Strike a Pose (Blame It on Fame #1)

37. Willow

Chapter 37

Willow

A fter we finish eating, Riley and I get a second round of drinks and settle into the deep leather couches in the living room, not ready to leave each other’s company just yet. Neither of us wants the pressure of picking the movie, so we just put on whatever was suggested by Netflix.

“I have to say, I’m disappointed in you, Willow,” Riley says before the opening credits even finish rolling.

“Why?”

“Because I thought we were making great progress on the whole turning-Willow-normal thing. But normal people would never pay three thousand dollars for a single ticket to a concert. Well, maybe for Beyoncé or something, but certainly not for one of my concerts.”

“I’d argue that a superfan would.”

“So you’re a superfan?”

“I guess I walked into that one.”

We turn to each other. Two minutes into the movie and we’ve already abandoned the guise of watching it.

“Fine, so what if I am a superfan?” I ask. Riley’s eyes search mine thoroughly enough that I squirm under his gaze. “What? Do I have pizza on my face or something?”

“No.” His lips curl up into a smile small enough to go unnoticed by those unfamiliar with his expressions. Lucky for me, I’ve seemingly memorized them all. “Can I ask you something?”

“The way you’re asking to ask a question makes me nervous,” I answer. “But yes.”

“Is it me?”

My brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean.” He pauses, eyes searching the ceiling as though the words he’s trying to form are written there. “The second I saw you in that dress tonight, it felt like my heart fell out of my body. Hell, I felt that way the entire walk here. I changed my shirt three times before I left my hotel. I wake up thinking about you, Willow. You make me nervous in the best way, and suddenly, I find faults with every other woman who makes a move on me.”

He runs a hand through his hair, and a stray lock falls over his forehead in a way that makes my heart pound.

“What I’m trying to say—” Riley continues, his expression painfully earnest “—is that I’m falling for you. And I can’t stop myself, no matter how hard I try. For some reason, I can’t help but cling to the thread of hope that maybe you’re falling with me because you haven’t actually told me that you don’t feel the same. You’ve given me other reasons why we can’t be together, sure, but you haven’t actually told me it’s me . So please, I need you to shatter my hope so that I can try to get over it. Stop being nice, Willow, and please just tell me that it’s me.”

“I can’t,” my voice comes out in a whisper. “It’s not you, Riley.”

His eyes widen slightly, then soften. He beams like he’s just won the lottery. His shoulders sag in relief and he starts to reach for my hand but stops hi mself, pulling back. “Then what is it? Because, Willow, I’ll do anything I can to make this work. I’m fine with the distance. I’ll come to you when I can. And I don’t care that your family life is complicated right now. I want to be there to help you through it.”

“And what about the press? Riley, you’ve seen what they say about me. They’ll tear you to shreds if they know we’re together.”

“ That’s what this is about?” he asks incredulously. “Willow, I don’t give a shit what they say about me. I want to be with you. I couldn’t care less what other people think about that. It’s our lives, not theirs.”

“They can be awful. And they love you. I don’t want to ruin that.”

“I know they’ve hurt you, Willow. Believe me, I know how painful it is to hear people say such awful things about you. And although being with Claire was awful, she was only one person, let alone the millions that berate you. But my experience with Claire taught me something. Eventually, I realized that her hateful comments were coming from a place of insecurity in herself. The faults she found with me were just projections—they didn’t mean anything, and they certainly didn’t define who I was. The only opinions that matter to me now are those of the people I love. None of the rest. I can handle some bad press. It might even be good for my ego,” he adds with a cocky grin.

“Really? You’re not just saying that?”

“I promise you, Willow. If that’s truly what’s holding you back, then there’s absolutely no reason why we shouldn’t be together.”

At this point, I can’t hold back any longer. I put one hand on his shoulder, the other on the side of his face, and kiss him. He doesn’t waste any time kissing me back, moving one hand to my waist as he wraps the ot her in my hair, pulling me closer until I’m straddling him. Unlike our first kiss in North Carolina, we don’t waste any time being gentle with this one. His arm wraps fully around my waist, and he pulls me flush against him, my back arching as I feel his hard length pressing against my core. I can’t help myself as I rock against him, grateful that I wore a dress so there’s one less layer between us right now. Riley groans into my mouth as I move my hips against his.

Needing to hear it one more time, I break the kiss and try to keep my gaze off his slightly swollen lips, but instead, they land on his heavy-lidded eyes, making me somehow more aroused. “And you’re sure you don’t mind the distance, or my family drama, or the press?” I pry.

“I don’t mind the distance,” he growls, placing his hand on the side of my neck and drawing me back in for another deep kiss. “Or the family drama,” he says a few seconds later after he reluctantly removes his lips from mine to speak. Then they’re on my jaw, kissing the spot right below my ear, making a breathy sound escape my lips. I feel his smile on my neck. “Or the press,” he assures me, moving to my collarbone. “I want you, Willow, no matter how many strings are attached.”

“Then,” I breathe, “as much as I love the third shirt you put on tonight, it’s coming off.” I unbutton it, and he leans away from me just far enough so I can slip the shirt off his body.

“And as much as I love this,” he says as he fingers the strap of my dress, “it’s coming off too.”

He somehow takes the dress off as he lifts me and sets me down on the blanketed edge of the couch, kneeling before me. Unsurprisingly, he ripped the dress with that maneuver—though it was still impressive.

“Riley,” I scold gently. “That was custom Schiaparelli! ”

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he says against one of my now bare breasts, his hand working the other. “Fuck, Willow, how are you so perfect?”

“I must be God’s favorite,” I respond in a heavy voice as I lean my head back in appreciation of his work. “Do I want to know how you got so good at this?”

He looks up at me and smirks in a way that makes me eager for his head to be between my legs. “Probably not,” he answers. “Let’s just say I was sort of a slut before I met you.”

“Thank God for those women, then,” I say as he reads my mind and kisses his way down my stomach, fixating on the area just above where I’m desperate for him to be.

“Enough talking,” he murmurs, his hand running up my thigh, again teasing me by stopping inches away from where I want him.

“Make me stop then,” I answer, and he huffs at the challenge.

He slips my underwear down my body, and then, finally, his tongue is on me, making a slow swipe up from my core to my clit.

“Fuck, Willow. You taste even better than I imagined.”

He focuses his tongue back on my clit, moving it in slow circles against me. I arch my back to try to get more pressure from him, and he laughs against me, the vibrations sending a jolt down my body. He slowly slides a finger inside me, making me whimper at how good it feels, yet still craving more. Riley’s tongue keeps working its circles on my clit as he slowly pumps a finger in and out of me, drawing me closer and closer to the edge.

“Riley,” I breathe. “I’m close.”

He grunts in response against me, now sucking my clit. And just to torture me, he works another finger in, two fingers now hitting the spot inside me that makes me see stars. And then I come, hands gripping the leath er of the couch, on the blanket, and at some point landing in his hair, searching for anything to grab onto. Riley continues to work his mouth and fingers on me as I come, dragging my pleasure out for as long as he can before, eventually, I’m a panting mess collapsed against the couch.

He slowly rises from between my legs, and his mouth is on mine again. There’s something so erotic about tasting myself on him, and it makes me clench my thighs together, anxious for all of him.

“You have no idea how often I dreamt of that,” he says against my lips.

“I hope it lived up to expectations.” I smile against him.

“Oh God, I almost came in my pants,” he responds, and I laugh at him.

“My turn?” I ask, reaching between us to stroke his hard length through his pants. As if he couldn't get any hotter, his dick is huge. Because, of course it is.

“No.” He draws back. “I was serious about the almost coming in my pants part. And I don’t want to do that until I’m inside of you.”

I unzip his pants, eager for him to make good on that promise. Despite feeling how big he was, I still gape at the sheer size of him when he slides his pants off.

He laughs when he meets my wide-eyed gaze. “You sure know how to make a guy feel good about himself.”

“As if everyone doesn’t look at you that way,” I retort.

“I like it so much more when you do it, though,” he says, ripping a condom open with his teeth before expertly unrolling it on his cock. “Are you sure about this?” he asks as he positions himself between my legs.

“Positive,” I say, pulling him on top of me. I gasp as he slowly rocks his hips forward me, stretching me inch by inch .

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He groans, eyes rolling back when he’s finally fully inside me and his hips are pressing flush against mine. “You okay?” he asks, recovering himself enough to gaze down at me.

His expression displays an unbelievably hot mix of lust and concern as he looks down at me, brushing a piece of stray hair off my face.

“Amazing,” I say, pulling him into a kiss and rocking my hips slightly, silently telling him to start moving.

He takes the hint, slowly pulling out and thrusting back in. A few minutes later, his strokes become faster and more desperate, both our breathing becoming labored. He lifts my right leg and angles himself deeper, eliciting a moan from both of us.

“I love the sounds you make.” He smirks as he repeatedly hits my G-spot, making more breathy sounds escape me.

“Riley,” I moan.

He groans in response. “You close?”

“Mhm,” I whimper as blackness fills my vision and pleasure courses through my body, my nails sinking into his back as I arch my body against him.

“Fuuuuck,” he drags the word out slightly.

He finishes seconds after I do, dissolving into messy strokes as he comes. As if that wasn’t already the best sex I’ve ever had, the groan Riley makes as he comes is incontestably the hottest sound I’ve ever heard. Honestly, that sound alone could drench me.

“Willow,” he whispers my name into my neck, still inside of me.

“Yeah?” I ask, catching my breath.

“I’m going to write a whole album for you.”

“That’s what you have to say right now?” I laugh as he slides out of me and disposes of the condom before stretching out next to me on the sectional part of the couch.

“Yep.” He smiles that stupid boyish grin I love so much as he turns on his side to face me. “In fact, I think every song I write from this point on will be about you.”

“Stop sweet-talking me.”

“I’m serious. I could write a whole album on your eyes alone. They’re so blue. Like a deep, twilight blue on the outside before changing to a sea green in the center. They’re mesmerizing.”

“Maybe workshop that a little before putting it in a song,” I tease, entangling my fingers with his as he laughs.

“I’m going to sing the song for you tomorrow.”

“I’d love that.” I move my head to rest on his broad chest. “But can we go a little slow with revealing our relationship to the public? Just so you’re absolutely sure it’s what you want.”

“I know what I want, but okay,” he answers, rubbing my back. “We can go slow. I won’t tell the crowd it’s about you, as much as I want to. We can stay private for as long as you want.”

“Thank you.” I kiss his shoulder. “Should we take this party up to my bedroom for the night? We wouldn’t want Heena to walk in on us naked.”

“You want me to spend the night?”

“You don’t want to?”

“Oh, I want to,” he answers, swooping me up into his arms as he stands.

“You’re ridiculous. I can walk.”

“Hopefully, by tomorrow morning, you won’t be able to.”

He walks me up to my bedroom and drops me on the bed, smiling wickedly at me, his cock rock hard and clearly wanting a round two.