Love Me Like I Love You

by Willow Winters

  When I take the exit off I-10, it dawns on me that I never called my parents to let them know I was driving back tonight. They’re not expecting me until Saturday since I told them I wanted to take my time to pack up, have some last-minute girl time with Stephanie, and not be so rushed. Turning into our neighborhood, I automatically make the right turn into Hollis’ driveway and park behind his truck.

  As soon as I turn off the ignition, everything hits me at once. Mr. Jay’s gone forever. Hollis and I have never dealt with a death in the family, and I know everyone grieves differently. What if he doesn’t want me here? What if he just wants to be alone?

  The humidity is already growing thick inside my car now that the air’s not running, so I palm my keys and slide out, slipping my phone in my back pocket. Standing in the driveway, I decide to check the treehouse first before I brave ringing the doorbell and risk facing Mrs. Barnes.

  I stride through the backyard, quickly climb the ladder, and hesitantly push open the door before poking my head inside. As soon as I lay eyes on him, relief settles through me a split second before anxiousness takes its place. I hover, unsure if I should climb the rest of the way inside.

  In a pair of khakis and a dark cotton T-shirt, he’s sprawled on the air mattress he stores inside, a fresh blanket draped over it, and his flip-flops are kicked off in a corner. Two bed pillows prop him up, his dark hair contrasting with the pale blue pillowcases.

  He takes a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle before clumsily setting it on the floor. The bottle’s just shy of a quarter of the way empty, and he doesn’t even glance my way. Instead, his dull gaze is trained on the ceiling like it holds the secrets of the world. It’s startling when he finally speaks in a flat monotone, making it clear he’s aware of my presence.

  “Either get in or out.”

  It’s not rude, the way he says it. Just…matter of fact. There’s no emotion, no heat in his words. It’s like he’s an empty shell.

  Anguish assaults me, much like the way the waves batter against the Gulf shoreline during the fiercest of storms, at seeing Hollis like this.

  I quickly climb the rest of the way inside and kick off my flip-flops. Slipping my phone from the back pocket of my shorts, I set it and my keys on the shelf. Silence hangs heavily between us, the only sound the low din of the old window unit air conditioner.

  Moving to stand beside him, I gentle my tone. “Can I just…lie with you?”

  His eyes fall closed, his expression tortured, and I sink my top teeth into my lower lip anxiously. Maybe it was a bad decision to come here. I’m only bothering him. I spin around, ready to leave him be, when the scratchy rasp of his voice stops me.

  “Please.” One word. That’s all he says. But it holds so much meaning.

  Instantly, I lower myself and curl my body around him. He raises his arm, and I rest my cheek against his chest. The tension radiating through him is practically tangible, and I hold him tight, wishing I could comfort him somehow because, good Lord, I know this isn’t enough.

  “I can’t believe he’s gone.” His hushed voice overflows with sadness. I detect the faintest slurring of his words from the effects of the whiskey.

  I press my eyes closed at the rush of tears threatening to spill. “Neither can I.”

  Mr. Jay was an amazing man. Warm, friendly, and with a heart of gold, that man never once judged me because of my family. He never saw the money or politics most others do.

  He was the man who taught me how to hold a hammer correctly and the difference between a Phillips head and a flat-head screwdriver. When their old refrigerator died, he’d taught Hollis and me how to use Teflon tape when hooking up the ice maker on the new one and how to lay down a thin piece of toilet paper beneath the connection to check for leaks.

  As we got older, he may have had less and less free time due to his work schedule, but I knew, sure as the sun would rise the next day, that he loved with all his heart. He’d taken me in and always treated me as he did Hollis. And I would forever be grateful to him for it.

  “I have to meet with the attorney.” Hollis’ voice is so faint, I strain to hear him. “Apparently, he named me executor of his will.”

  “When is the—”

  “There won’t be one.” His answer is succinct.

  Alarmed, I raise my head to peer down at him, but his eyes are still closed. He mumbles, “He didn’t want a funeral or anythin’ showy. He told me that, time and again.”

  I frown but lower my head again. Placing a palm over the center of his chest, I cautiously ask him what I’ve been wondering all along. “What happened?”

  “He went to the ER, thinkin’ he was havin’ a heart attack. He had an aortic aneurysm.” His chest rises and falls with deep breaths, like he’s fighting against his riotous emotions. “It ruptured before they could do anythin’.”

  I tighten my hold on him, and even though I try my best to be quiet, tears cascade down my cheeks freely, dampening his cotton shirt.

  His hoarse voice is heavy with a mixture of anger and hurt. “The worst thing is, Mom can’t be bothered with any of it.” A rough laugh breaks free, but it’s the furthest thing from humorous. “She’s upset because he was due to get a bonus once he hit his anniversary mark in two months.”

  “Oh, Hollis,” I whisper raggedly.

  Silence hangs heavily between us, for so long that he startles me when he finally speaks again.

  “I go downtown to sign some things tomorrow mornin’.” He lets out a long sigh. “I plan on finishin’ that bottle over there tonight.” The grief in his voice makes it sound huskier than normal. “You might wanna head home.”

  I tense. “Are you spendin’ the night out here?”

  “Mmhmm.”

  I hesitate before asking, “Can I—” I break off nervously, before forging on. “Stay here with you?” Then I rush to add on hurriedly, “Just to make sure you’re okay since you plan on drinkin’ and everythin’.”

  “You don’t have to watch over me, Shortcake.” A hint of a smile graces his voice. He presses a light kiss to the top of my head.

  “I know,” I say softly. “But if it’s okay, I’d like to stay here with you.”

  Hollis exhales a long, slow breath, and when he doesn’t immediately answer, I worry he’ll refuse.

  He catches me off guard when he whispers, pressing his lips to my hairline, “You’re really the only person I want with me right now.” He pauses a beat. “But I’m not sure you should see me like this.”

  “I’d like to stay,” I repeat gently. “I just”—my voice cracks, and I pause before regaining my composure—“don’t want you to be alone.”

  “You’re probably hungry after that drive,” he murmurs quietly.

  “A little.” A faint smile tugs at my mouth. Only my best friend would be worried about me and whether I’ve eaten at a time like this.

  “Want pizza?”

  I raise my head to peer down at him. “I can order it for us.” I’m sure he’s forgotten to eat, so maybe I can get some food into him too.

  He reaches up to gently cup the side of my face with his palm. “Thank you.” His eyes bore into mine with heartfelt urgency. “For bein’ here when I need you.”

  “Of course,” I whisper. He closes his eyes, one edge of his lips tipping up faintly, and I gently add, “I’m always here for you.”

  I dip my head to press a light kiss to his cheek. But at the last second, he shifts, and my lips land on the left side of his mouth instead.

  We both freeze in place. The softness of his lips, the sensations that bombard me instantly cause my breath to lodge in my throat, and my eyes widen in shock.

  His eyes open slowly, and when I start to back away, about to offer a hasty apology, his palm moves to my nape, drawing me to a stop. With an intense gaze centered on me, he guides me to meet his mouth again. It’s achingly slow, as though he’s giving me time to turn away. But the heat in the depths of his dark eyes drags me under, and I can’t bear t
o do anything but place my lips on his again.

  Little coaxing kisses lull me into a fog of lust. The playful nip of his teeth to my bottom lip has me gasping, and he takes full advantage of it. He deepens the kiss, his tongue diving inside to toy with mine, and soon, it’s hard to decipher who’s really kissing who.

  Grief. Everyone processes it differently, and I know that maybe I’m allowing him to use me as an escape, but I don’t care. Because right now, with Hollis’ body against mine, it feels right. Perfect. Like the precise moment the scorching summer sun beats down on your skin in midday, warming you through to your center. The comforting heat settles deep and soothes you so thoroughly to your bones.

  That’s how this feels.

  I can’t get enough of him. He tastes like whiskey and those breath mints he often carries with him. More than that, though, he tastes familiar. Even though the last time he kissed me was nearly two months ago, my body recognizes him instantly. Every single part of me is on full alert.

  Our kiss turns frantic, devouring, and I end up beneath him, with his hard body braced above me. Fingers of his other hand tangle in my hair, and he works his mouth on mine. I fist my hands in the soft fabric of his shirt, dragging the hem upward desperate to touch him. When my fingers graze his hot, muscled flesh, a deep growl reverberates in his chest.

  I spread my thighs wider, eager for him to press against where I ache for him most. His khakis don’t do much to mask his arousal prodding insistently against the front of the fabric, and he rocks against me in a way that rips a little moan from my throat. The sound of it seems to urge him on because the kiss gets wetter, a little wilder, and he rocks his hardness against the spot where the ache grows more and more urgent.

  When he eases away slightly, a dark lock of hair slides over his forehead, and I smooth it back. His eyes study me as if he’s trying to decipher my thoughts.

  “Magnolia.” Urgency and torment are interlaced in his tone. “I don’t wanna fuck up our friendship any more than I did that night.”

  Even though it became more of a silent agreement that we’d never bring up what happened the night things imploded between Preston and me and swept everything under the carpet, he’s bringing it out in the open now.

  Hollis

  Her blue eyes hold mine, her breath whispering against my lips when she speaks.

  “This feels right to me. But”—a crease forms between her brows—“if you don’t want this...” She swallows hard, and it practically echoes throughout the treehouse. Gaze dropping to focus on my chest, when she whispers, the uncertainty and vulnerability are unmistakable. “I’ve just…never felt this with anyone else.”

  I rest my forehead against hers, closing my eyes. The whiskey may have dulled my pain slightly, but I haven’t drank enough to not know what the hell I’m doing—and what I’m fucking craving to do.

  “You can show me what I’ve been missin’.” Her words hang between us, and for a split second, I’m too scared to respond.

  I clear my throat, attempting to rein in some composure, before I raise my head. “You want me to show you…?” My shocked disbelief is obvious.

  She traces a fingertip along my bottom lip in such a light caress that it sends a shudder down my spine. Her eyes blaze with something that borders between uncertainty and intent. “Everythin’ I’ve been missin’.”

  I can’t help the playful smirk that forms as I lean back, resting on my knees. My eyes drift over her eager yet still nervous expression. “I’m about to show you what those assholes have been missin’ out on.”

  Tugging off my T-shirt, I let it drop to the floor and don’t miss the way her eyes drift over my body in appreciation. With her hips cradled in my hands, I gently graze my thumbs over the silky skin just beneath the hem of her shirt. Her breath catches, eyes darkening, her gaze searing me with heat. When her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip, I can’t restrain my groan.

  I unfasten her shorts and ease them down her long legs and toss them aside. Taking in the sight of her with the sunlight pouring in through the small window, I smooth my palms up her thighs and settle on her pale yellow cotton panties. My dick jerks at the sight of the damp spot, and I flick my eyes back and forth between it and her eyes that study me with a mixture of anticipation and blatant want.

  I skim my thumbs along the elastic edges of her underwear, then carefully slip beneath it, watching her closely for any sign she wants me to stop.

  “Is this okay?” My voice is gravelly and thick. I swear my dick is about to wear a hole through my khakis, it’s pressing so hard against the zipper.

  She nods with a breathless, “Yes.”

  Her body arches when my thumb glides along where she’s already so wet, and my guttural, “Fuck,” practically echoes between us.

  “Touch me. Please.” She whispers this with a hint of hesitance as though she’s not sure I want to. As if she doesn’t realize how badly I’m dying to rip off these panties and taste her on my fucking tongue.

  The instant I spread her thighs wider, her scent engulfs me, and my dick hardens even more. Beneath her panties, I graze her opening with the pad of my thumb. When she immediately stiffens, I freeze. My eyes lift to hers cautiously.

  “It’s just your calluses—” she says in the faintest whisper.

  “Sorry.” I lift my palms away. “So many rough spots from—”

  “Don’t stop.” Her tongue darts along her bottom lip again, and it brings all sorts of X-rated ideas to mind. “They’re rough.” Hurriedly, she tacks on, “In a good way.”

  With a gentle grip of her thighs, I bracket her entrance with my palms, holding her panties aside to bare her.

  Shit, she’s glistening and pink and so. Fucking. Perfect.

  I gently trace the pad of my thumb along her slick lips, and her sharp intake of breath morphs into a moan when I sink just the tip of it inside her. She’s so goddamn wet. I’m torn between wanting to fuck her with my tongue and make her scream and the urge to push inside right now and be her first.

  Her hands suddenly reach down to shove her underwear off, and I move back to help her. Once they’re tossed aside, she’s hit with sudden shyness and tries to close her thighs, but I stop her with my hands.

  “Don’t hide from me.” My voice comes out more gruff sounding than I intended. I swear she’s nearly sending me over the edge before I’ve even tasted her. I soften my tone. “You’re perfect. So goddamn wet,” I say on a half groan.

  Her pussy glistens, and I lean forward to spread her apart with my thumbs. My eyes dart to hers as my mouth hovers over her. Her scent drives me fucking wild. “Please tell me I can taste you.”

  Her hands move to latch onto my wrists, her features lined with nervousness. “I, um…”

  Pressing my lips together, I force myself to regain some control before I speak. I need to put her at ease. Holding her gaze, I promise, “If I do anythin’ you don’t like, you tell me. Okay?”

  She nods, her top teeth sinking into her bottom lip, and it makes me want to give her a much better reason to do that.

  I lower my focus to where no man has ever put his mouth. The fact that I’m her first, that she’s letting me, sends a fierce sense of pride rushing through me.

  But along with it comes the understanding that I have to make sure I don’t fuck this up. That I manage to shove aside the lingering haze from the whiskey and pay attention to any cues that she doesn’t like—or wants—something.

  I dip my head close and draw her clit into my mouth, sucking briefly before releasing it and repeating the action. Her hips arch instinctively, and her body’s response urges me on.

  Internally, I chant, Go slow, go slow, go slow, because every urge drives me to fit my mouth to her. To devour her like she’s my last meal and I’m an inmate on death row. To completely disregard the fact that she’s a virgin. That none of the assholes she’d dated bothered to take the time to make her feel good like this.

  With the tip of my tongue, I toy with her cl
it, intermittently sucking gently. Her fingers thread through my hair, gripping me as if she’s afraid I’ll stop. My mouth glides lower, and I work her clit in slow circles while placing wet openmouthed kisses to her pussy.

  When I get to her opening, I drive my tongue deep inside her, and her taste—God, her taste—has my dick harder than it’s ever been before. I suck at her lips, then run my tongue over her entrance before thrusting it inside again. I’m a madman, desperate for more of her taste. Again and again, my tongue surges inside her, as deep as I can, while I stroke her clit.

  She works herself over my tongue, riding my face. I add more pressure to her clit and continue driving my tongue deep inside her. Her thighs tense on either side of me, and I know she’s close.

  “Hollis.” This time, the way she says my name on a whimper-like moan has me pressing my dick against the mattress to try to stave off the urge to come in my fucking pants.

  I increase my efforts on her clit while I feast on her. A moment later, she goes rigid before her inner muscles spasm around my tongue, her thighs closing tight against my head while she rides out her orgasm.

  Once her shudders subside, I draw away. It just about kills me because she tastes so damn good.

  I move her legs aside now that they’re relaxed and not trying to cinch me in place, and their limpness sends a surge of male pride through me because I’ve done this. That I was the first guy to go down on her and make her come all over my face.

  Rising up to rest my weight on one forearm, I drag my other hand over my mouth to clean off her wetness. She probably won’t want to kiss me if I taste like—

  “Hollis?”

  The gentle affection in her voice, even with the lingering breathlessness, has my mouth curving upward. “Shortcake?”

  “Will you…” She trails off for so long I don’t think she’ll finish. Finally, she adds with a barely audible whisper, “Kiss me?”

  I don’t bother answering her. I shift so I’m nearly nose to nose with her.