Love Me Like I Love You

by Willow Winters

  My attention moves to where our bodies are joined. Every time she moves over me, I catch a glimpse of the shiny slickness coating my dick. I raise my eyes to hers.

  “Look at us,” I command. When her eyes follow my focus, her body shudders, but she doesn’t look away. “See how wet you are?” Her eyes flick up to me. “So fuckin’ hot.”

  Tangling a hand in the hair at her nape, I guide her mouth to mine in a feverish kiss. When I begin driving upward on her down thrusts, it sets her off. Her movements become frenzied, and the way she moans against my lips has me hovering on the edge.

  I slip a hand between us to thumb her clit in circles, and she straightens, silently encouraging me on. When her inner muscles tighten around me, I lock my jaw, vying against the urge to come.

  “Come for me, baby girl.” I grit out the words while continuing to work her clit. From her ragged breathing and jerky movements, I can tell that she’s close. “That’s it,” I urge her on, my voice gruff. She feels so fucking good, clenching me tight like a wet, hot fist.

  Her head tilts back, and she stiffens on top of me before shudders overtake her. She comes apart and fuck. She’s so goddamn beautiful. Her hair falls down her back with some strands dangling over one bare shoulder, the ends teasing just above one nipple.

  When her pussy clamps down on me in a punishing grip, it has me gritting my teeth. My balls tighten near painfully before she lets out a keening cry. “Hollis.”

  I roll her over on her back, grip her hips, and drive my cock into her with deep thrusts as she rides out her release. It’s painful as hell to pull out, but once I do, I wrap a fist around my cock, slick from both of us, and with just two glides of my hand, I explode in hot spurts, painting her skin.

  Once I finally manage to get my breathing under control and lift my eyes to her, I find her watching me with a satisfied, smug grin. Hair tousled and her mouth reddened from our kisses, this is a sight I want stored in my memory. The tender way she looks at me makes me feel like I can conquer anything with her by my side.

  I reach for my discarded T-shirt and carefully clean her. Darting a worried glance up at her, I ask, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” The slight breathlessness in her voice has the edges of my mouth tipping up.

  I toss the shirt aside and reach for the rolled-up sleeping bag I’d carelessly dropped aside earlier. Unrolling it, I drape it over her relaxed body before settling in beside her and tugging her close. The way she curls around me, her leg over the top of my thigh, her cheek against my chest, feels natural.

  And as shitty as it might be, I can’t help but compare it to Charlotte. Not because I’m lusting over her—hell, no—but because it never felt like this with her. With Magnolia, it feels like so much more.

  I’d never admit it out loud because, hell, even in my head it sounds cheesy, but being with Magnolia like this feels like…home.

  Her small hand settles over the center of my chest and I know she feels the erratic tempo of my heartbeat. It’s slowed a little but still thumps rapidly because—

  “Hollis?”

  I drop a light kiss to the top of her head. “Ma’am?”

  A little laugh escapes her, and she shifts to face me with a curious expression. “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “You always ma’am me,” she says with a smile.

  I tuck her hair back behind her ear. “You sayin’ you don’t like it?”

  “I like it. I just always wonder why you do it with me. I mean,”—she lifts a shoulder in a half shrug—“I get that it’s bein’ respectful, but it’s not really necessary with me, is it?”

  My expression sobers and I cup the side of her face in my hand. “It’s more necessary with you than with anyone else.”

  Because you mean more to me, I add silently.

  When she studies me as though trying to decipher my words, I offer, “You’re the most important person in my life, and I never want you to think I don’t respect you.”

  “Oh, Hollis,” she whispers. “I could never think that.” She places a small kiss to each corner of my lips. “You’re always a gentleman.” She gently sprinkles kisses along my jawline. “And the world needs more Hollises out there.”

  I grin just before a groan escapes me when her mouth veers off to place openmouthed kisses along my neck. “Can’t have that. Because you might get confused and wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between all of us.”

  Her soft laughter against my skin makes me shiver seconds before she straddles me. She reaches for me, where I’m half hard already, and wraps her fingers around me. Her smile is knowing, and damn, the way her eyes have that mischievous glint does something to me.

  “Look at you, gettin’ all bold.” I smirk.

  She stills and those blue eyes go wide, her expression turning to worry. A little nervous, even. “Is that okay? To touch you again like this?”

  “It’s more than okay.” My eyes flick down to where her hand grips my dick. “Reckon you can tell that.”

  Her lips form a slow grin and she glides a smooth palm down my length, slowly fisting me in gradual strokes. “Think you’re up to showin’ me how it’s done again?”

  Fuck yes. “You’ve gotta be sore, Shortcake,” I protest. Thank God, I’ve still got a lick of common sense lingering.

  She doesn’t miss a beat. “If you’re gentle, there won’t be a problem.”

  Ah, look who’s become a little siren.

  I close my eyes on a wince, my nostrils flaring while I fight against the urge to take her at her word. Keeping my eyes pinched closed, I grit out, “I don’t want to hurt you,” on a slow exhale.

  She leans over me, her hair tickling my chest. Her warm breath against my ear has my dick pulsing. “You’ll only hurt me if”—her hold on me shifts slightly as she guides me to her entrance—“you don’t let me have you again.”

  When she glides my tip along her slick lips, her wet heat practically singes me. I press upward instinctively, my dick already on board. I grip her hips, clenching them tight. “You’re torturin’ me,” I complain in a hoarse whisper.

  “Then let me put you out of your misery.”

  She sinks down on me with aching slowness, giving her body time to adjust to having me inside her again. Her slick pussy grips me tight and I clench my jaw, doing my best to resist the violent urge to drive upward in a deep thrust. Once she’s fully seated, perspiration beads my forehead from the restraint.

  Her hands brace on my chest, and I open my eyes to find her watching me with a slightly glazed look. Her lips are parted, her nipples puckered. A sense of wonder crosses her face when she lifts slightly and slides back down. “Is it always like this?” she whispers raggedly.

  I move, one arm reaching to cup her nape, threading my fingers in her hair to guide her mouth to mine. Before I claim her lips, I murmur three words that are startling in how much truth they hold.

  “Only with you.”

  Hollis

  I should’ve taken Magnolia up on her offer to come with me, but she looked so sleepy and happy, I couldn’t bring myself to make her get out of bed. Hell, it was hard enough dragging myself away from her this morning.

  I told her I’d bring back coffee for us unless she wanted to hit the diner when I got back. She’d kissed me and told me she voted for the coffee option because she didn’t want to share me with anyone else just yet.

  We’d sneaked inside my house late last night to shower and brush our teeth. I’d never been more thankful for my mom’s room being on the other end of the hallway. Afterward, we curled up in the treehouse, sleepy and worn out in the best way possible.

  Our final words from last night still linger in my mind, and I wonder if I’m reading too much into it.

  “Love you, Shortcake,” I murmured while I held her in my arms, sleep quickly dragging us under.

  Her drowsy voice had mumbled back, “Love you, too,” instead of the usual response of, “But not like that.” />
  I know she was probably worn out and too tired to realize what she’d said, but it made the possibilities hammer away at me because…shit. I’ve always loved Magnolia Barton. And, sure, it didn’t start as more than a friendship kind of love, but without me realizing it, over the years it slowly morphed. She’s always been a part of me, ingrained in my soul.

  Now, after brushing my teeth, I pull my keys from the pocket of my khakis. I’m dressed in a collared polo, but I’m still wearing my leather flip-flops Magnolia got me last Christmas. I get as far as pulling open the front door of the house when I hear her.

  “Finally finished with your little rich whore?” My mother’s voice is full of malice.

  I don’t bother turning around, but my spine stiffens. “You should watch your mouth. I’m not the helpless boy I used to be.”

  I can practically feel her anger growing like an impending storm. “You’ll never be good enough for her. You’re crazy if you think they’ll accept you. You’re just charity for h—”

  I slam the door closed behind me, cutting off her outburst, and quickly stride to my truck. Thankful that my mom’s car is in the garage, I maneuver and back around Magnolia’s car before I pull out of the driveway.

  It takes less than ten minutes to find the attorney’s office. Herman Yates is an older gentleman in his late fifties. Impeccably dressed, he greets me with a firm handshake and guides me inside his office where we each take a seat on opposite sides of his desk.

  He slides a thick file folder to the center of his mahogany desk and opens it. Resting his forearms on the wood, he peers at me with a somber expression.

  “I have quite a few items I’ll need your signature on, and I’ll explain everythin’. Don’t hesitate to ask me questions if you need further clarification.”

  Within minutes, he proceeds to blow my mind.

  I stare at him in shock. “I’m sorry, sir. But did you say…?” I falter, unable to finish my question.

  A look of understanding passes over his expression. “You inherit the house.“ He shuffles some papers, his index finger running down the paper before he nods in affirmation.

  But that’s not what has me so stunned.

  “I’m responsible for disbursin’ funds to…my mother?” I feel like an idiot for repeating everything, but I’m stunned.

  He nods. “Your father emphasized this when we drew up the will. You’re responsible for determinin’ what funds”—his eyes lower to the paperwork in front of him before they lift to mine—“if any, should be allotted for her livin’ expenses.” He grimaces as if he’s about to deliver worse news. “I hate to say this, son, but your father contacted me about a week and a half before he passed with an odd request.”

  Odd? I don’t say anything, waiting for him to continue.

  Mr. Yates withdraws a thick, sealed envelope from the file and hands it to me. “He asked me to make sure you received this. That you were the only person I could deliver it to.”

  I take the envelope in my hands, my thumb brushing over the way my father scrawled my name on the front. I’m not sure why, but an uneasy feeling settles over me.

  Mr. Yates rises from his chair. “If you’ll come with me, I can show you to the conference room and leave you to read that in case there’s anythin’ I might need to help you with.”

  I rise from my seat and follow him down the hall to a room. There’s a small oval table with a handful of comfortable-looking chairs surrounding it.

  “Thank you,” I manage to get out. He simply nods and closes the door behind him.

  I sink down into a leather chair and draw in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. Then I carefully rip open the envelope. When I slide out the stapled, folded papers, I smooth them out, fighting against the way they want to crease and fold back up.

  Hollis,

  I went back and forth with whether I should write this, but in the end, I knew I couldn’t leave you without the truth. I just wish I’d had the courage to tell you myself.

  Before I get into that, I need to tell you how proud I am of you. I’ve always been impressed by the way you handle yourself, even as a young boy. You’re a rarity in this world, and I hope you realize that regardless of how much money you have in your pocket, you’re an impressive and smart young man. Whatever you come away with after reading this, please know that I’ve always loved you and admire the man you’ve become.

  When you flip this page over and see what I’ve included, I hope you’re not angry with me—

  With trepidation coursing through me, I thumb the top corner of the paper and turn it over to reveal what’s stapled behind it.

  A check? What the fuck?

  All oxygen is ripped from my lungs when I scan the names listed on the check. I’m baffled by what I see and hurriedly turn back to read the rest of my father’s letter.

  Grace Barton offered me this check to coerce me into convincing you to go to a different university. Pride made me refuse the money even though it was more than enough to cover a full year at another school. She insisted I keep the check, likely thinking I’d change my mind. I reckon not many people refuse the Bartons’ money.

  Maybe you’ll be upset with me, but I knew I couldn’t do that to you. I’d already done enough in pushing you to be the family’s first college graduate. But I see the potential in you, son. I know you’re meant for great things. Whatever career path you set out on, I’ll always be supportive of you.

  Now, for the hard part.

  Christ. The hard part? I internally scoff. How is any of this not hard? I scrub a hand down my face, weariness taking hold, but I know I need to read on. I turn to the next page, where he continues.

  Many moons ago, I fell in love with a young girl—your mother. She was full of life, laughter, and more beautiful than anyone I’d ever laid eyes on. Unfortunately, she didn’t return the feeling. You see, she was in love with someone else.

  He came from a well-to-do family, and your mother’s family lived on the outskirts of town. She wore hand-me-downs, or her mother, who had a gift for sewing, made her clothing. She’d sneak away to be with this boy. He never brought her around his parents, but she thought things might change. Then she got pregnant, and she was sure things would change after that.

  She was wrong. He rejected her because he knew his parents wouldn’t approve. They would disown him, and he was prepared to graduate high school and head to Auburn University like the men in his family before him. They’d been founders of the university. He couldn’t throw away everything just for a girl he got pregnant.

  I’d been her friend—her best friend—and I knew I had to step in. I told her I’d marry her as soon as we graduated. That she’d be taken care of. I loved her more than anything in this world, and I knew I’d take having her in my life however I could. I thought she might grow to love me.

  Instead, your mother grew distant as time passed. It became worse after you were born. Maybe because you resemble him a bit, and she had to face the reminder of the boy who rejected her. I don’t know, son, but what I do know is, I loved you the moment I first laid eyes on you. And when I held you in the hospital, I knew I’d do everything in my power to protect you and ensure you had the best I could provide.

  I know my job didn’t allow us to have many extras, but I hope you know I loved you like you were my own. I never thought of you in any other way. To me, you’ve always been my son.

  But now, maybe you can understand your mother a little more. I’m not telling you this to excuse her behavior but, rather, to give you this information. When my job brought us down here, and she insisted on the house we bought, I knew there was more to it but went along with it because she seemed almost happy. It was brief, of course, and I reckon she thought things would turn out differently.

  Forgive me for not telling you before. The last thing I ever want is to cause you pain. I never knew how to say it, and I was afraid. I was scared to lose the one person who taught me about love. The person who inspired me to be
a better man.

  My son.

  You may hate me, but please know I’ve always tried to do my best by you. I consider you my son, and I need you to know you’ve made me so proud and always have, regardless of what anyone else says—especially your mother.

  If you want to reach out to the man who is your father—God, that hurts just writing it—you don’t have far to go. Just be careful, Hollis. I don’t know if he realizes who you are or not.

  Know that I’ve always loved you, son. It doesn’t matter if you’re my blood or not. It never once mattered to me.

  Be happy and learn from my mistakes. Never let a day go by when anyone makes you feel subpar. Pave your own way. Know that I’ll be watching over you and loving you always.

  Love,

  Dad

  I grind the heels of my palms against my eyes, damp from tears attempting to escape. Fuck. I don’t even know what to make of this. It’s like my entire world has toppled off its axis.

  When I flip the page and come to the last thing included in the stapled stack of papers, my breath lodges in my chest.

  Staring down, with fresh eyes, at the photograph of the man I’ve come to know, I now notice the small similarities. The shape and color of his eyes and his square jawline. Although I inherited my mother’s dark hair and lips, I can’t believe I never noticed this before.

  Then again, every interaction I’ve had with the man hasn’t exactly been relaxed or easy. He’s always busy grilling me about my friendship with his stepdaughter.

  Magnolia.

  Hollis

  After I grab the coffee I promised Magnolia, I feel a little less on edge. My mind’s been racing since I left Mr. Yates’ office and I really need to talk everything over with her.

  I slide out of my truck carefully with the coffees, shutting the door with a little shove of my foot. So intent on heading to the treehouse where she’s waiting for me, I don’t immediately notice the woman standing a few feet away until I nearly collide with her.