Breathing Wisteria

by Rose, Amali

  The need for him to be inside me is devastating.

  “Flynn,” I murmur against his mouth. “Fuck me, now.”

  He pulls away from me, a smirk on his face. “You gonna say please?”

  My eyes narrow in a glare at the smug bastard. He thinks he has the upper hand? We’ll see.

  I lift my leg and wrap it around his waist, bringing his cock to my core and sliding his thick head along my slit. I place the tip at my opening and can’t hide the smile when his head falls to my shoulder with a loud groan.

  His hand grips my thigh, holding it in place, and with no further warning, he thrusts forward, seating himself fully and pinning me to the wall with his hips.

  “Fuck, your pussy feels so good.” He pulls out before slamming back in.

  It’s fast and almost brutal, our need for each other only heightened by the risk of getting caught.

  With his mouth on my throat and a thumb pressing on my clit, I feel myself tighten around him and I have to bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming out.

  He follows soon after, pressing himself into me deeply and filling me with a loud grunt.

  After a moment of time where our harsh breaths and hammering hearts are all that can be heard, Flynn lifts his head with a grin.

  “Well, that was fun.”

  An hour later I step out of his dressing room, ready to head to the Green Room and meet the others before we leave for the after-party. After two more orgasms, I had to begrudgingly leave Flynn in the shower or we would never get out of here.

  Throwing my phone in my purse, I turn and almost run right into someone. I start to apologize when I realize who it is and instead a scowl settles on my face.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Giselle?”

  “I just wanted to stop by and congratulate Flynn on a great show.” She pauses, and I notice a hardness to her eyes that wasn’t there the last time I saw her. “But I guess you already took care of that.”

  “Yes. I did. Because I’m his wife.”

  I start to push past her, but she grabs my arms, stopping me.

  “I was so sorry to hear about your daughter. Carys, was it?”

  I feel as though I have been punched in the gut, and I stumble backward slightly.

  “What do you want, Giselle.” My voice is shaky. “What do you really want?”

  “I want Flynn.” She says it calmly as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and for the second time in thirty seconds, my gut is churning.

  “You want Flynn?” My words come slowly, my brain still trying to make sense of this. “We’re married, Giselle, so I guess this is where you learn that you don’t always get what you want.”

  “Oh, but I do. I always get what I want.” Her face is expressionless and it’s almost frightening.

  “I have a deal for you, Wyatt.” She takes a step toward me and I instinctively step back. “You leave Flynn, and I make sure no one ever finds out about your tragedy. You stay with him and your worst nightmare is splashed all over the internet, the magazines. It plays out on all the entertainment news channels and that’s exactly what your baby’s death becomes. Entertainment.” She shakes her head. “Is he really worth it?”

  Before I can reply she urges me to, “think about it.” Then she turns and walks away, leaving me standing there with my life crumbling down around me.

  Flynn

  My arm is numb. Pinned under Wyatt and holding her to me, it’s doing its job, but I haven’t been able to feel it for the last ten minutes. Giving up on the idea of not waking her, I make a fist a few times, trying to bring the feeling back.

  My movement jostles her and she moves slightly, pushing back against me so my morning wood is nestled in between her ass cheeks, giving him all kinds of interesting notions. Maybe if I just moved this way—

  “Don’t even think about it, Irish.”

  Her morning voice is all throaty and sexy as fuck, and my dick isn’t the only one with some interesting ideas, but before I can start anything, Wyatt turns to face me, her expression grim.

  “Do you think she’ll post it today?”

  To say I was furious when Wyatt told me about her altercation with Giselle last night, would be the biggest understatement that had ever been understated in the history of understatements.

  I was livid and ready for blood.

  Thank fuck one of us has an ounce of sense, because Wyatt was able to talk me off the ledge and realize that Giselle had fucked up by warning her. The point of this whole thing is to hurt Wyatt, to drive her away, but now that she knows it’s coming, my girl has her armor up and is ready to fight.

  We called Campbell right away and explained the situation to him. I think he might have been as angry as I was if that was possible. Although, to be fair a lot of his pissiness was directed at us, frustrated that we had left ourselves open to this situation when he could have protected us. But he immediately launched into action, setting up an interview with Ophelia Winters, so we can get ahead of the story.

  “I think her plan would have been to wait a few days, maybe a week, to see if you followed through.” I run my thumb along her cheek, enjoying the softness of her skin. “But she has sources everywhere in this industry and knows everything that goes on. My guess is that as soon as Cam started calling people last night to organize the interview, she would have found out.” I cup her face in my hands and place a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth. “I would bet my life that our misery is entertaining the masses right fucking now.”

  She presses her body into me, her head nuzzling in under my chin.

  “I feel like I’m completely prepared and completely unprepared to deal with this all at the same time.” She groans against my skin.

  “We got this, Cherry. We’ll do the interview, give people our side and make it fucking clear what we think of scum like Giselle who feeds off other people’s grief, and then we shut the fuck up.” I kiss the top of her head. “It’ll be news for a few days until the next DUI or affair hits the headlines, and then no one will give a fuck anymore.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “No, I am right. I’m always right, babe. You should know that by now.”

  She rolls her eyes at me. So fucking cute.

  “I think I’ll call the girls and see if they—”

  The sound of banging on the door interrupts her and she looks at me with wide eyes.

  “It’ll be Cam.” I sit up and look for my jeans from last night, which I hurriedly pull on. My stomach is churning, and I have a horrible feeling that the shit is about to hit the fan. “Take your time getting ready.” I lean over and place a chaste kiss on her cheek, only to have her take hold of my face and bring my mouth to her own. Her lips graze mine, her tongue sliding along the seam before she slips it into my mouth, kissing me deeply. A breathy whimper escapes her, and I pull away, knowing that if I don’t put a stop to this now, thirty seconds from now, I won’t be able to.

  “Get ready.” I slap her ass, hard, with a smirk and make my way to the door, where, I’m assuming, Cam is still hammering away.

  “Relax.” I swing the door open. “Jesus, Cam, Give us a minute, it’s only seven in the fucking morning.”

  “Have you seen it?” He pushes past me, cell phone in hand, and my stomach drops.

  “How bad is it?”

  He hands me his phone, Giselle’s blog already pulled up and a scowl settles on my face as I quickly scan the story.

  “This is fucking bullshit,” I bark. “There’s not one shred of truth in there.”

  I toss his phone on the sofa and begin pacing the room. Blood is pulsing through my veins, and the rush of it is all I can hear.

  Abortion.

  They’re saying Wyatt terminated our pregnancy out of spite because I had an affair.

  Giselle has painted her as some kind of psychotic bitch who got rid of our baby for revenge; and I am a cheating douchebag who did the dirty on his pregnant wife.

  She’s
taken us both down with one story.

  Motherfucker.

  “It’s everywhere,” Campbell tells me, mirroring my pacing on the other side of the room. “It’s been picked up by every entertainment news site.”

  “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

  We both turn to see Wyatt standing on the threshold of the living room, her eyes dim, and her arms wrapped around her torso, hugging herself.

  “She’s saying you had a termination.” Campbell’s voice is impassive. Straightforward and to the point has always been his modus operandi, and I don’t think I have ever resented it as much as I do right now when I see the look of unadulterated devastation on my girl’s face.

  “Jesus, Cam.” I move across the room, reaching her in six short strides that seem to take six long hours, and pull her to me, holding her tight.

  I feel her chest rising and falling as she tries to catch her breath. She curls into me, grasping my arms, but despite this appearance of vulnerability, when she looks over my shoulder and speaks to Campbell, her voice is strong. The take-no-prisoners Wyatt I fell in love with all those years ago.

  “I would never do that. Never. You get your ass out there and you make sure there is no one on this planet who doubts that. Do you understand me?”

  My ears are filled with the sounds of a soaring orchestral score that I’m considering incorporating in the song I am currently writing, but my eyes are glued to Wyatt.

  Her easel is set up in front of the window overlooking Central Park and her hand is moving at a lightning pace, the brush making dramatic strokes across the canvas. Despite the brightness of the scene before her, her depiction is dark and powerful.

  Her back is straight, shoulders tense, and she has her earphones in, using music to silence the world around her.

  The last two weeks have been a fucking nightmare. Our interview made no impact at all. Apparently, the idea of us as two lust-fuelled psychotics, who were driven to extremes in order to torment each other, was a much more believable story than two kids who experienced a life-changing loss.

  Wyatt has been doing her best, but I see how much she’s struggling. Every whispered comment has her eyes dimming a little more. Every blazing headline sends her retreating into her art.

  I’m terrified I’m going to lose her again and that fear means that I have spent the last two weeks angry as hell, ready to lash out at whoever pisses me off.

  The only thing that centers me is getting my hands on Wyatt.

  I remove my headphones and stalk toward her. When I wrap my hands around her waist and place a kiss on her neck, she startles.

  Quickly recovering, she hits my arm with her paintbrush, leaving a streak of deep violet behind, and laughs.

  “You scared me, you dick.”

  I chuckle against her shoulder, breathing in her perfumed skin, that evokes the memory of roses, wisteria, and spice. It’s uniquely her and it soothes my chaotic heart.

  “That looks incredible.” I nod toward her painting, pulling her back against me.

  “Mmmm,” she murmurs before she starts chewing on the end of the paintbrush, thoughtfully.

  “You doing okay?” My lips graze her lobe and I bite down gently.

  She shivers, then sighs softly, leaning back into my hold. “You don’t have to keep asking me that, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know. This just— It sucks, and I feel responsible for it all, so I want to make sure you’re doing okay.” I slide her hair across her shoulder, exposing her neck and admiring the contrast between the vivid hue of her hair and her pale skin. “I’m always going to make sure you’re okay, you’re gonna have to get used to it.”

  She balances the paintbrush along the top of the easel and turns to face me, her arms winding around my neck. Standing on her tiptoes, she leans up and kisses my chin.

  “This has been so much harder than I thought it would be, I’m not going to lie. There are times when the things they’re saying just— It hurts, Irish. In a place I didn’t think I could be hurt anymore. But…” Her hands slide up to hold my face in place, so I’m looking her right in the eye. “This is not your fault. The only person responsible for this shit show is that bitch and karma will take care of her, I have no doubt.”

  When her mouth takes mine, I sink into the kiss and try to ignore the sliver of doubt I saw in her eyes.

  “You sure you’re good?”

  Her eyes snap to me in frustration. “Yes, I’m good, will you stop asking me that!”

  My shoulders ache, they’re so tight with tension. I should be enjoying the sight of my girl. Dripping in diamonds and in a dress that shows off every damn one of her curves, she’s almost as beautiful as when she first wakes up in the morning. But I’ve been fucking dreading this night since we made the decision to come three days ago and I’m still not convinced it was the right choice.

  Movie premieres are the stuff of my nightmares to begin with. Add in that we’re still in the midst of a publicity storm and it all just creates one solid night clusterfuck.

  The red carpet was probing question after none-of-your-fucking-business question. Then we had to watch some shitacular movie and now we’re in the middle of a Temerity Press party where we’re being watched by about twenty bottom-feeding photographers and being whispered about by Hollywood’s elite.

  A fun night all around, you might say.

  But Campbell insists that this is what we need. To see and be seen as they say, so we’re trusting his judgment and hoping this isn’t the first time he fucks everything up.

  I follow Wyatt as she leads us into the center of the room. Our hands entwined, she weaves us through the clustered groups, ignoring the sidelong glances and hushed whispers that are somehow all I can see and hear.

  We’re almost across the room when we hear it. A voice rings out above the others and I watch as Wyatt flinches, her shoulders hunching and an air of defeat blanketing her.

  “She’s going to burn in hell for what she did.”

  She turns to face me, and I swear to God, it’s as though she is moving in slow motion. I know what’s about to happen before her eyes even meet mine and I have no fucking way to stop it.

  “I can’t do this, I’m so sorry.” The tears that cling to her lashes are my undoing and I hate myself so fucking much for putting her in this situation. “I tried, Flynn, I really tried, but it’s too much.”

  I see the cameras start flashing in my peripheral vision and all I can focus on is how much she’s going to hate seeing this image everywhere tomorrow. Her broken, breaking me.

  The whispered murmurs grow louder as the crowd realizes what is going on. The train wreck they’re getting to witness firsthand.

  I grab Wyatt’s arm, determined to end this. To tell her she doesn’t need to do this, but she wrenches free.

  “You were right. With you, I’ll never be free of the past. There will always be a reminder. Some article or rumor.” Tears are sliding freely down her cheeks now and I have to use all of my restraint not to reach out and touch her. “I can’t do it.” She pauses before shaking her head emphatically.

  “I won’t do it.”

  Wyatt

  I close my eyes and try to sleep, but all I see is his face. The pain that emanated off him as my words crushed him.

  I know I have done the right thing, the only thing I could do, but it doesn’t make it any less painful.

  Today has been the most difficult day yet. I woke up this morning in Skye’s spare bedroom, to find my face plastered all over the internet again. It’s just as jarring as it was the first time. I immediately turned my phone off and hid away, taking refuge in the company of Summer and Poppy and insisting Skye and Ben take advantage of my presence to have a day date.

  It took some convincing, but once they were sure I wasn’t about to collapse in a heap of emotional despair, they took off for a movie. Babysitting offered a great distraction, and I found myself watching the girls curiously, listening to Poppy’s evolving language and marveling at Su
mmer’s confidence. As always, I found myself considering what Carys would have been like at that age. If she would have looked like Flynn or taken after me.

  I don’t think I will ever stop wondering.

  But now, in the quiet of the night, I can’t stop my brain from going into overdrive as I turn over yesterday’s events.

  As hard as this is, I have to have faith in my judgment and trust that I am doing the right thing.

  It’s the only choice I have.

  “Get your butt over here, Reeses.”

  I drop my carry-on at my feet and let Charlie wrap me up in a hug.

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  I sigh and sink into her arms. “I wish it was under better circumstances.”

  “Meh, I’ll take you whichever way I can get you. Is this all you brought?” She picks up my bag and I nod. “Alright, let’s get out of here.”

  I pull my cap down low over my head, feeling completely ridiculous but not enough to risk getting recognized.

  We walk to the parking lot in silence. I’m lost in my thoughts and, if I know Charlie, her mind is already off planning her next fancy lawyer move so she can dominate law the way she dominates everything in her life.

  “I’m just up here.” She points up ahead and to the left and I do a straight-up double take, laughing for the first time in too long.

  “A Prius? Girls from Texas don’t drive Prius.”

  She glares at me and pokes her tongue out. “Shut it.” She huffs before mumbling something under her breath.

  “What was that?” I giggle.

  “I said, it gets excellent gas mileage, okay? Now get in the damn car.”

  The drive to Charlie’s apartment is a quiet one. Old school Backstreet Boys plays softly in the background and I lose myself in the scenery as the streets of Chicago rush by.

  “How long do you think you’ll be staying?” Her voice startles me.

  I sigh softly. “I’m not sure. This wasn’t in the plan.”