“Give me those eyes and tell me that again.”
Her head snaps down, and I see the way she struggles to open her eyes. It has my cock pulsing. If I hadn’t just come, I’d be coming now. Willow could make me blow on eye contact alone, I think. Half-lidded and swimming with desire, her gaze is a shimmering display—reflective blue pools, our shared need rippling back at me.
“Good.” She pants, pink lips parted. “So good, baby.”
I groan deeply, the sound of it vibrating against her perfect pussy. “I’m going to make you come now, Willow.”
I set a new pace with my tongue, matching my fingers, as I close my lips around her clit. We both become a mess as I suck her into my mouth with conviction, mixing my saliva with her arousal. The sound of it is obscene—purely erotic. Shethrashes against my face and hand, chanting a rapid string of unintelligible words, only one ringing through the quiet house with clarity.
Weston.
Her fingers twist in my hair, tugging hard as her legs lock around my neck and she writhes against my face. I feel the very moment she breaks—her entire body goes taut before becoming boneless as she falls flat against the counter, and her release floods past my hand.
I don’t stop, though. I haven’t had my fill.
I slow my movements, coaxing her down from her high before removing my fingers and dragging my mouth to her entrance, lapping every last drop of her climax until her breathing becomes shallow, her moaning dims, and she presses against my forehead, pushing me away.
“Hyper,” she breathes, “sensitive.”
I laugh against her core before rising from my knees. Her legs hang off the counter limply as she lies on her back with an arm thrown over her eyes. The picture of flawless satiation.
I brace my arms against the marble, hovering over her. She slowly blinks one eye open, studying me intently before murmuring, “You weren’t supposed to be so good at that.”
“I’m a determined man, Wills.”
“Achingly aware.” She sighs.
“Can I tell you something?” I ask, my tone less playful than before. The way she lowers her arm, both eyes fluttering open as her brows draw together tells me she heard it too. “You are unbelievably beautiful, and that experience was far superior to anything I’ve ever dreamed up in my head. I know I can’t erase your insecurities instantly, but I hope in time, you’ll let me continue breaking them away—brick by brick. I hope, someday, you’ll tell me why they exist too.”
“Wes,” she whispers, lifting to her elbows. Her eyes glow with hazed fervor. She opens her mouth before closing it, several times, and I realize she’s at a loss for words.
So, I continue on a lighter note, “I think I’ve become addicted to the way your pussy tastes, Wills. I’m not sure I can live without it now. I should be able to survive on a once-per-day fix.” I smirk when it pulls a smile from her. “If I have a real hankering though, I might need to double up. I know it’s a little high maintenance, but if you could accommodate, I’d really appreciate?—”
“Shut up.” She laughs, surging forward to kiss me.
Grasping my face between her hands, Willow’s lips move over mine—a delicate claim. When her tongue swipes over mine, and she exhales a soft moan into my mouth, I swallow it—imagining she’s addicted to the taste of us too.
“I know there is a lot I haven’t shared, and I promise I want to... with you,” she murmurs, peppering kisses over my jaw and neck. Lifting her head to meet my gaze, she continues, “I told you—I think you’re healing me, Wes, but sometimes it’s slower than I wish it would be.”
“Don’t apologize for mending on your own timeline, Wills. I’ll be right here with you the entire time, no matter how long it takes.” I kiss her nose gently. “You’re healing me too, and I have things I haven’t shared either. We’ll get there. I promise. In the meantime, I’m just enjoying the journey with you.”
“Me too.” Her face lights with a subtle smile—like sunrise over the Pacific. “I trust you implicitly, I hope you know that. I have trouble sharing details of that night because it hurts me to speak them aloud—not because I’m afraid to speak them toyou.”
“I know, love. I understand.” I grasp her chin with one hand as the other sprawls over her back and tug her against me. Our hearts pound in sync—a current that tethers our beings. “I have memories that hurt to speak aloud too. We’ll get there.”
My mind drifts to my mother—the day I lost her. The aftermath. The smirk on my father’s face when he realized he’d evaded consequences. My memory flashes years later, when I saw him again. The depths of rage that hummed beneath my skin, the killer instincts that bled from me that day. My life on trial, clusters of lawyers and isolation—the way I had to lie about just how badly I wanted to kill him to escape punishment myself.
Part of me wants to tell Willow I’ve been researching options for counseling. It’s a little tricky—being in Pacific Shores now but knowing I’ll return to Santa Monica at the end of the summer. I’ve found a few closer to Santa Monica that offer virtual sessions, so I could start while I’m still living here.
I don’t know how either of us can fall completely if we don’t figure out a way to disclose the depths of our pain. I think that might be the entire point of love—finding someone who helps carry it with us, who walks beside us as we mend our broken pieces, healing wounds they never caused.
More than I’ve ever been sure of anything, I am sure I want Willow to be that person for me.
I don’t know if I believe in soulmates or fate or meant to be, but I think I might believe in earning love like that. In creating them ourselves, and each day spent with her, I’m more confident that Willow is the person I’d fight like hell to have forever.
But I know it doesn’t help to pressure someone into therapy if they’re not ready. It’s counterproductive—drives them away from healing. So, for now, I simply smile at her before kissing her once more.
She grins against my mouth, murmuring, “We should probably get ready to go.”
