Tom
It's a ten-minute walk back to our hotel room. I'm in no mood for celebrity shit. I keep my hood and my sunglasses on. Fuck looking like a tool. Nothing is getting in the way of me connecting with Willow.
Nothing is getting in the way of me reminding her how good sex feels.
Or reminding myself.
Never felt shit beyond pleasure during sex before. But with her... with her, I feel everything.
With her, I'm whole.
It's fucking cheesy shit, but I don't care. I need our bodies locked together.
I need her eyes glued to mine as she screams my name.
God dammit, I need her screaming my name.
She clings to my waist. She's brighter now. She's smiling. But there's something there. And I need that something gone.
Finally, we get to our hotel room. I unlock the door and push it open. No wasting time. I slide my hands around her hips and pin her to the door.
She looks up at me with hungry eyes. Her hand slides around my neck. Her touch is soft, affectionate.
No more words. No more questions about what it is that's on her mind. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's using my body to get the message across.
She rises to her tiptoes to press her lips into mine. God damn, her lips are soft, and she kisses me like she'll never get enough of it.
I won't ever get enough of it either.
I slide my tongue into her mouth. I want to take my time with her, to get her panting and desperate before I give her what she's craving, but I need this now.
She arches her back, moaning into my mouth and digging her fingertips into my skin. Her hands go to the back of my head. She holds me close, kissing me harder and deeper.
When the kiss breaks, she stares at me. Her hazel eyes are filled with need. "Fuck me, Tom. Now."
"Fuck yes." I don't waste any time. I do away with my hoodie. Then my t-shirt.
She presses her palms against my chest. Her eyes fill with need as she rakes her hands over my torso. Her hands feel fucking amazing on my skin.
We're touching, connecting.
Nothing else feels this good.
I do away with her coat. Then the t-shirt. The bra. I pin her to the wall, my bare chest pressing against hers, and I kiss her hard.
Willow groans as she kisses back. She's as hungry and needy as I am. The way she presses her fingertips into my neck, with all this gentle affection-
Fuck, I need her right now.
I unzip her jeans and push them off her hips. She kicks them, and her shoes, off.
I want inside her, but I can't rush this.
Need to make sure she's ready.
Her back is arched. Her crotch is pressed against mine. She's sighing like she's desperate.
I rub her over her panties. For a moment, she groans into my mouth. Then her lips break from mine and she's moaning into my ear.
"Now." She sucks on my earlobe. "I need you inside me."
She sucks harder. Her hands dig into my hair, pulling my head into position. My eyelids press together as pleasure overwhelms me. She knows how to fucking work me. Other women never bothered to figure it out.
But Willow realized it before I'd ever even touched her.
Fuck. I slam my hands into the wall, rocking my body into hers. The friction of my jeans is equal parts pleasant and painful.
She unzips my jeans and presses her palm against my cock, over my boxers. Somehow, I get harder.
I push her panties to her knees and run my fingers over her. She's wet. She's fucking dripping. Usually, I'd make sure she comes first, but I can't fucking wait.
I do away with my jeans, kick our clothes out of the way, and wrap my hands around her ass.
Need to know she's mine. Need to feel it everywhere.
She gasps as I lift her and press her against the wall. Her hands slide around my upper back.
"Tom," she breaths.
Yes.
I watch need fill her expression. Her eyes are heavy with it. Her lips are pursed like she can't do anything but groan.
I hold her hips, guiding her body towards mine. My cock strains against her. The brush of her folds sends me panting.
Fuck. I need to be inside her.
Her eyes press together. Her fingertips dig into my skin. "Tom, please. I need you."
God damn, I love the sound of that.
Slowly, I shift inside her. One inch at a time, she envelops me.
I shift deeper. Deeper.
She groans as I press my body against hers.
She feels so fucking good. I keep her pinned against the wall as I thrust into her. Slowly at first. Then faster.
Harder.
Her mouth goes to my ear. She sucks on my earlobe, her hands digging into my back, her hips shifting in time with my movements.
There. That's it.
Feeling how badly she wants my pleasure, how badly she needs us pressed together—that's fucking everything.
My last conscious thought falls away. All I know is Willow. Her lips on my skin. Her skin against my fingertips. Her folds enveloping me.
She sucks harder. Harder. Hard enough I lose control.
My grip tightens around her hips. I move faster.
She pulls back to gasp. Her eyes meet mine. She brings her hands to my hair and she stares into my eyes.
The intimacy of it leaves me breathless.
Then she's kissing me, and I know my lips will be pressed against hers until we're both finished. I move faster, harder.
Until she's groaning into my mouth.
She's almost there.
Her thighs squeeze my hips. Her hands tug at my hair.
She groans enough I feel the vibrations everywhere.
I can feel her coming, feel the way she pulses around me, the way it pulls me closer, deeper.
I keep the same rhythm until she's finished, and then I move faster. Harder.
I need all of her.
Need to come inside her.
She holds on tightly, still kissing me, still groaning into my mouth.
The world is the two of us.
No secrets, no hiding shit, nothing but us connecting.
Pleasure takes hold of me. Can't do anything but soak it in. She's fucking soft. Still fucking wet. Still fucking moaning into my mouth.
Still fucking mine.
With my next thrust, I come. The intensity of it makes me pull back. I have to groan. Have to gasp. Have to take in all the affection and need in her hazel eyes.
She squeezes me as I fill her.
Fuck, I feel my orgasm everywhere. I'm still shaking when I'm finished. She's still shaking when I set her down on the ground.
She wraps her arms around my waist and rests her head against my chest.
I hold her back. We'll have to clean up in a minute, but right now, the universe is the two of us.
Whatever it is she's hiding doesn't matter.
She purrs as I stroke her hair.
Willow, fuck, Willow.
"I love you," she mumbles into my chest.
"I love you too."
But that doesn't tell me shit about what it is that's wrong.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Willow
My cell buzzes with a text alert. It's unlikely it's anything important. I'm tempted to ignore it in favor of shutting out the world.
Enough of the world.
I need to stay in this hotel room with Tom forever. I need to forget about every other thing that exists.
He leans against the wall and meets my gaze. I'm cleaned up and halfway into my clothes, but he's still naked.
Very naked.
He raises a brow. "What's on your phone that's so interesting?"
I check the device. It's a text from Jess.
Jess: Sorry we missed brunch. We were held up. You guys want to join for dinner? We found a great place in Chinatown with a lot of veggie options. Ophelia is non-committal about it. Pete says she wants to go out and get laid.
Willow: Did he say get laid?
Jess: God knows I'm not repeating what he said. I can barely think it. You want to come?
Tom's brow is knitted with frustration. He sees through me. He knows I'm up to something.
I'm not going to lie to him. That's not the kind of marriage I want.
But I can't tell him until I've made up my mind.
"It's Jess," I say. "Inviting us to dinner."
"Are they chafed?" Tom rolls his eyes.
"You're jealous."
"No." He looks to the ground. "Just kinda rude that they only show up when it's entirely necessary."
I have to smile. I can't believe Tom is jealous of anyone's sex life. It's not as if ours is lacking in any way. We're together all the time and it always ends explosively.
"Is that all?" I ask.
He shrugs. "You're off someplace. Tell me where."
Oh. Maybe that's why he's jealous. He thinks they tell each other everything, that they never keep secrets.
"Do you want to meet them for dinner?" I side-step the conversation entirely.
"Sure."
I text her a confirmation. "Why does everyone fuss over feeding me?"
"Cause you're sweet. Everybody wants to take care of you."
"It makes me feel difficult." After I nail down a time for dinner, I set my phone in my lap. Tom is still looking at me, still demanding I explain. I can't keep this from him for much longer. "I'm fine eating whatever."
He says nothing. His green eyes stay fixed on me.
There's no way Tom will agree to this. My only option is to surprise him.
Will he want that?
Will he forgive me?
My gaze drifts to the lion tattooed on his chest. The design snakes down his shoulder and arm, all the way to his wrist. He's never said as much, but I put the pieces together. He got it for Ophelia, when she was sick.
Because she was the only person who ever thought he meant something.
He still carries that around on his shoulders. Even now, he's trying to get this out of me because he needs to help other people to feel important.
He needs to know he's loved.
I need to do this.
I pry my eyes from him to look at my phone. I already have Liberty's information saved. I keep my expression casual as I text her.
She texts back immediately with a time and a place.
Tomorrow morning, a breakfast spot a little outside of town. All I have to do is say yes, and Tom will see his birth mom for the first time in a decade.
Deep breath. I look up at Tom. "Breakfast tomorrow at nine? Found a nice place just outside town."
"Was planning on spending the morning fucking you until we were too tired to move. But sure, we can do breakfast at some place just outside town."
"Great."
"Why are we doing this?"
"It's a surprise."
"A good one?"
Hopefully. Maybe. My confidence falters, but I keep a smile on my face. "Time will tell."
Tom raises a brow. "Okay. If you promise you'll fill me in on whatever this is tomorrow."
I can do that. "I promise."
I text her a yes.
It's happening.
God, I hope this is the right decision.
Tom nods to the bathroom. "Gonna shower."
"Sure. You want to do anything between now and dinner?"
"Want you to join me in the shower. The rest we can figure out."
My stomach clenches. It feels like I'm lying to him. And if I'm lying to him, I don't deserve the ecstasy of being pressed against the tile wall with my hands wrapped around his cock.
"You've never kept a secret before," he whispers.
"It's just a surprise."
He studies my expression and takes a step backward. I'm not sure if he believes me.
I'm not sure if this is the right call. But helping him heal the wound that's still causing him pain is worth the risk.
"You coming?" His voice is bouncy, but there's a neediness in his eyes.
He needs that closeness too. Hell, maybe he needs to prove to himself that he's still a stud settled down.
Whatever his intentions, I want to be pressed against him in the shower.
I'm not wearing much. I pull my t-shirt off my head and push myself off the bed.
"Of course I'm coming. But it's up to you how many times," I say.
***
For the rest of the afternoon and evening, I push aside everything but the moment. I soak in every second of fucking Tom in the shower, of a lazy afternoon taking in the flowers and the water shows of the Bellagio, of dinner with Pete and Jess.
I especially soak in the night pressed against Tom in our giant king bed.
At eight a.m., my damn alarm ruins everything. I jolt out of bed.
Tom wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me back under the covers. "What's the rush?"
I start with the easiest thing to explain. "I need to pee."
He mumbles something I can't make out then lets me go. I do my usual morning routine in the bathroom and return to the main room.
Tom is sitting up in bed. His wavy hair is falling over his face. He looks good just rolled out of bed. He looks tempting.
He's my husband and he's insatiable. I can have him whenever I want him. It's not a temptation, really.
It's an invitation.
But I can't have him now. Not with this hanging over our heads. It will be over in a few hours. He might be pissed at first. He might leave without considering talking to Liberty, but he will know that she did love him.
That she still regrets how everything happened.
I don't expect him to forgive her. I don't expect them to form any kind of relationship. I don't expect anything but him hearing, from her, how much he mattered to her.
He needs to know how much he matters.
He needs to know he's wanted.
"Good morning." I offer him my best smile then I turn to my half-unpacked suitcase. What do you wear to meet the woman who gave birth to your husband then lost him to the state? Jeans and a sweater can't be too far off.
Tom looks at me funny. Even through a yawn, his eyes stay fixed on me. He runs his hand through his hair. "You're still hiding something."
"It's a surprise."
I dress and check my cell—Liberty is going to be early—then get to work on my makeup. I don't usually wear much more than eyeliner and a little lip gloss, but I need something to occupy my hands and my mind.
Tom follows my lead. By the time I'm done with my makeup, he's dressed and sitting on the bed.
"This is a good surprise?" he asks.
I haven't got a clue. "I hope so."
He looks at me like he doesn't believe me. But still, he leads the way to the hotel parking lot and to our car.
Still, he drives according to the directions I read off my phone.
Still, he parks in front of the quiet restaurant.
He turns to me. "You're nervous."
"Yeah."
"You gonna tell me what we're doing here?"
"Then it wouldn't be a surprise." And he'd leave without giving it a chance.
"Okay." He raises a brow, but still, he gets out of the car, opens the door for me, and hits the electronic lock.
I check my phone one last time for posterity.
She's here.
We're here.
So here goes nothing.
Chapter Thirty
Tom
I slide my keys into my jeans pocket and open the door for Willow. Know it's old-fashioned, but I like making sure she knows I'm taking care of her.
Especially when she's shaking with nervous energy.
Gotta say, this doesn't seem like a good surprise.
I like a good surprise—an I'm naked under my coat kind of surprise—but this whole morning is giving me a sinking feeling in my stomach.
Willow clears her throat. Her eyes go to her phone again then the thing is in her purs
e. She wipes her palms on her jeans. She taps her toes together. Look at that. Our sneakers match. Both are dark blue, almost navy.
You'd think that kind of thing would happen all the time, but we both own so many pairs of canvas sneakers we almost never match.
Fuck. I'm fixating on sneakers instead of whatever it is that's making her lips purse like she's about to throw up.
She looks up at me, her smile doing nothing to hide the fear in her eyes. "Let's go in." Her eyes go to the Please Wait to be Seated sign and she shrugs. "It's pretty dead."
Okay...
Guess it makes perfect sense that we're at some empty Denny's knock-off twenty minutes off The Strip.
I don't like to hold my tongue, but I'll give her the benefit of the doubt.
Willow presses her lips together as she takes a step into the restaurant. She looks around the room. It's a pretty average diner, with booths along the walls and tables in the middle. Everything is an unpleasant shade of brown.
Her gaze fixes on a table in the back. There's a woman in a suit. It's hard to say from here, but I'd have to guess she's in her thirties or forties.
There's clear recognition on my wife's face. What the hell? The woman might be another photographer. Something like that.
Not that there's any reason for us to meet with a photographer. Unless her surprise is I want someone else to shoot our homemade porn. It's hard to get the angles right on my own.
Not sure how I feel about that idea.
She looks back to me with a weak smile. "I love you, Tom. Whatever you think here... I love you."
What the fuck?
We take another few steps forward, and the woman comes into focus. She's about 40. She looks like a professional woman in that designer suit, her gray reading glasses framing her blue-green eyes, her hair a mix of gray and mousy brown.
She's cleaned up nice and she's quite a bit older, but there's no fucking doubt in my mind.
Liberty.
My mother.
What the fuck is she doing here, and why does every single fucking piece of evidence point to Willow being complicit in it?
Willow's expression is hesitant. She's staring at me like I'm a ticking bomb and the counter is down to single-digits.
Liberty doesn't say shit. She's staring too. But I don't give a fuck about the expression on my face.
How the fuck...
"Tom, I... she emailed me a few months ago about your photograph on my website. She didn't know I was your wife."
Sinful Ever After (Sinful Serenade #5) Page 18