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A long spasm seized me, fusing me to Will, shaking us both in a seismic quake. As my fingers surrounded my clit, I convulsed, my pussy squeezing and my ass clenching helplessly on his broad girth. Hot cream bathed my sensitive ass, shocking in its suddenness. Will’s thrusts were hard and urgent, his breath driven out in gusts.
Some time later, he eased out of me, cradling me in his arms. I kissed his shoulder, his lips. The early summer sun shone down on us, setting our nakedness aglow.
Will murmured, so quietly I could barely hear him. “You mean everything to me.”
My breath caught. I opened my mouth to answer, but he continued. “Can you promise me one thing?”
“What is it?” I drew patterns through the dark hair dusting his chest.
“Promise me you’ll start writing again. Anyone tries to stop you, I’ll deal with them.”
My heart felt suddenly full, pressing against my ribcage. “What if it’s about you?”
“It can be anything.” He grinned. “Go ahead and do your worst. I just don’t want you shut down. I want you to be as open as you are now.”
I rubbed my forehead against his shoulder. It wasn’t easy to speak, but for Will, I did. “Okay. I promise.”
Chapter 18
Twenty-five hours later, when I came into work on Monday morning, my boss, Caroline, told me I’d been fired.
She wouldn’t look at me. The only explanation she gave was that my work had been reviewed and it was lacking, and they were doing some reshuffling in the department.
“This doesn’t have anything to do with my work, does it?” I’d expected this, but inside, I was panicking. “It has to do with Richard Randolph.”
Caroline plucked at her collar. “I only know what I’ve been told. I’m sorry, Andie.” Finally, she met my gaze. “I think your work was great. We’ll miss you.”
I paced the streets with the few belongings from my desk, then holed up at the library to look for a new job.
I sent résumés to every publishing house, large and small. Meanwhile, Will was looking for a job of his own. But even he had underestimated how deep Richard’s tentacles ran. He couldn’t get an interview anywhere. Neither could I.
Meg and Emily agreed he could stay with us short-term, rent-free. They appreciated the scandal, and the view, and the forbidden romance of it all.
A few days later, I found a job as a barista across town, bringing back memories of the college summer I’d worked at a coffeeshop. It didn’t pay enough to cover my portion of the rent, but for now, it was better than nothing.
I knew how much it bothered Will not to be paying rent, though. To not have a job or be independent.
And Rose and Richard didn’t give up easily. Every day, some new threat came in. The latest was a letter from Richard’s lawyers, informing Will that if he didn’t comply with expectations, he’d be cut out of his parents’ will.
“Guess I’m disowned, then,” he said with a shrug.
But at night, he wasn’t casual. He’d wake up, struggling to breathe. I’d hold him until he calmed down. Then we’d make love. Sometimes it was soft and sweet; sometimes rough and savage. I left scratches on his back. My roommates eyed the hickeys on my neck and advised me that when I did get an interview, I better wear a scarf.
Demons didn’t just go away. Some of them might stay forever.
On a Saturday morning, three weeks after Will had left his old life, I was sitting on his lap at our scuffed kitchen table. His blue robe was draped around me. Meg was drinking coffee — which Will had made — and regaling us with the latest celebrity gossip. Emily was scrambling eggs at the stovetop.
A loud pounding came on the door.
Emily wrinkled her brow. “Expecting someone?”
We all shook our heads. The knock came again. Meg went to the door and peered through the peephole.
“Two guys, our age. Well-dressed, kind of hot in an ‘I yacht on the weekends’ sort of way. Will, these look like your people. Should I let them in?”
I twisted around to look at Will, who had a slight smile on his face.
“Go ahead,” he said.
