.

  I ease back out.

  “And we are going to stay married. Yes?”

  Her eyes flick to mine and she looks torn, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.

  “Yes,” she whispers.

  I lower my forehead until it rests against hers and just feel her for a moment. The rise and fall of her chest. The slip of her hips against mine.

  “Every song until the day I die,” I rasp out before I slam home, thrusting into her, the need to come almost painful. My mouth takes hers in a savage kiss and when I feel her tightening around me, there is only one word echoing in my mind.

  Mine.

  Wyatt

  A tendril of hair tickles my shoulder, fanning across every time Flynn exhales. My mind is struggling to catch up with everything that has happened over the last few hours.

  My response to Layla’s news was… overwhelming and unexpected. I knew her inevitable announcement would hurt. Seeing anyone pregnant, or with their children, is always a painful reminder. But it’s usually tempered with happiness. Seeing the people I love truly joyful, makes my own sadness bearable.

  But this devastation was paralyzing, and I can only put it down to the re-emergence of Flynn, and the chaos he has thrown my life into. I seem to be feeling everything so much more intensely, and for someone used to burying their feelings, it is proving to be a difficult transition for me.

  Not to mention Flynn.

  Ugh, Flynn.

  Stub
born, won’t-take-no-for-an-answer, asshole Flynn.

  The look in his eyes when he was moving inside of me, telling me what our future holds, was extraordinary. Heat and determination mixed with love and reverence.

  No one has ever looked at me like that, before or after him, and I want to experience it again. I want to be his again, and for him to belong to me, in every sense of the word. But I’m so scared he doesn’t realize what committing to me again means. Everything he will have to sacrifice.

  What if he wakes up one day and decides that I wasn’t worth it.

  “You about done overanalyzing everything?”

  I startle at the sound of his husky whisper, freezing for a moment before I give in to the urge to relax my body into his.

  He kisses my neck softly. Such a stark contrast to the way he was touching me only hours ago.

  “Stop thinking about it.” His hand slides up along my rib cage, cups my breast and gently squeezes my nipple, sending a jolt right to my core. “There’s nothing to think about. There’s nothing to do. We’re good.”

  I push my ass back a little, grinding against his hardening cock.

  “We are so far from good, it’s laughable. But it’s cute that you think so,” I reply with a laugh.

  He moves away from me briefly, putting unwanted space between our bodies before he uses a firm hand on my stomach to push me on my back. Then he moves over me, settling between my open legs, and we are chest to chest, nose to nose.

  “I’m moving to the city. I’d prefer we lived somewhere with a bit more security, but if you want to stay here, we will.” He rocks against me and his lips take a quick taste. “You can travel with me.” His cock slides along my seam deliciously teasing me. “Or not. In which case I’ll cut back on my touring.”

  A groan slips out when the tip of his dick makes contact with my pulsing clit, but I force myself to stay on task.

  “You need to think about what you’ll be giving up. It’s not as straightforward as you’re making it out to be.”

  “I’m not giving up shit. There are plenty of ways we ca—” He is cut off by the sound of pounding on the door.