by Penny Wylder
I watch him for a moment, words lost again, but I have to say them. I’ve screwed it all up so badly. He found out on the news about his own child. Before I know it I’m sprinting after him, grabbing his wrist to pull him around. “No, wait, I’m sorry! I’m so so so sorry that I didn’t tell you, that I kept it from you, I was just so afraid. I didn’t know what you’d think, I know you don’t want this, and I just couldn’t—”
The lights are bright, I hear the crowd; cheers but also boos and shouts of, “Fucking whore!” and “Leave Drew alone you gold-digger.” I realize I’ve followed him on stage and freeze. I hear another shout nearby, a scream of, “You’re not good enough for him, you bitch!” and then I’m drenched, the paper cup of beer hitting me in the cheek and getting everywhere.
I hear the growl first, even over the crowd, and Drew pulls me to him, shielding me. His body is tense, practically vibrating. He’s tugged me around so his back is to them, and he looks down at me with sheer protectiveness. He’s angry, but it’s not at me, it’s for me. Maybe it’s for us, too, for the baby I carry inside of me. I’d like to think that it is.
Drew breathes in deeply, once, twice, and I can tell he’s trying to find calm. “I need you to go offstage now. I wish you’d told me sooner, but I’m not mad, I just have to do the show now. But I want to talk after, okay? We need to talk. I want you and the baby, all of it. But right now, I need you to let me do my job.”
His words sound so much like things I've said to him before. Swallowing thickly, I nod. He may not be angry, but that doesn’t mean it’s all okay, it doesn’t mean he’s not going to fire me. Drew walks me just off stage, careful to keep himself between me and the audience amidst continued slurs screamed my way. He surprises me by shrugging off his jacket to drape over my shoulders, leaning down for a brief kiss to my forehead before he’s striding back out and grabbing up the mic from the stand.
“What the fuck?” he speaks out to the crowd, and the noise continues. “Seriously, what the fuck?” Drew repeats.
There are chants of Drew, Drew, Drew, but all I have ears for is his voice. I see him standing there, free fist clenched tightly at his side.
“You all want a show tonight?”
The responding cheer is deafening.
“Then sit down and shut up for a second, because I have something to say.”
The noise trails off into murmurs. I can’t see the crowd from here, only Drew, but I suspect all eyes are trained on him expectantly.
“I know you all saw the woman on stage just now. That’s Lucy Westmore, my manager.”
Fear pools in my belly as his eyes remain trained on the crowd before the noise dies down again and he continues.
“Now, I don’t know who threw that or you’d be out on your ass, and I don’t know who keeps calling out bullshit or you’d also be out on your ass, but whoever you are and everyone else here, there are a few things you need to know.”
A hush falls, near silence wrought from the savageness in Drew’s voice. I feel the baby move, probably feeding off my fear; I clutch my belly in comfort.
“First, I know a lot of you probably read some shit today about Lucy being pregnant, not that it’s anyone’s damn business. She is. And yes, the baby is mine.”
The crowd erupts, and I feel like I’m going to be sick, but the hush falls a second time as Drew raises a hand.
“Second, and this is the important part, I love her.”
There’s a collective gasp but my ears are ringing with white noise. He loves me? A pleasant warmth spreads through me at the thought, at his eyes seeking the edge of the stage where I stand in the shadows, and I see that warmth reflected in coffee-colored irises as they gaze my way.
“I love her,” he repeats, “and I want to be with her and raise our child together, if she’ll let me, and anyone who doesn’t like that can get the fuck out right now.”
I want to feel his arms around me and his lips against mine, tell him yes, yes, of course I’ll let him! He loves me. Drew loves me.
He puts the mic on the stand, declaration made, and grabs an acoustic guitar. What? Overwhelmed as I am by sheer emotion, I still know his set list backwards and forwards and his opening number definitely isn’t acoustic.
“This song is for you, Lucy,” he announces, eyes glancing my way, and the boos are gone, there are only cheers as he adds, “It’s called ‘The Woman in the Tower.’”
As he begins to play, my heart gallops in my chest. My song. Mine.
It’s the ballad of a woman in a tower of her own making, heart hidden from the world. He sings of tearing down those walls, brick by brick, sings of the truth and beauty he finds inside, the fear of a cruel world and the strength it takes to step with him into the light.
It’s beautiful. I feel wetness on my cheeks and I realize it’s not the drying beer but my own tears. I’m crying, I’m actually crying, and it’s stupid and it’s silly and Drew loves me, he loves me, this is my song, and I know as it ends and he sings of walking with the woman in the tower, of walking hand and hand through life, that it’s going to be alright.
It’s going to be all right.
After the song ends, it’s on to the next and Drew hypnotizes the crowd as he always does and I’m among them. I should probably go change but I don't, just stay and sway to the music, let myself get lost in it. I need to get lost in it or the anxiety will tear me apart, because I want to talk to him, but I can’t, so there’s only the music and the drying beer and the warmth of his jacket.
The hours pass in an agonizing whirl, and before I know what’s happening, he’s dragging me away as the roars of the crowd fade behind us.
Drew doesn’t take me to the dressing room like I expect him to, just pulls me through the backdoor. I always arrange a car post show, so there’s a limo ready, but there's also a crowd, screaming questions and flashing cameras. He muscles his way through to the limo with the help of security, offering no comment to the press.
Drew is flush against me the moment the door closes, lips pressed hungrily to mine, and I missed this, missed him. The press fades behind dark tinted windows, and his skin is hot and his lips are soft yet rough. I love his arms around me, love feeling him pressed against me.
His mouth trails down my neck, his breath warm against my skin as he says, “I've missed you so much.” I feel his hand move under my shirt to rest on my belly, big and warm and right. “This is why you stayed away. Our baby.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry I didn’t—I didn’t tell you.”
Pulling away to search my gaze, his free hand moves to my cheek, thumbing away a tear that streaks down, the traitor. I really don’t want to cry, but it’s just—it’s too much. “It’s okay,” his voice is gentle. “I mean, I missed you like hell and I wish you’d told me, but I get it, why you didn’t. It doesn’t matter, all right? You being here now and the baby, that’s all that matters.”
The intensity in his eyes, the sheer affection, it triggers something deep within me and I can’t help it. I lunge forward, seeking his lips with mine greedily. There is no protest, only the renewed pressure of his lips on mine, his tongue against mine, his hands forcing me closer. Drew pulls me into his lap and I let him, straddling him on the seat as we kiss each other desperately.
His hands slide up to my ass and mine find his hair and it’s good, it’s great, it’s everything I’ve been missing these past months. My hand moves down to pull at the snap of his jeans, to work on the zipper, but before I can free him, my mind catches up to my emotions, to my body, to everything driving me. I realize I have something to say, so I pull back with my hands cupping his cheeks.
Drew looks confused, so I kiss his nose as I hold his gaze. “I think—” the words don’t come easily, not when it’s taken me so long to realize their truth, not when they mean so much. “I love you, too. I do. I really do.”
Words said, my mouth finds his again, and I’m on fire. He’s mine, I know he’s mine. Still kissing him f
iercely, I move a hand back down to finally grasp his cock, yanking down his jeans enough that they will prove no hindrance. Holding his length as I continue to kiss him, I hike up my skirt, push aside the thin lace of my panties, and sink.
Riding Drew is different, we’ve done it so rarely. It feels so right to finally feel him again, and if the way he grasps my hips and bares his teeth is any indication, it’s the same for him.
I’m thankful for the privacy glass as the limo moves and I continue to ride him senseless, gasping and panting and chanting his name in barely coherent sobs of pleasure. But I’ve forgotten how big his cock is, how hard and hot, how much it fills me, stretches me, how amazing it feels when he’s buried inside of me.
Drew bucks his hips up to meet my downward thrusts, forceful as he guides me onto his cock over and over again. I’m trembling in pleasure, and fuck it feels good as I impale myself on his hardness, my back arching so much as he hits something deep that has my world going white.
It can’t last, though I want it to—I want it to last forever. He gasps, “So good, too good, fuck, fuck, Lucy,” as he shoves one hand between us, reaching to find my clit. One deep thrust together, then another, and I feel his cock convulse inside me with a wordless groan I haven’t felt in so long. He's buried to the root as he comes, and between the feel of his cock as it twitches and the feel of his fingers thrumming my clit, the orgasm takes over.
I'm helpless, just coming and screaming. I'm sure the driver can hear us but so what?
I collapse against Drew as I finish, spent, emotionally and physically. Taking in the harshness of his own breathing, the rise and fall of his chest against mine, I nuzzle my face into his neck, just taking in his scent.
Mine, mine, is all I can think as I feel the slickness and warmth of our coming together, of his seed spent inside me coating my thighs, of his softening cock still within me. Yes, mine. Impossibly. But somehow. Mine.
It seems so silly now, after everything, to have kept the truth from Drew for so long, to have avoided him for so long, but then, we have so much to discuss. Everything feels right just in this moment, his declaration in front of thousands unmistakable, but still.
“Drew?” I speak softly against the salt of his sweat soaked neck.
“Mmmm?” his hum sounds tired.
“Does this mean I can keep my job?”
He makes a surprised noise and pulls back, holding my shoulders so he can look at me. “You thought I would fire you—over this?”
I blink, as confused as he appears to be. “Yes? I mean, we crossed lines I shouldn’t have let us cross, and I was worried you’d think—”
His index finger finds my lips. “Lucy,” he says seriously, “I knew the condom broke. I knew what could happen, I just didn’t fucking care, not if it was with you. So no, I’m not gonna fire you, never would have, and it’d really suck if you don’t keep your job since there’s no way I’m finding another manager who’s willing to fuck me between sets.”
I smack his arm in protest, but there’s no real anger in it. “I’m not adding that to my contract,” I warn, “so no guarantees.”
“Oh.” He grins at me. “I think that’s a risk I’m willing to take,” and with that thought, his lips tangle on mine.
Yes, there’s still a lot to discuss, but as he kisses me again, I think there’s nothing we can’t work out together.
Epilogue
Drew
“Dreeeeeeew!” she calls, and it's such a novelty to hear my confident manager actually whine that I can't help my chuckle. “Where the hell are you taking me? I need to call the movers again. I'm still missing two boxes of stuff.”
“Patience.” I lean over her from behind, kissing the back of her ear. “Pretty sure we've established good things come to those who wait.” I feel her light laugh through her skin. I stand up straight again, making sure the silk blindfold remains secure before steering her once more by the small of her back.
My house in L.A. is sprawling, like many such houses in Hollywood Hills, and I move her through a hallway to finally land in the far corner of a room I rarely visit. It used to house memorabilia, relics from my career. Colin had insisted I needed such a space to house my Grammys and various other things I've accumulated along with fame. But these things mean nothing without someone to share them with, and I've recently decided on a better use for the space. I'm sure Colin would understand.
“Okay,” I say as I untie the blindfold. “You can look now.”
As Lucy looks, I watch her widening eyes, the little "o" she makes with her mouth in surprise, the swish of her short blue maternity dress as she turns a circle, taking it all in. I look around myself just after, experiencing it anew.
The back wall we face is one enormous window with a gorgeous view of the cityscape below, the same view all the rooms on this side of the house share. There's a desk by the window facing the view, antique mahogany, delicate yet grand. On the clean gray walls are several paintings of varying sizes, original art she had liked when we attended a gallery opening several months back. One wall is also occupied by a large leather sofa—I definitely have plans for that sofa—while the other contains a tasteful modern bassinet alongside a mahogany changing table.
It's clean and colorful, yet tasteful and refined with the barest touch of whimsy. The designer did a damn fine job; it’s Lucy down to the studs. I only hope she thinks so too, that she loves it as much as I love her. She deserves to love it.
“Drew,” she says slowly, carefully as her eyes scan the room. “What is all this?”
“Yours,” I answer simply, and she whirls around to blink up at me in confusion. “Your new home office,” I clarify.
“But—” she begins to stammer, shaking her head, but I'm having none of that. Lucy deserves this, and anyway, I want her to be the most effective manager to me and the best possible mother to our child and this will help with both.
“Look—I know you were reluctant to move in, didn't want to disrupt my life, whatever, but I want it to be disrupted.” I reach out to stroke her cheek and the way she leans into my touch, affection hits me anew. I fucking love this woman and the only way she can really disrupt my life now is to refuse to be a part of it. At the heart of it, really. Her and our baby. Our baby. The thought fills me with content as it always does these days.
“I guess the baby was bound to do that anyway.” She smiles up at me ruefully and I smile back, giving her a quick peck on the lips as I reach the hand that had been on her cheek down to rub the swell of her middle. She's due in a few weeks and it shows. I can't help but find it hot that she carries our child within her, can't help how much I appreciate that it marks her for the world as mine.
“I know you were worried about having a workspace here,” I finally say as my thumb strokes her belly over the fabric of the dress she wears. “So I decided to make sure you have one. “But,” I continue, “if you hate it, we can change it. I can call the designer right now if—”
“No, Drew,” Lucy cuts me off; she's crying. Oh shit, I've fucked it up. But she doesn't give me long to fret. “No,” she repeats, shaking her head. “I love it, it's perfect, it's just—it's too much.” She's smiling through her tears and I pull her to me and just hold her. “It's way too much,” she repeats, and I can feel her tears soaking my shirt. The way she lets down her walls for me has me clutching her more tightly. She's mine, I'm hers, there's nothing that could be too much.
“Not enough,” I whisper. “Never enough.”
“No,” she insists, pulling away from my chest, moving her hand up to my jaw as her green eyes meet mine, her smile radiant as always. “Always enough. More than enough.”
Then her lips brush mine, just where I want them, just where they belong. And as Lucy pulls me towards the new couch, the kiss becoming heated, I know we are about to christen it.
Everything is right with the world.
THE END
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Chapter 1.
Alyssa
These shoes were the wrong choice for this party. Not even an hour in, and it feels like I'm stepping on nails. Big ones. But, given everything, the party isn't as bad as I thought it would be. Let's be honest, who actually wants to go to work parties--especially for a company they haven't even started to work for? But I didn't have anything better to do tonight. If we're honest I rarely have anything to do that's social. Sigh.
But the music here is actually from this decade and Saxon Hotels, Inc. didn't skimp on the alcohol. It could be worse. I look across the room for Molly--the girl from HR who let me know I was hired and invited me tonight. She greeted me and then promptly abandoned me, which is why I am currently making my permanent residence the shadowy corner by the drinks table. But, like I said, it could be worse.
A blonde girl wearing a pink dress approaches the table of drinks. The dress hugs curves on her that are frankly just unfair. As if she can sense me thinking about her she's suddenly looking at me, and then she's gliding over. "You're Alyssa, right? Molly told me we had a new hire, and you're the only person I don't recognize."
"Yeah, that's me." I smile, "I figured I'd skip the awkward first day and go straight to getting drunk with my coworkers."
"Solid choice." She says, "We do enjoy getting drunk. Though this is nothing compared to our New Year's Party. People usually don't make it through that one unscathed." She scans the room, "You see that guy over there? That's Mark. He's the typical bender guy--you know every office has one. Last New Year's he got so drunk he bought everything in the vending machine and woke up the next day shirtless and covered in cheetos."