“You pulled me from a darkness I’ve only experienced once before. You changed me, Willow. You gave me something to run toward. You’re that light,” he whispers, unraveling our hands before slowly gliding his up my arms and over my shoulders, along my neck until he grasps my face, tilting my head up. I have nowhere to look but at him, his beautifully rough features and soft, fervent eyes. “Nothing I learned today—no secret kept, no burden carried, no choice you’ve made changes that for me. I’ve long thought your strength came in spades, often left speechless by the resilience you’ve shown, but that is amplified beyond words now, Willow.” Leaning forward, Weston’s eyes don’t leave mine as he kisses my forehead tenderly, murmuring into my skin, “A choice like that is insurmountable, and your ability to find joy, to bring it to the world with every breath you take, is astonishing to me.”
I grip his forearms with enough force to leave marks, my way of ensuring he’s real. He’s holding me through it, just as he promised. I slip my arms beneath his, flushing our chests together as I bury my face into his neck—holding him too.
“You don’t think differently of me?” I ask, voice muffled in his shirt.
“Only in the way that your courage extends far beyond what I’d understood before.” I tilt my face against his warm neck, his throat working with a swallow against my lips. “Do you think differently of me?”
“Only in the way that your strength extends far beyond what I’d understood before,” I mimic him, a smile pulling at my mouth where it rests upon his flesh.
His chest shakes with a laugh before he pulls away and gazes down at me, his eyes study mine, something unwritten and raw shimmering with the reflection of the stars above us.
“I want you to be mine, Willow,” he says on a ragged breath.
“I am,” I begin, but he shakes his head, cutting me off.
“Not in the form of possession. Not in the way that word is so often interpreted. I don’t want to own you, I want to love you. In a way that’s never been experienced by anyone else before.” Hands drifting over my spine, gripping my hips with fervency, Weston drops his forehead to mine. “I want to love you in a way that’s as rare and ethereal as I find you. I want you to know depth and acceptance and adoration beyond your comprehension. Something unfathomed by any book you’ve read, any movie you’ve seen, or song you’ve heard. A kind of love curated and endlessly existing with your soul in mind.”
I choke on the potency of Weston’s emotion, as if his conviction is soaking directly into the depths of my being, lighting a flame that didn’t exist before he placed it there.
“Wes . . .”
He squeezes my hips, shaking his head against mine. “Please, let me get this out, Willow. I need you to understand.”
I nod, closing my eyes,feelinghim instead. His jagged breath and drumming heart, the heat in his flesh and the gravity in his veins—I submerge myself in him entirely. In all the love he’s created solely for me.
“I want to love you with expertise no other could accomplish. I want to be worthy of you. Iwantto earn it, Willow. I want you to be mine, but maybe the better way of expressing myself is by saying that I want my love to beyours.”
“It is,” I whisper with rapid urgency. Brushing my lips over his, I rasp, “Weston, look at me. Please.” His lashes flutter, and even in darkness, he’s blazing with infinite brightness when his gaze falls on me. “My love is yours. I am yours.” I smile, misthazing my vision as his acceptance rushes through me, glowing bright and all-consuming—an eternal flame he lit inside my soul. “I love you.”
He trembles, exhaling a relieved and tormented breath into my mouth before surging forward, kissing the tears that spilled from my eyes and landed on my lips—consuming my very being. Endless whisperings of “I love you” are echoed along my skin as he lays me back, hovering over me and blanketing me in his steady heat.
“Come to bed with me,” he begs.
I nod as he helps me stand, leading me through the darkness and into light.
Once we’re inside, he strips me bare—tortuously slow and purposeful, savoring every inch of skin exposed to him. He carries me to bed, laying me down with tender hands. He whispers sweet nothings along my flesh before aligning our bodies, twining our fingers together and pushing inside me with a breathless whimper—an answered prayer.
Our love is a living element, a potent haze in the air around us as we find healing in each other’s arms.
CHAPTER 38
WESTON
“The fuck is on your leg?” my girlfriend’s dad asks, eyeing us as we climb the steps of the big house’s back porch hand in hand.
I glance down, realizing my tattoo—now free from second skin—is peeking out beneath the hem of my shorts. “A tattoo.”
“Of what?” Darby asks, hair falling over her shoulder as she tilts her head, lifting her coffee mug to her mouth.
The couple sits on a swing, Leo rocking them back and forth lightly with his heels while his wife curls up beneath his arm, knees drawn into her chest and a book beside her. It’s a picture of simple, Sunday morning peace—the kind I imagine most people dream about their whole lives.
“It’s a...” I swallow, rubbing the back of my neck. “A stained-glass window.”
“It reminds him of me,” Willow says breezily, beaming at her parents.
Darby’s brows rise, eyes widening before a soft, knowing smile spreads over her lips—if I’m not mistaken, I think it may be a look of approval.
Her husband, however, frowns. “A little early for dedicated ink, no?”
