When he kisses me, I realize that is perhaps the most precise way to describe this—us. Heated touch and soul-deep warmth, Weston’s love is like rays of sun filtering over my face, iridescentspectrums of color dancing across my skin—like he anchored it and brought it home for me.
He sighs contentedly into my mouth, and I settle back into his chest and continue drawing over his skin. His thumb circles my shoulder, while his other hand brushes my hair behind my ear, and his lips press into the top of my head. He pulls me in tighter, tethering us together so that he’s in contact with as much as my skin as possible.
He’s always like this, burrowing as close to me as our bodies will allow. As if he’s finally discovered the divinity of a soul-deep caress.
“You know, I think your love language might be physical touch after all,” I say softly.
“No, Willow. My love language is you,” he responds, voice like daylight.
EPILOGUE
WESTON
Five Years Later
“Ijust have one last question for you, Weston.”
I smile awkwardly, crossing my ankles as I settle back on the sofa, reminding myself it’s almost over. Lou and my publicist, Chloe,insistedI take this interview, but I’ve never gotten used to the moving cameras in front of my face or the boom mic hovering above my head.
“Absolutely,” I say through my teeth, hoping that the worldwide live audience isn’t picking up how much I’m sweating right now.
“Any big plans for celebrating your new status as an Olympic Medalist?”
The most genuine grin I’ve accomplished throughout the duration of this interview spreads across my cheeks, followed by a breathless laugh. With a shake of my head, my eyes flit to Lou, whom I know for certain pre-screens every question I’m asked.
She’s standing, pantsuit-clad, even in the tropics, with her arms crossed at her chest. She must be damn near six foot in the heels she has on, and as she tosses her long blond hair over her shoulder, she looks every bit the powerhouse agent I know her to be. Popping a brow, she taps a finger against her wrist.
Her not-so-subtle hint at eagerness for me to make the move everyone has been waiting for.
I face the camera, looking directly into the lens for the first time this evening. “Oh, I have big, big plans.” I turn toward the interviewer. “But you’ll have to wait for that.”
She laughs animatedly, thanking me for my time before closing out. Once the lights dim and the cameras shut off, I stand from the sofa and wipe my hands down my thighs. It’s a make-shift studio set up in a banquet room of the hotel hosting the Olympic Surf Trials.
The podium ceremony was a couple of days ago, and Lou had us stay around for press, but I couldn’t be happier to hop on a plane tomorrow morning and fly back to California. The rest of the family flew home after Liv and I received our medals. I took silver, which I’m incredibly proud of considering it is my first games. Livia took gold, for the third time, but it was the perfect way to close out her career.
With two toddlers, it’s become a bit much for her and Lou to handle all the travel involved with both of their careers, and Livis retiring so they can finally settle down—well, as settled as the two of them could be. They’ll still spend half the year in Costa Rica with Liv’s siblings.
“Did I do okay?” I ask as I reach Lou.
She holds up a finger, and I realize she’s got an ear bud in. She scoffs, rolling her eyes before barking something about contract deadlines and not to call her about bullshit again, before pressing on the earpiece and sighing.
“Yeah, Wes, you did well. You’re personable without being overindulgent, which is good enough for me.”
I don’t know what the fuck that means, but I shrug it off.
We walk through the hotel lobby, the sun a blazing orange orb through the paneled windows that look out toward the Tahitian coastline. I should have just enough time to make it to mine and Willow’s room before the sun completely sets.
When we reach the elevators, Lou reminds me not to be late for our early flight tomorrow, then reminds me that she’s done working for the evening and not to bother her.
I promise just that—because I imagine she’ll want to be occupied in exactly the same way I will—as I step off at the twelfth floor. Willow and I booked a spacious suite with a private balcony, but the Costa-Ramoses have the penthouse. They claim it’s because it’s the only suite large enough to accommodate their kids, but I’m certain Liv’s taste for luxury is the true reason.
When I reach our room at the end of the hall, I press the card against the door and push it open. “Hey, Wills. Are you cool if we just order room serv—” My words die on my tongue as I round the corner between the sitting area and the bedroom of our suite, finding Willow sitting at the end of our bed, propped back on her elbows with my medal nestled perfectly between her bare breasts.
She’s completely naked, miles of smooth, tanned skin splayed out in front of me like a fucking offering. She widens herlegs just enough to give me the tiniest tease of her pussy, and I now have saliva pooling on my tongue like a man starved.
My gaze selfishly eats up every inch of her, until I slowly make my way to her face—God’s finest fucking masterpiece. She tilts her head, luscious long hair drifting across her collarbone as her ocean eyes blink at me innocently.
“Yeah, baby. We can order room service, but I thought you might want dessert first.”
