by Kayla, Mia
“Connor …”
He stood, taking my other hand too, rubbing the top of my fists. “Listen, I don’t want to fight with you, not when we don’t have that long together. I know we both couldn’t have predicted this, but can we just do what we promised each other in that closet, in the dark … and make the most of the time that we have together?”
I swallowed back the lump in the back of my throat and nodded, falling into his arms. Because that had been the deal, that had been the plan—to live in the moment.
He squeezed me tightly against him, his arms wrapping along my lower back, and I nestled into his chest, a spot I swore that was meant for me.
“Let’s never fight again, okay?” His warm breath brushed against my temple.
“Okay,” I said, pulling back and giving him a sweet kiss.
“Hey!” Wyatt called over. “Lovebirds, are you guys ready? I’d like to get this done in the next hour.”
“Hold your panties. We’re ready,” Connor snapped back. He cupped my cheek, leaning so close that I could smell the mint on his lips. “Hey, read back the script for me.”
My hands fell on his wrists. “So, they’re past their first date, past the dating period …”
“Of six months,” he added.
I smiled. “And past the engagement … to the now. They’re here, just the two of them, professing their love to each other, on the beach, because this is how they always pictured it.” I went on my toes, our lips a millimeter apart. “This is the ending of their dating period. The finale. The end of their single life. But this … this marriage is the beginning of their lives together, as a family, as one.”
My heart fluttered, and my stomach dipped when he closed the gap between us and kissed me. He kissed me like I was the first woman he’d ever dated and the only woman that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He kissed me like this was real, like we weren’t playing a part, but this was our own happy ending.
And I reveled in it, pretended that just for a moment, he wasn’t leaving, and this was us—our own happily ever after.
Chapter 25
Charlie
Filming was over, and a rush of butterflies filled my stomach as it had on the beach. I carried the bag of greasy fries while Connor held our burgers.
We entered his apartment, and I took his bag and placed it on his glass kitchen table.
“I’m so hungry.” I rubbed my belly, needing to fill it with all the greasy goodness. I made my way to his cupboard as though this were my own house and grabbed some plates and napkins. After the weeks we’d been together, I knew this apartment inside and out.
He had been quiet the whole way home, and though I’d wondered what he was thinking, I had also known not to ask because I was thinking the very same thing.
There was a ticking bomb on our relationship, and the bomb would explode on the day he moved back to Manhattan. And every time I thought about it, I wanted to cry, but I had known this. Right? I’d made an adult decision to enter into this relationship with Connor, knowing he was going to leave. But the stakes were different now, weren’t they? Because he’d asked me to move with him, and I hadn’t predicted that I would fall in love with him.
I bit the inside of my cheek and focused on unpacking our burgers and fries and placing them on the plates on the table.
Connor’s eyes burned through me. I knew he was watching my every move even though I wasn’t looking at him.
I moved back to the cupboards to get some glasses. After pouring water, I sat down but still didn’t meet his eyes.
Why does this have to be so hard?
I stood. “I should change before I get grease on this beautiful dress.”
When I stood, he reached for my wrist and tugged me until I fell into his lap.
“Don’t. Leave it on.” His voice was quiet, almost sad.
“Okay …” I fisted the edges of the silk that clung to my body. “What are we going to do with this dress? It’s thousands of dollars, and we can’t return it. I’ll have to look up where we can donate it.”
His fingers gripped me tighter, and he rested his forehead against my shoulder and sighed.
“Go to New York with me …” His words were uttered in a dying plea. When I didn’t answer, he lifted his head and guided my chin to face him. “Charlie …”
I held his face within my palms. “Why such the sad face?” I squeezed his cheeks together until he formed a fish face. Then, I pecked his lips.
Didn’t we decide we’d take it a day at a time?
His eyebrows scrunched, and then he sighed. “I want you to move in with me. I need you with me, Charlie. I love you.”
I stared deeply in his eyes, saw his sincerity behind his words. “And I love you.”
I clenched my teeth together in a tight smile. I wouldn’t cry, not when he was here. When he left, I knew I’d cry a million tears, but until then … I’d be happy and enjoy his presence, just like I’d promised myself in the office closet, just like I’d promised him earlier.
I extracted myself from his hold and sat on my own chair, lifting the bun from the hamburger and taking out the tomatoes. “You can’t say things like that and expect everything to be okay between us. You know I can’t go with you.”
“We’ll come back here to visit every weekend.”
He knew I still had my mom here, but that wasn’t the reason that I didn’t want to go. I had just upped and left my life in Wisconsin to move to Illinois, and now, I had a job I didn’t mind and friends who I loved. I wasn’t even considering moving to Manhattan. Simply, he might be the right guy, but now was not the right time.
I picked up my burger and then placed it down on the plate, my appetite now gone when, a minute ago, I could have sworn my stomach was eating its own lining.
“Why does this have to be so hard?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
In the next second, Connor was beside me. He pulled me to stand and held my palm in the tenderness of his fingertips. “It doesn’t have to be. All you have to do is say yes.”
“Yes to the dress?” I scrunched my nose, but he didn’t get the reference because he had probably never watched the show.
“Yes to me.” He nipped my lips and then bent forward. “Yes to moving in.” Another kiss. “Yes to New York.”
The last kiss lingered and ticked up in tempo. He flicked his tongue over the seam of my lips, intertwining his tongue with mine.
My whole body tingled with arousal when he slipped his hands behind my knees. I wrapped my arms around his neck, never breaking contact.
He led us to his bedroom, and I couldn’t help but think he was carrying me over the threshold. Me in this form-fitting silk designer wedding gown. Him in his tux that fit him perfectly. And us together, lip-locked in this soul-wrenching kiss.
Gently, he laid me down in the bed, and I stared up at this Adonis of a man. This man. For a hot, brief second, over the past few weeks, he’d become my man.
He undid his bow tie and chucked it to the side before untucking his shirt.
With the flick of his fingers, he unbuttoned his shirt, and with each one that came undone, my body wriggled beneath him in anticipation.
When his shirt was off, my mouth went dry. I went on my elbows, licking every line of his six-pack. Without a second thought, I sat up and traced my tongue against every curve of his abs.
“Charlie,” he rushed out, threading his fingers through my hair.
I licked a path higher and higher until I made it to his nipple, where I locked eyes with his and flicked my tongue, circling the sensitive area over and over again, watching his breathing labor.
Patience was not his strong suit, and he pulled me up to kiss him. We were all tongues and wet, sloppy kisses. He slipped the dress off my shoulder and nipped at my neck, pushing me onto the bed.
My head flew back as he pushed the dress further down, exposing pasties on my breasts, tearing them off with his teeth.
His finger
s made a sensual path on my leg, brushing against my thigh and to the apex between my legs. I gripped his hair, moaning his name as his fingers pierced me, ripples of pleasure tingling all over.
“Connor …” His name was a harsh, broken puff falling from my lips. I lifted my head and tugged at his hair to meet his eyes. “I need you in me.”
The devilish smirk was heavily displayed as his fingers pushed and teased inside me. “I want to see you come.”
What was it with his dying need to see me undone each and every time? As though he hadn’t watched me the dozens of times before.
“I want you, baby,” I moaned out. “Please. I need you.”
With my plea, he pulled at the dress and my panties until they were a puddle of mess on the floor. “You’re keeping the dress.”
I laughed, and as he pushed down his pants, I reached for him before positioning him at my opening. “Why? So we can reenact this scene? I hear married people have more sex than single people.”
I pushed my pelvis up to meet him, and once we were connected, I sighed.
He groaned.
But in the next second, our eyes flew open and locked.
He wasn’t wearing a condom.
He pushed himself up on his hands but didn’t extract himself. A sheen of sweat was heavy at his brow.
“Do you want me to put a condom on?” he breathed out, touching his forehead against mine. “I’m clean, baby. I’ve never had sex without one.”
“Never?”
His stare locked with mine. “Never.” His voice was ragged, his body still, as if he was waiting for my answer for his next move.
I locked my legs around him. “I’m on the pill,” I said. It was reckless and dangerous, but I hadn’t been with anyone for years, and I wanted him to make love to me with nothing between us.
He swallowed and then lowered himself on me. He kissed me with a fervent passion I felt everywhere.
I anchored my pelvis back and forth and forth and back again until his breathing turned ragged.
“Charlie …”
Connor
I’d never had sex without a condom. Ever. And I’d had a lot of sex in my lifetime.
Even in my long-term relationship in high school, I’d always capped my shit. There was prestige and power and money behind my name, and I had goals and direction and plans ahead of me. I didn’t want a woman using me for that. One wrong move on my part, and I’d be stuck in Illinois for good, so it’d never happened.
But this was different. This was Charlie.
She felt amazing. Skin to skin. Being this close to her wasn’t enough though. I needed closer.
I took the lead, pulling her hands to the top of her head, driving into her faster, deeper, and harder until low moans escaped her lips.
Her eyes were at half-mast, her lips parted slightly. As I went down and kissed her, really kissed her, a shudder ran through me.
My movements slowed until everything around me heightened—her short, quick breaths that left her mouth, her legs wrapped tightly around me, her one hand that made its way to my back while the other threaded through my hair.
And it hit me.
I’d never loved another woman like her. I couldn’t imagine getting close to feeling what I felt for Charlie for anyone else, and that scared me.
Sweat beaded on my temple, and I gripped her waist tighter because the realization punched me straight in my chest. I rested my forehead against hers, moving above her, inside her. If there was any woman out there meant for me, it was this woman—and I let her know with every movement of my body inside of hers and with my words.
“I love you,” I said, locking my eyes with hers.
She touched my face, searching my eyes for something, anything. Then, she lifted her head and kissed me.
I knew she was close, so close to coming. I felt her tighten around me, and I released my lips as her head fell to the side.
When the first of her orgasm took her over, she tightened around me, which sent me over as well.
I fisted the blanket right next to her head and lost myself to everything that was my girlfriend, who I loved.
An hour later, she lay where she was meant to be—her head on my chest and my arms wrapped tightly around her.
In the silent of the night, her warm breaths brushed against my chest. I held her against me, wondering how lucky I was to have her in my life. Her beauty astounded me. It wasn’t just her physical beauty, but also her beauty from within. And how, when she loved, she wanted to nurture and take care of everyone around her. She loved so deeply, and I wanted to be a recipient of that love.
All I knew in that moment was that I wasn’t letting her go. If I had to move her mom, stepdad, and family to New York, I’d do it. Whatever it would take to get her to come with me. I’d come here to save a company. I didn’t care about how much more it would take to fight for and win the woman I loved.
I’d fight till the end, until I won.
Charlie
The days seemed to blend together. Spending the weekend with Connor and not wanting to leave. I’d never wanted to slow time down so badly.
In a few days, it would be my exhibit and then the presentation of our new rebranding campaign, and then Connor would leave.
I focused on the task at hand or else I’d get all sappy and emotional again, and I didn’t want to do that.
I blew out my hair from my face and stacked my paintings horizontally in the moving box. The pool house looked bare without my paintings against the chairs and off the counter, almost dead, like an abandoned warehouse.
Connor would be here tomorrow night to help me set up my paintings at the exhibit, so I needed everything to be in moving condition.
The door opening had me glancing up from the boxes I had been trying to rearrange.
“Mom.” I had kept my distance from her the whole weekend, not wanting her to see how badly she hurt me.
“Hey, honey.” Her voice was low, and she fiddled with the edge of her shirt. “Can I … can I come in?”
“Sure.” My back straightened, and my heartbeat picked up in speed as I remembered our last conversation, the hurt hitting me directly in the chest. My focus was back at packing the canvases.
She walked in and surveyed the area, her hand grazing the couch and the table. “Getting ready?” Her voice was soft, almost fragile.
“Yep.” My gaze dropped to the box again, staring at nothing in general, and everything stopped because, for the life of me, I couldn’t stop replaying that awful scene in my head—on how she’d picked Sandy over me.
“Honey, you’ve been avoiding me. Last time we spoke, it didn’t end well.” Her voice trailed off.
I didn’t peek up to look at her, moving the canvases around as though they weren’t straight enough, which was stupid because they were already in the box.
There was a silence in the room that sucked up all the air, and I couldn’t breathe, anger threatening to choke me.
I needed to stay calm. I needed to just do this for myself. This was no longer about pleasing my mother and getting her approval. Connor was right. Nui would be there, and she was the professional after all. The weight of an artist wasn’t measured by her mother’s approval, was it?
“Mom, let’s just not talk about it.”
“No, honey. We have to.” She walked toward me, and I stared at her sandals, the ones that Daddy had purchased for her when we were on vacation.
We had gone to Destin, Florida, driving there from Wisconsin. We were window-shopping down a row of local shops, and my mom stared at the shoes forever, wanting to buy them but knowing she shouldn’t splurge. My father, being the man that he was, had gone back to the shop to get them and surprised my mother with them the next day.
“I …” She bent down and knelt beside me. “I don’t know how to act in front of them.”
Her words forced me to look up at her, her honesty revealing a vulnerability that she hardly ever showed. She fiddled with her finger
nails, her chin downturned, and all of me wanted to hug her in that very moment.
“I … I love Richard. I do. But I don’t know where I quite fit in yet, and I want everyone to just get along. I want Sandy to like me. I want Sandy to like you. I want you to like Sandy. I want you to love Richard like he already loves you.” She peered up at me and offered a sad smile.
I hadn’t realized this, that she was having a hard time with the transition. I’d assumed that she was happy.
“Mom …” I reached for her hand and squeezed it.
The first of her tears began to fall. “No. Listen, Charlie.” She swiped at her eyes. “Your dad will and always be the love of my life.” Her tears caused my own tears to well up. “He always took care of us in the best way he knew how. But we struggled, and you know that. I didn’t want that to happen to you. Parents want their kids to have a better life.”
She met my eyes then, cupping my face as she used to do when I was younger, when I was still her little girl. “And I know you’re talented. God and everyone knows you have talent, Charlie. Maybe I was afraid of that talent, that it wouldn’t pay the bills, that it would ruin your life, and for that, I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to ever struggle like I did, so that’s why I pushed you in college. But not once did I think you hadn’t been born with a gift, a gift of creativity, a gift of art.”
Did she really believe that? The one burning question in the back of my throat filtered out. “Did you throw away my paintings?”
Her eyebrows furrowed, and she reeled back, confused at my change in subject. “What?”
I swallowed, my gaze dropping to the floor. “My paintings were ruined, put out in the rain, thrown out in the garbage.” I remembered that day vividly, the pain slicing my chest like a dagger to my heart. I held my breath, meeting her eyes, waiting for an answer.
She vehemently shook her head. “I swear to you, I didn’t. Why would I do that? Honey, do you think I hate your art?”
I released a breath because that had been weighing heavily on me for the longest time. It had to be Sandy because who else hated me that much?