Fall for Me by Claudia Burgoa

Chapter Sixteen

Willow

Hunter’s eyeslook at me fiercely as he thrusts inside me. The haunted shell of a man is long gone. I want to know what happened to him as much as I want to lose myself while he’s inside me. His hands slide over my body, caressing every inch. It’s his musky scent, his tender, loving eyes, the lust. Everything that’s happening wraps me into a cocoon I want to stay in forever.

Today, my heart is full.

Today, I’m what he needs.

From now on, it’ll be my goal to give him what he needs. He’ll never leave me.

“Willow,” he gasps, throbbing within me. My legs wrap around him, taking all of him. His movements are slow. Sweet. Loving. “You feel so good.” He pulls back, sliding out of me, then, pushing himself inside me deeper and harder.

“Hunter,” I moan, my legs shaking, my swollen clit desperate for more friction. I want release.

I push my hips forward, seeking release. My hand searches for my slit. He grabs my wrists, stretching them over my head. Holding them in place with one hand as he grabs my ass with the other. The leisurely moves become faster. He pumps in and out, and heat floods my center. Lowering his face, his mouth kisses mine. The velvet lash of his tongue stroking inside my mouth the same way his dick continues pushing in and out of me causes my core to clench, tightening. It demands more, faster; but I also want slow and tender.

I. Want. Everything.

Most of all, I want to melt with him.

Fuse.

Belong with someone, to someone.

“Willow.” He presses a kiss on my neck, rolling his hips and pushing himself deeper and deeper. Every inch of him stretches me, keeping me on the edge lusting for him. “You. Are. Mine.”

Yes, yours.

Though I’m about to explode, I’m also wrapped in a bubble where I’m finally safe. Such a big word. The safe haven is near, a place I see from afar but never get to touch since I fuck things up before I reach it. But today I’m here. I claw at his back as I gasp and moan when he drives me to the edge. Pleasure rippling through every cell of my body. My walls tighten, squeezing him. Feeling him.

His head tosses back. His muscles tense. He screams my name as his eyes squeeze shut and his body shudders. The intensity of his voice fills the room with my name.

For a long time, we hold on to each other. The silence is comfortable and much needed after the ethereal experience. Sex has never been this powerful for me. Glorious. Sublime. Unique.

After a while, he rises from the bed and heads to the en suite bathroom. I stare at his muscular rear wanting to bite it. I have zero energy to lift a finger, let alone my head. For a few minutes, I debate about joining him or not. I listen to the water of the faucet run. The toilet flush. I watch his powerful, naked body walk back to me. I thoroughly inspect his broad shoulders and every sharpened muscular line of his hard body. His package is semi-hard, already, pointing at me. He’s carrying a towel and gently cleans between my thighs. I’ve never seen someone so concentrated on cleanliness. The silence is killing me.

“Are you okay, Hunt?”

His jaw twitches. Without answering, he turns around and walks away. A sharp ache spreads through me, replacing the sweet feelings our lovemaking had created. I wonder suddenly if everything had been planned so I would finally have sex with him. Tomorrow, he’ll kick me to the curb. Or will it be after he finds someone to replace me with?

“Hey,” he says, sauntering toward me. He’s now wearing a T-shirt and a pair of boxers. “Don’t check out, gorgeous.”

“This is it, isn’t it?” The beating of my heart becomes erratic. Fuck. I knew better. I shouldn’t have let myself believe anyone would give a shit about me.

His long lashes lower, following them I stare at the tent forming under his boxer-briefs. “I recover fast if you want to give it another go.” He reaches out, taking my hand and kissing it. “I like you flushed.” He brushes the strands of my hair, clearing them away from my face. “I’m better. Thank you for being there for me. For staying with me.”

“Want to talk about it?”

He exhales harshly, rubbing the back of his neck. Those clear, blue eyes concentrating on mine. He reaches forward to the nightstand, opening the drawer and taking out a pen. “Can I write it for now?” His voice lowers. “I’m not ready to explain more than I have, but I’m grateful for the way you helped me get through it.”

I’m not sure if I should run or stay. He freaked out in the middle of the subway. It isn’t the first time he’s acted strangely while we’ve been walking in a big crowd. Terrified of what would happen, I tried my best to remain in control of my own feelings. The one person I’m leaning on showed the same symptoms I have before a panic attack. I wonder what triggers them and if I’ll ever understand him.

Leaving is out of the question. He’s everything to me. Today, he became my entire world. Is it right that it happened this fast? I’m confused about how to act. He said I helped him get through it. I, Willow Beesley, helped one of the strongest guys I know get through a bad moment. This is an example of how even the greatest have low moments.

Hunter is a pillar everyone leans on. Since the night we met, he’s tried hard to help me. He’s given me space while showing that he’s capable of dealing with my darkness. And he’s so sweet. He’s always bringing me flowers—colorful, gorgeous bouquets. The gesture is everything. If today I can reciprocate the care and love he’s giving me, I’ll do my best to be the person he wants.

“Anytime you need me, I’ll be here for you.” I reach for his hand, squeezing it tightly. “We can get through this together, Hunter. Lots of writing, sex, and movies.”

Rolling to my belly, I place my chin on top of my entwined hands. “Tell me everything you want. We’ll shower afterward.”

His soft, tender lips slide over my back, along with his hands. Making my spine arch and my core clench. I’m ready for him. Ready for anything he wants. Instead of staying where I promised, I push myself from the bed and climb onto his lap.

“I need you inside me,” I whisper, pulling his shirt off, rubbing my entrance against his throbbing length. My arms hug his immense shoulders.

Taking his lips, I kiss him desperately, sliding my tongue between his lips. Twisting and turning, I make love to his mouth. He supports my butt, standing up to shove down his boxers.

Sinking onto him, I cry out, “give me all of you,” as his pulsating thickness enters me completely.

We stayedin his house fucking hard, making love, and learning everything about the other for the rest of the day. The next morning, I felt so close to him even my heart beat to the same rhythm as his. He worked in his home office. Fitz had a conference call with a client and needed him to consult on the case. I went home to change and check on my sister, but she wasn’t there. I checked my phone and saw a text from her. Hazel and Gramps were going to spend the day in Central Park. I got upset thinking they were continuing to push me away, telling me how happy they were without me intruding into their happy family. I was alone. If it weren’t for Hunter, I’d have no one.

They didn’t matter anymore. At noon, Hunter picked me up, and he drove us to Coney Island. I’ve never been there, but it was one of his favorite places as a kid. His brothers took him often during the summer when their parents were busy working.

No plan is foolproof. Within ten minutes, Hunter’s eyes continue scanning the area, his body remaining tense.

“I don’t feel well. Is there something else we could do?”

He wraps his arms around me, and his lips kiss my neck. I’m loving these strapless tops. Mostly, I love the kisses he sprinkles around my neck and collarbones whenever he has a chance. “Are you making up an excuse for me, Miss Beesley?”

“For the two of us.” I set my hands on his chest, stretching my neck and kissing his jaw.

“I think I’m falling in love with you, Willow Beesley.” The soft caress of his breath makes me shiver.

Closing my eyes, I absorb the words. The warmth of his body. The way my body melts into his even when we’re wearing clothes. Like a jackhammer, my heart pounds against my ribcage. He loves me. He. Loves. Me. Nothing and no one has ever made me happier than he does.

We kiss, long and slow in the middle of an amusement park. Until a woman says something about us being perverts, and a male voice recommends we find a room. That’s how we ended up walking around Brooklyn Heights.

“Say the word, and I’ll buy it.” Hunter reads the brochure of the gorgeous Queen Anne Brownstone. “Built in 1887.”

It’s gorgeous. Elegant, four stories, and it faces Manhattan. What a breathtaking view. I can only imagine, but I don’t imagine. I panic.

“It can be converted into a four-bedroom home,” he continues reading the features of the house.

“Why would you need so many bedrooms?”

“Two children, a guest room,” he says casually. He lifts my hand kissing it. “Unless you want to have more kids.”

Is he delusional? My genes come from a crappy mold. None of us knows how to be parents. My grandfather fucked up my dad. My parents couldn’t care for us at all. I have no idea what is going on with my mother’s family. She’s never mentioned them. Rotten parental DNA.

“I—”

“Good afternoon,” a woman coming out of the house greets us. Her brown hair wrapped into a bun. She wears an elegant, knee-length dress and a pair of red heels. For a few seconds, I’m grateful she interrupted us. She saves me from the “I am never having children” discussion. What will happen when I tell him? Is it a deal breaker? My hands start sweating at the thought of losing him this soon.

“Mallory Schoeder.” She extends her hand. “I’m the listing agent. Would you like to come inside?”

“We’d love to,” Hunter responds, pulling me toward the door.

“You won’t find a brownstone like this one anywhere in town.”

Try next door, lady

“This is perfect for a young couple ready to start a family. We are only . . .”

I tune her out as she mentions the excellent schools just around the corner. Brooklyn Bridge Park is walking distance away. Renovated, state of the art appliances. I don’t cook, lady. As long as there’s a refrigerator for my salads and a microwave to nuke the rest, I’m happy.

To be honest, the gigantic kitchen has some appeal. You can entertain guests during the holidays. There’s a library with built-in bookcases. I don’t read as much as Hazel, but that’d be the perfect place for my little sister when she comes to visit.

“Grilling on Sundays,” Hunter says as we walk outside to the backyard. “My brothers would come and see us, bringing your sister and grandfather.

Four floors filled with future memories according to Hunter. He’s already thinking about the commute, my work schedule, and Jensen driving me to the theater at night.

Wait, I’m an unemployed actress. We just started dating. What is wrong with us? There won’t be any baby Willows. If he plans on having tiny Hunters, he better go and knock up someone else. He’s dating the wrong sister if his plan is to marry and have children. I just want someone to love and who understands me.

I don’t say anything. My words will turn him against me. He’ll hate me. I’m so fucking useless. Way to fuck it up, Willow.

“Do you like it, gorgeous?” he asks, and I’ve missed most of the conversation while lost inside my self-loathing pity party.

“It’s a great place.” Mallory, Melissa, or whatever her fucking name is, touches his elbow. He smiles back at her. “We can draw up an offer and get you a special discount.”

Is she for fucking real? Am I invisible?

“Willow?” he calls me, but my eyes are on the fucking slut. “Do you want it?”

“No.”

“It’s perfect, and we can work the numbers today,” he continues, trying to make his case.

“You like it, buy it,” I respond narrowing my gaze at her. “It looks too expensive.”

“Price isn’t a problem.”

I chuckle. “Price is a problem,” I snap at him. The woman in front of me hides the smirk. How about you stop eye-fucking my boyfriend. I’m right here.

I’m ready to snatch that necklace from her neck, but I don’t say or do anything

“Thank you for showing us the place,” Hunter excuses himself, walking us toward the main door. “I have your information.”

“What’s going on, babe?” He uses his calm voice once we’re outside.

“Are you dumping me for her?” I hiss, tossing my hands in the air and giving up. There’s no point in continuing.

He cups my face, his eyes watching me closely. “Never. I love you. No one else. Never doubt it. Please, sweetheart, I need you to focus on us.”

I lose it in the middle of Hicks Street. As he holds me, I fantasize about the ways I could disappear: stepping in front of a bus or drowning in the Hudson. Maybe I could drive a knife through my chest. Would they miss me? That will teach them for not taking me seriously. There’s the possibility no one would miss me, not even Hunter.

“Seeing you cry breaks my heart.” Hunter kisses my eyes.

I look away, tears flooding down my cheeks. He strokes my back. Maybe things aren’t as I feel them. Maybe we can make this work. Whatever it is that we have between the two of us. I’m beginning to believe he can contain whatever it is inside me that destroys all my relationships.