by Emma Scott
His mouth on one nipple, his hand on the other, thumb circling. Shivers of pleasure slipping down my back. I pulled away, sliding down the length of his body, kissing his mouth, his chin, then down his chest. I pressed my lips to his warm skin and inhaled. Beneath the expensive cologne was the faint sweat of his fight with Xavier, the fainter scent of blood, and everything that was purely Isaac.
I kissed down to the ridged muscles that coiled and tightened under my touch. A small groan in his chest, a sharp gasp as I took one of his small nipples in my mouth. A power I’d never felt before swelled up in me. A heated want of give and take.
I slipped my hand under the waistband of his boxers, wrapped my fingers around the hard, heavy length of him. His jaw clenched and a hiss escaped his teeth.
“God,” I said, burying my face in his neck as I stroked him. “You’re so hard. For me.”
“Fuck, yes,” he grunted.
I lifted my head. “I want to see you. I want you…”
He slipped out of his boxers and I stared at him, hard as iron in my small hand. A wetness dampened my panties instantly and I let out a little gasp. “I’ve never…” The words were shy. I swallowed and tried again. “I’ve never felt like this before. I need you so bad…”
He kissed me, his hands trailing down my body, over my breasts, my stomach, to my hips, to tug at my panties.
“I’m going to make this perfect for you.” Then his mouth traveled down after his hands, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses over my skin. The stifling heat of the summer laid a sheen of sweat over me he slipped down my body, adding his own heat, licking and tasting mine, pulling my panties completely off. A man dying of thirst about to drink for the first time.
“Isaac…”
His name turned into a cry as he put his mouth on me. My back arched off the bed, the pleasure taking over my body. My hips lifted into his mouth for more, while my hands clutched the top of the headboard. He sucked and licked me relentlessly. My bare heels slid along the sweat-slicked skin of his back, and he growled into me, ravenous.
I tensed and arched a final time, a scream of delirious pleasure locked in my throat as the first wave crashed over. I let it out on a slow moan as I came down on a current of gusted breath, my back coming down to touch the bed as if I’d been floating from a great height.
“Jesus Christ,” I panted, and looked down at him between my thighs.
He smiled briefly but I felt his own need tense in him as he crawled back up my body, his mouth skimming quickly now over my skin, up to kiss me.
“Willow, can I…?”
“Yes.” My head bobbed, my hands were clutching his shoulders, the nails digging in. “Yes, now. God, Isaac now…” Then my eyes widened as I remembered. “Oh no. Oh fuck, I have nothing.”
He blinked at me, eyes glazed.
“I mean, I’m not on the pill.”
“Oh shit. Hold on, I might have one.” He slipped off the bed to grab his jeans and dig his wallet out. “Jesus, God, please let me have one…”
I bit my lip, as the three years we’d been apart whispered in my ear: No shortage of women when he was poor in Harmony. Now he’s a gorgeous Hollywood movie star. He must have flocks of women at his feet.
Isaac came up with a condom, his eyes falling shut in relief. “Thank fucking God.”
He blew on it as if to get rid of imaginary dust but his smile dropped to see my expression.
“No one,” he said. “I haven’t been with anyone since our dance on the hill. No. Since before that.” His brows worked over the eyes that gazed into the past. “Since I met you, actually. The day you stole my seat in English class until this morning… There’s been no one but you.”
“No one?” I asked, feeling both relieved and selfish. “I mean, three years is a long time and things ended so badly between us.”
“They didn’t end,” he said. “They never ended, they were just on hold. You never stopped being mine, Willow, even when I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to reach out. I couldn’t even look at another woman, though God knows my manager tried.”
“You waited all that time? For me?”
“I told you before. I’d been waiting for you my whole life. There’s no one else. There can never be anyone else but you.”
I swallowed and wiped my cheek with the heel of my hand. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
He smiled and kissed me, the chuckling turning inward, melting into joy and love.
“I love you, Isaac,” I whispered, my heart pounding now. “And I want you now. All of you.”
He nodded and kissed me again. He held my face in his hand. “I love you. And I want this to be perfect for you.”
“You said that before.”
“Because it’s true.”
I saw the hesitation in his eyes and I wanted to burn it away under my hands. I trusted him completely. No fear in my bed, only nerve-endings on fire with anticipation. I kissed him hard, my tongue delving deep into his mouth, leaving no doubt what I wanted. My hand slipped between us, stroked him hard again. He groaned into my mouth and his own hand traveled down my body. Between my breasts, across my stomach, gliding over wet skin to the center of me. His fingers found the dampness there, and he groaned again, circling the little bud of flesh, coaxing and teasing.
I tilted my hips to him, slid along his fingers and pressed against them.
“Please,” I said. “Let me feel you.”
Slowly, he slid two fingers inside my wet heat. I bit the slope of muscle between his neck and shoulder, my hand still squeezing him harder, stroking him faster. He hooked his fingers inside me, pressing up and I let out a cry.
“God now,” I begged. “Isaac…I can’t. I need—”
He silenced me with a kiss and braced himself on one arm. His other hand closed over mine, both of us guiding himself to my entrance.
I closed my eyes, letting out a slow breath.
“Don’t,” Isaac whispered. “Look at me, baby. Open your eyes. Look right at me.”
I did. Stared up at his body poised over mine, every muscle taut, the cords in his neck standing out, and his gray-green eyes now dark with want. But the love was there first, over and surrounding us both in this moment.
“I’m here,” I said. “With you. Just you.”
He held my gaze and pushed inside, one slow inch at a time, watching me until his eyes squeezed shut in an expression of purest ecstasy—as if it were so good it hurt. His brows drawn together and teeth clenched to hold back a small groan.
“Oh God,” I gasped, feeling him inside me, more and more, heavier and heavier. I gripped his hips to pull him in deeper. Our mouths clashed in a kiss of moans as he moved inside me completely, my body taking all of him. He held still a moment, breathing heavily against my neck.
“Jesus, Willow,” he said. I felt his broad chest expand and shrink against mine in a giant breath. He lifted his head to look at me. “You all right?”
“Yes,” I said. “Don’t stop.”
He kissed me as his hips pulled from mine. I gasped at the sensation of him sliding out a little, then pushing back in. Again and again, our bodies heated and wet with sweat and moving against one another so readily. Perfect. Heavy. Full.
Mine.
He kept a hand on my hip, pushing and pulling me into his thrusts, then his palm slipped under me, to the small of my back. Tilting me up to go deeper, building a sweet pressure inside me. I cried out as he brushed that place inside me where the ache of pleasure began over and over. My legs wrapped around him, pinning him to that one spot. Holding him there.
“Feels so good,” I whispered, clutching him to me, my hands in the dampness of his hair at the base of his neck. “God, I never knew…”
“Neither did I.”
“Does it feel good?”
“Perfect, baby. You’re perfect and so goddamn beautiful.”
He moved faster now, our bodies sliding and colliding, his thrusts driving into me. I took every one, took every s
ound he made. Every gasp, every groan and grunt and curse that slipped between his teeth, along with my name, I took them all.
“Yes,” I said. Over and over, “Yes.” Body and mind delirious with “Yes.”
“So good,” Isaac growled. “You feel so fucking good…”
“Yes,” I breathed.
This is how it’s supposed to be…
I could’ve let my eyes fall shut. I wasn’t afraid of the dark. Or of Isaac’s crushing weight on top of me. Or his mouth that kissed mine with equal parts lust and reverence. As I reveled in the feel of him over me and against me and inside me, I kept my eyes open. Not wanting to miss a moment of his face. Needing to emblazon every second on my heart and body. Inking him into my skin. Imprinting this moment on my soul, so I’d never forget how it felt to be this cherished, desired and loved.
His hips moved faster against mine. The exquisite push and pull driving me to another crescendo, even higher than where he’d taken me with his mouth. I tried to hold onto him, his skin slick and hot, my nails raking to clutch at him. His thighs slapped against mine, the heat and wetness between us so much, so good, until the deep ache of mounting pleasure tensed tight for one beautifully agonizing second, then exploded.
I cried out, my legs cinched tight to his waist, my arms around his shoulders, as the pleasure swept through me. Clinging to him as he rode my body under him, taking me over the edge. His thrusts became erratic as our bodies shuddered, the tension flowing out on a tsunami of ecstasy, leaving us boneless, breathless, sweaty and limp.
Isaac collapsed on top of me, his breath gusting hot against my neck. He tried to lift off of me but I held him there. Feeling all his weight along the length of my body. Not crushing but blanketing me. Shielding me.
“I love you, Isaac,” I whispered between breaths. “I love you and I always will.”
He raised his head and I held his face in my hands. Seeing myself reflected in the stormy gray-green that slowly calmed into a peaceful sea I’d never seen in him before. He breathed my name like a question. A hope that I meant those words and he could keep that peace forever.
I smiled. “Never doubt I love.”
“Never doubt I love.” He kissed me softly and brushed the damp strands of hair from my face. “But I swear I’ll never stop telling you.”
Three years later
Isaac
I sat in a corner of the costume tent, turning a little blue velvet box over and over in my hand. This wasn’t the safest place to inspect a secret treasure—the cast of As You Like It was in and out of the tent at intermission, drinking water and changing costumes. I turned my back to the noise and opened the box.
An old European-cut diamond sat in a nest of smaller diamonds and lacy filigree. The antique dealer called the style “pierce-work”—delicate little cuts and designs surrounding the diamond. “Quite popular in Edwardian times,” he said. “My guess is it was made in nineteen ten.”
The setting was simple and delicate. Perfect for Willow’s little hand. But the diamond was a full carat, and the sunlight streaming through a seam in the tent glinted off the stone, throwing perfect little rainbows on the canvas.
It’s perfect for her.
I hoped. Christ, my nerves were bunching my stomach in tight knots. Yanked even tighter when I heard Willow’s laugh toward the front of the tent. I snapped the box shut and stuffed it into my light brown costume jacket.
Because we were performing As You Like It in the amphitheater, Martin wanted a picnic-like feel to reflect the lightness of the comedy. The cast wore 19th-century pastoral clothing—smart trousers, jackets, and high-collared shirts for the men. The women wore Victorian-style dresses, except for Willow. As Rosalind, she spent much of the play disguised as a man named Ganymede, instructing my Orlando on how to win Rosalind’s heart.
I already had Willow’s heart, and for the last three years, my happiness was something out of a goddamn dream.
I spent nearly all of my $7 million on the Harmony Community Theater and its restoration. The City Council approved it quick because my only condition was Martin Ford be named artistic director and manager. He had final say over everything, until such time as he retired or wanted to move on to something else.
I expected Wexx to retaliate, instead they backed off. Or rather, they retreated without surrendering, putting their resources into Xavier’s legal team, gathering lawyers like an army. Because the lack of evidence meant Willow’s accusation had no bite, Xavier’s lead attorney was going with a strategy he actually called “the slut defense.”
Little did he know, Willow’s single act of bravery started a chain reaction. Her words broke down a wall of silence, leaving her bruised and bloodied, true. But also leaving a hole that more women came through, ready to tell their stories.
Four more women accused Xavier Wilkinson. One of whom had DNA evidence.
Xavier was sentenced to seven years in prison. It was as if the last cloud on the horizon lifted. Willow came alive in Harmony. We bought her house in The Cottages with some backend money from my last movie. We fixed it, remodeled it, and put in some air conditioning.
While it was being renovated, I did a short, six-week turn off-Broadway, playing Tom in The Glass Menagerie. Willow played Honey in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf to intense acclaim a few doors down. But we always came back to Harmony. Came home to the life that was more precious to us than anything in New York.
I always thought being tucked away in this corner of the world would be stifling. Instead, with Willow, I found the Harmony of my youth. The town I knew before my mother died. Recast as my home, with Marty and Brenda as my parents, Benny as my little brother.
And now, hopefully, with Willow as my wife.
My nerves tightened. I had a speech planned out. A declaration of my love, because she deserved all the words of my heart.
Martin came up to me, glanced once over his shoulder, and gave me a grin. “Can I see it again?”
Willow was deep in conversation with Lorraine. I quickly showed Martin the ring.
“It’s not too much, right? But not too small either. It’s perfect, isn’t it?”
Just as they did every time he looked at the damn ring, Marty’s eyes filled with tears. “She’s going to love it. It’s exactly her.”
I snapped the box shut again and stuffed it in my jacket. “Holy fucking shit.”
Martin laughed. “You’re going to wait until the cast party tonight? Please tell me you are. The play’s halfway done. Almost there.”
“Yeah, I’ll wait. If she says no, I’ll be the most depressing Orlando you’ve ever seen. Turn your comedy into a tragedy.”
“You know she’s going to say yes,” he said. “But if you ask her before Rosalind and Orlando are done falling in love, they’ll have that… What’s the word young folks like to use? Insta-love?”
I laughed. “It took us six years to get here,” I said, my voice turning soft. “I could’ve asked her to marry me the day I came back to Harmony. Or any minute in between. But I wanted her to trust me. That I could be here in Harmony and be happy.”
Marty sniffed. “You need to save those words for her.”
“I have more. A lot more.”
“After the show.” He looked around behind him. “Someone wants to say hi, if that’s okay.”
I glanced over his shoulder and saw Benny—Ben, now—at the tent. I grinned. “Send him over.”
Martin left and Ben took his place, staring around, his hands jammed in the pocket of his jeans. Nineteen now, he was tall and solid; the kid I’d known was gone.
He’s the same age as I was when I met Willow.
“Hey, man,” I said, rising to give him a hug. I laughed at his dubious expression as Len Hostetler belted an operatic-sounding vocal warm-up.
“Theatre people are the weirdest,” he said.
“You got that right.”
A short silence fell. Ben and I had talked when I came back to Harmony three years ago, but it had
felt strained. My apology weak. He’d already lost his father and then I’d cut him out of my life. I don’t think he’d ever forgiven me for that, and I couldn’t blame him. The tension between us had never gone away, and then he’d gone to school. University of Southern Indiana. I could not be more proud, but he wasn’t mine to be proud of anymore and that hurt.
“So listen…” Ben’s shoulders came up, his arms stiffening. “I just wanted to thank you for all that you’ve done for my mom and me. Her house…my college.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yeah, man, I do. It’s a lot.”
And I don’t want to owe you anything.
The subtext was there, all over his face.
Fix this. Tell him the truth. It’s what we do.
I glanced around the tent and held up my hands. “All of this? This is a lot. That woman standing over there?” I pointed at Willow laughing with Lorraine. “She’s a lot. This entire life I have now is a helluva lot, more than I’d thought I’d ever have.”
Ben frowned. “That’s not all on me.”
“It’s a lot on you,” I said. “You remember how you used to help me run lines for my shows? For Hamlet?”
“Yeah.”
“Remember all those scenes between Hamlet and Horatio?”
He shrugged. “Didn’t understand much of it.”
“Horatio is one of the most important characters in the play,” I said. “He’s Hamlet’s best friend. He’s the only character who sticks by Hamlet no matter what. And at the end of the play, when Hamlet is dying, it’s Horatio he asks to tell his story. Because he trusts him. They’d been friends longer than anyone.”
Ben’s eyes were brighter for a second, then he shrugged again. “Yeah? So?”
“So you were my Horatio, man. You were my friend when the entire town talked behind my back or laughed at Pops.”
“I was just a kid.”
I shrugged. “So was I.” I glanced around the tent again. “I have this theater, this show, because I hit it big in Hollywood. I made it to Hollywood because of my performance in Hamlet. And there’s no Hamlet without Horatio. I just want you to remember that.”