How Good It Was, page 28
Good fucking thing because he was two seconds away from completely desecrating her by coming all over her chest and face.
Willow placed her hands on his thighs. “Are you okay?”
“Never better. Come here.” There was a chair by the window, and he sat on it, pulling her between his legs. “Turn around, straddle me, and ride me.”
Without thought, she did as he asked. Shuffling back until she was right where she needed to be, hovering above his dick. He loved her arse that she kept in shape with all those squats and lunges. He loved the curve of her spine and the set of her shoulders. He loved the way her waist nipped in.
From the back, there was no reminder she was pregnant.
It was just the two of them for a precious moment.
Perhaps he’d meant to tell her how good it felt. Or how hot she looked, reverse cowboying his dick. Instead, an unintelligible groan escaped him as she sat on him. She leaned forward, placing her palms on his knees, and began to move.
“Yeah, just like that,” he encouraged, gripping her hips, helping her lift and lower, taking him deeper each time.
“God. That feels so good.” He could feel her nails digging into his skin, the slight pinch of pain helping bring everything into focus.
“I love you, Willow.” He stroked his hand down her spine, then tapped her arse.
She glanced over her shoulder to look back at him. Her cheeks were pink, a slight sheen of sweat on her forehead, and a sparkle in her eye. “I love you too.”
Sheer curtains protected their privacy, but the idea that the London skyline and all those people were just the other side of them turned him on even more.
“Oh, Luke,” Willow cried, her movements losing rhythm. She was really close. He could feel her walls tightening around him as she squeezed him.
“Come on me,” he urged, gruffly, getting off on the way she lost that sheen of innocence when an orgasm was within reach.
She rolled her hips against him, shaking as she fell apart.
Without giving her time to recover, he lifted her off his dick, and shoved her back onto the bed, before sliding his dick back between her tits and gripping them himself, using his thumb to keep his dick in place.
He was so close.
Watching her ride him, knowing she loved him. “Yes,” he muttered, looking to the ceiling as he took a deep breath.
“Do it, Luke. Come on me. Please.”
The orgasm crashed down his spine, drawing his balls up tight as he came on her. “Flower,” he gasped as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through him.
When the shudders eased, he looked down at her, noting his cum on her neck and love and acceptance in her eyes. Gently, he let go of her, placed his fists either side of her head, and kissed her.
Her tongue met his softly.
Tenderly.
And he wanted her again.
The last thoughtful gift he could remember was the drum kit that had been his Dad’s idea. A way to bang out the boisterousness he often took out on furniture and his toys.
He’d flown once, and he couldn’t wait to do it again.
His mind was clearer than it had been in years.
Life was funny.
Sometimes you just had to trust the universe that it had a plan to help you learn all the lessons you needed to learn in life.
Willow was his teacher. Soul mate. Lover.
Words flowed into his mind. In a sequence. A chorus.
A song danced in the edges of his mind. He should work on it with Matt.
But first, he needed to perfect the melody.
“Shower?” he said, offering Willow his hand.
“Great idea. I’ll go get it started while you order some food because I’m starving.”
And as he tried to get room service to understand that he wanted a Snickers bar sliced with strawberries on top, he realised he already had it.
20
Willow plumped her pillow and turned to face Luke’s side of the bed. Surely it wasn’t the fact he wasn’t here that was keeping her awake. They’d only left for France the previous day. A mini promo trip for the album that was apparently crushing it over there.
She was too hot with the covers pulled over her, and too cool with them pushed down to her waist. And the skin on her stomach itched. Not obsessively, but enough to be irritating, despite all the cocoa butter she applied.
It didn’t help that Manchester was having a rare heat wave, and the apartment building, built to retain heat, felt like a toaster oven despite opening the windows wide. And hadn’t this damn country heard of air conditioning? Or at the very least, fly screens, so you could open the window without a million buzzing flies coming in and making themselves at home.
She flopped back to face the window and reached for her phone. Three a.m.
Holy shit.
That couldn’t be right.
Three hundred and seventeen messages.
As her heart began to race, she pushed herself up on the bed and turned on the lamp. It must be spam. Someone had gotten hold of her details and decided to prank her or something.
She opened her email, and holy crap. Major news network email addresses. What the . . .
Clicking on the first one, her breath caught in her chest.
It couldn’t be right.
Putting her name into the search engine, article after article appeared.
Faking it: Why Willow Warner is the biggest social media fraud of all
Fallen angel: How America’s princess tried to buy fame
Nothing Shamazing about Willow Warner
She clicked on it and read the article.
Willow Warner, 23, has been paying rock star Luke Bryson to pretend to be her boyfriend after getting knocked up after an alleged one-night stand with the drummer.
Jesus.
She should stop reading. But she couldn’t. An insider saying she planned it all along. That she was blackmailing Luke. That her biggest collaboration deals were at threat of being pulled.
That she was mean.
That she didn’t help other content providers.
That while she’d climbed on others to clamber to the top, she would rarely lift a finger to help anyone else.
With shaking hands, she went to her own posts, to the last picture she’d posted, of the two of them on the hotel balcony as the sun set over the water.
Faker.
I always knew she was a phoney.
Can you imagine making this shit up for likes?
Who traps a man into being with them?
I’m waiting to hear from Willow before I decide.
We owe it to her to see what she has to say.
We owe her shit. I’m so disappointed in her.
Her? What about him? He took money to look after his own kid. He’s the loser.
I think they look happy.
Yeah. I could fake a smile for a million bucks.
I wouldn’t have to fake anything to be with him ;-)
And in amongst the emails were messages from her sponsors. They’d all be wanting answers. Answers she couldn’t give, because . . . how did they find out? Had one of the band members mentioned it to someone they shouldn’t have?
Shit, she knew better than to trust people. She should never had let Luke convince her it was okay to tell them. People let her down all the goddamn time. Why had she allowed herself to be swayed? If only the two of them had known, it wouldn’t be out in the press.
Oh my God, what if they’d done it deliberately to raise the profile for the band?
No, they wouldn’t do that.
Tears of frustration and panic slid down her face. She was alone, in a foreign country, pregnant, and her career had just detonated.
And maybe this would be her life if she stayed.
Luke off playing his music while she stayed home and took care of real life.
She gasped and reached for a tissue.
No, this was just fear talking. What they had was good. Was real. But how could she ever convince anyone of that now? People would always wonder. How could she show that, in coming here, she’d found her peace with Luke? He’d not let her down, and until she knew different, she had to assume that this wasn’t his fault.
She dialled Luke’s number, but he didn’t answer. He slept like the dead. Plus, it was four in the morning in Paris. She tried again, but it clicked through to voicemail.
He’d mentioned the hotel he was staying at. Maybe she should call it.
Her phone flashed, but it was a number from the States she didn’t recognise.
And, hell, there were seventy-eight voicemails.
Willow threw back the covers and got out of bed. Damage control. That’s what she needed to do. She needed to think through a strategy, so when she got hold of Luke, they would know what to do.
Unless the press had hers and Luke’s bank statements, they could never prove money had been transferred. And the only people who had seen her contract was Sasha, Luke, and herself.
They could lie.
They could spin this.
She could say someone was out to get her by making stupid stories. A part of her wanted to blame her father, but he didn’t know.
And then, she’d record a statement. Put it out on her platforms. Control the narrative.
You don’t need to do this alone.
She didn’t.
The small voice in her head caught her off guard.
Quickly, she turned off the kettle, scrolled through her contacts, and dialled a number.
“Hello?” Izabel’s voice was thick with sleep.
“Can I come up?” Willow asked.
“Of course. Are you okay? It’s not the baby, is it?”
“No, just give me a minute.”
Willow threw her laptop, phone, and cables into her backpack, tugged on some sweats and Luke’s hoodie over her pyjamas, and headed up the stairs. The relief she felt at knowing that within seconds she wouldn’t be alone took the edge off her panic.
When Izabel let her in, the lights were on and the kettle bubbling. “Are you okay?”
“Someone leaked mine and Luke’s arrangement to the press,” she said.
Izabel pulled her into a hug. It was so unexpected that Willow wasn’t even able to raise her arms to hug her back, they were simply trapped down by her sides. “Miserable fuckers, whoever they are. Right. So, what do we need to do?”
“I tried to get hold of Luke, but you know how deep he sleeps and how shit he is with his phone.”
“I do. He’s useless. Okay. I’ll call Matt. And make tea.”
Willow grinned. She didn’t even like tea. But she’d drink it. She’d drink it because Izabel had asked what we were going to do about it. Because she’d opened her door at three in the morning to help her. Because she’d hugged her.
“Thanks, Iz.”
“It’s what sisters do. At least, I’ve always hoped that’s what they do. Having never had one, I’m making shit up as I go. But Cerys seems to accept it, and so will you.”
Family.
Sometimes it was blood. Sometimes it wasn’t.
Sometimes they sucked you dry for everything you could give them.
And other times they made you tea at three in the morning and told you that you were important to them.
“I will. I do.”
Izabel squeezed Willow’s shoulder. “I’ll take the ‘I will’. Save the ‘I do’ for Luke when he pulls his head out of his arse and proposes. Let me go see if I can wake Matt.”
Willow called Luke again, but no answer.
“I was just dreaming about you,” Matt’s voice rumbled from Izabel’s phone. Willow watched the gooey smile appear on Izabel’s face as she smiled at the screen.
“Hope it was a good dream.”
“The best. Everything alright, babe?” Matt asked.
“You need to go wake Luke. Call his room. Knock on his door. Just get him to call Willow.”
“Everything okay with the baby?” Matt asked. “Is Willow okay?”
“She’s here, but she needs him. Shit’s hit the fan. Someone leaked their agreement.”
“Motherfucker. Look after her, babe. I’ll go get Luke. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Izabel put the phone down on the kitchen counter and went about making the tea. “Any idea how they found out?”
Willow sighed. “None. I mean. Perhaps I’ve been hacked. Like my laptop files. I’ve gone through each of you in my mind and can’t believe that anyone would hurt Luke like that.”
“We wouldn’t hurt you like that, Willow. Anyone with half a brain looks at the two of you and sees two people who love each other. And for those of us who have loved Luke longer than you have, we all saw him riding an edge he couldn’t stay on. We’re rooting for the two of you.”
“Thank you,” she said, taking the cup Izabel offered. “Seriously.”
Izabel grinned. “I’m just imagining Matt wandering around a Paris hotel in his boxer briefs, trying to find Luke. He’s a bit useless on too little sleep.”
“Aren’t we all,” she said, glancing at the increasing number of notifications on her phone. “I can’t bear to look,” she said.
“Have you read any of it?” Izabel asked.
Memories of the comments made her shiver. “Yeah. Mostly negative. With some loyals saying they want to wait until I make a statement. The headlines are pretty awful.”
“Did you know I studied public relations as part of my degree?”
Willow’s stomach flipped. “You did?”
“Yeah. So while we wait for Luke to call, why don’t we start to build a plan? For a start, grant me access to all your platforms. You aren’t to read any of the stuff posted over the next forty-eight hours. It’s too stressful. I’ll read it and make a list of themes your statement should address. And then, we’ll document it and send out a press release. Granted, this is a bigger press release than anything I’ve ever worked on, but it shouldn’t be hard. I’ll set up an email address for all enquires so they filter to one place. Then, we’ll pin the statement to all your platforms. And maybe when—”
“Thanks, Iz,” Willow whispered, reaching for Izabel’s hands.
Izabel smiled as she nodded. “Anytime, sis.”
Luke slammed upright in bed. “What the fuck?” he muttered as he reached for the lamp. The phone in his hotel room was ringing, while someone hammered on the door.
The red lights of the digital clock in the room accusingly told him it was half past four in the morning.
“One second,” he shouted grumpily as he reached for his joggers and pulled them on.
He yanked open the door to find Matt in the hallway. With his T-shirt crooked, his shorts wrinkled, and his feet bare, Matt looked as dishevelled as he felt. They’d only been in bed two hours.
“There’s nothing wrong with the baby, but you need to call Willow.”
His heart dropped in his chest with a thud that reverberated through his ribs.
“What happened?” he said, grabbing his phone.
Five missed calls.
Matt opened his phone and pointed it in Luke’s direction.
How far will influencers go? As Willow Warner is revealed to be nothing like her social media persona, we dive into what makes women like her lie online.
Contract relationships takes collabs to a whole new level.
Insiders say Darrin Warner is concerned about daughter’s behaviour.
The worst, a photograph of the two of them, the last one posted to her social media platforms. It was after their talk on the rocks, where he bared his soul to her. They’d wandered back to the hotel, hand in hand. And after a glass of wine where he’d thanked his lucky stars that she was still with him, she’d taken the picture.
It was the backdrop of his phone, because in that moment, he’d felt that life might be conquerable. To see it bashed online hurt.
He dialled Willow, is heart racing as he waited for her to pick up.
“Flower,” he said as Willow’s face appeared on his screen. At his words, a tear spilled over her lashes and his heart cracked for her. “We’ll figure it out. Together. I promise.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I should never have asked you to do this.”
“One second, babe.” He looked at Matt. “Get me home, mate. As soon as we can, yeah?”
“Alex is already on it. I’ll stop by his room to see what he found. United front, yeah? All of us have your back. And Willow’s.”
“Thanks, mate.”
He waited to respond to Willow until the door clicked shut. “You don’t need to be sorry. If you’d come to me back then with anything else, the promise of a relationship, I wouldn’t have listened. It’s because of that contract I’m here. I’m not sorry in the least.”
“You’re not?”
“How could I be? I love you. You’re carrying my child. And I love him too. Was it the kind of get together that legends are made of? Not exactly. But isn’t that what all good rock ’n’ roll stories are made of?”
“You still love me?”
“Yes, Will. I love you. Loved you from the moment Alex bet me a hundred quid I couldn’t sleep with you.”
“I was a bet?”
“You were. The easiest money I ever made because one look at you and I was sunk. I just didn’t know how to deal with it.”
“But a bet?”
“Yup. And I’d bet on you, and us, and Cletus a hundred times over. When our back is against the wall, I want to . . .”
Shit. A lump formed in his throat.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Sorry. I was just thinking I want to be like Dad. I want to protect you and Cletus. I want it to be us versus the world when it matters.”
Willow placed her hand over her heart. “You did a great job of protecting your sister. I have no doubt you can look after us. Your sister is amazing, by the way.”
“What made you go up there?”
“I realised I didn’t need to face this alone.”
“You trust her.”
“I drank tea.”
“Wow. You really do trust her.”
This time when she smiled, it reached her eyes. “Izabel has been so helpful. She’s helping me write a PR plan. I thought we could deny it. Unless people have proof, which I think—”
