Published by Erin Noelle
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.
Cover design by Hang Le
Cover photo by Mighty Aphrodite Photography
Editing by Kayla Robichaux
Formatting by Kassi Cooper
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Bonus Material
Acknowledgements
About the Author
SCARLETT
One thing I’ve learned about life in my short time here is that it never goes as planned. Getting up each time it knocks you down is hard; some of us get knocked down more than others, but in my opinion, we’re the ones that are stronger in the end. After Ash died, I truly thought I’d never love anyone again. Even after I’d come to terms with all of it and began to love myself for me, I didn’t think I could make myself susceptible to feeling pain like that again. But when Mase showed up on my door step that morning, all of that went out the window. I realized that loving yourself is vital because then, and only then, do you realize you deserve the love of another.
I’d love to say he walked in that day, swept me off my feet again, and we rode off into the sunset happily ever after, but that isn’t reality, and actually it isn’t even the ending of most books anymore.
“Mommy, Auntie Andi says it’s time for us to get married,” a sweet, tiny voice interrupts my thoughts.
I turn around to see my precious daughter standing in the doorway, dressed in her light pink sundress and flip flops. Laughing, I walk over to her and pick her up. “Did Auntie Andi say that you can get married in those shoes?” She nods her head with a big grin on her face. “Well, in that case, I’m wearing my flip flops too. You don’t think Daddy will mind do you?”
“No, Daddy and Everett have on their new black Chucks. He said you’d like them,” she says with a giggle.
I roll my eyes as I set Ashlynn down on the ground. “I don’t care what they wear, as long as we all get to get married.” I bend down to kiss the top of her head. “Now go tell Auntie Andi that Mommy will be there in five minutes.”
As she takes off down the hallway, I spin around to look at myself one last time in the mirror, taking a deep breath. Mase and I didn’t get to this point the conventional way, and I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it to anyone else, but it is how our book had to be written in order to get the ending just right.
The wedding ceremony is perfect - even with Ashlynn announcing her need to pee in the middle of the vows - and the reception is even better. I couldn’t stop smiling as I witness our friends and family eating, dancing, and having an overall great time. As the evening comes to an end, Mase comes up to me and grabs my hand. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
He leads me and all of the guests outside, then walks over to the event coordinator and whispers something in her ear. Returning to me, he stands behind me and circles his arms around my waist, pulling my back close to his chest. A song begins playing through the outside speakers and he starts singing lowly into my ear. Then suddenly, the sky fills with butterflies -thousands of them. I stand there in complete awe, looking up into the heavens as the beautiful creatures blanket the sky.
He continues his serenade “Come to me my sweetest friend, this is where we start again…” When the song was over, he turns me around in his arms and presses his forehead to mine. “Scarlett Alexandria Templeton, I have finally found my euphoria.”
SCARLETT
Collapsing on the cool, hardwood floor of our new living room, I close my eyes and press my overheated cheek against the smooth surface, silently wishing it was a week into the future. Hopefully then, this place would be unpacked, organized, and somewhat decorated. Forcing my lids open, I peer at the sea of boxes and storage containers surrounding my limp, exhausted body. As I scan the room, mentally assessing the damage, my gaze lands on two black Chucks in the pathway leading to the front foyer, one of the toes tapping. I can’t help but smile, knowing that shoe holds a small part of a body I’ve grown to love so much. Automatically, my eyes lustfully journey upwards, traveling first over the long, denim-covered legs, then across the Sublime t-shirt plastered with sweat against the toned torso. I finally reach the face that stars in both my sweetest and naughtiest dreams—my husband.
My husband, I repeat the words in my head, still somewhat in disbelief we’ve made it to this point.
“Scarlett Alexandria Templeton, what in the world are you doing?” His attempt to scold me is unsuccessful as the edges of his lips curl up in a cheeky grin.
Rolling over onto my back, I move my arms and legs back and forth, making angels in the pretend-snow. “I’m being the angel you always tell me I am,” I reply deadpan. “This is my role in the marriage, right?”
In the blink of an eye, he’s on top of me—his damp, sticky body blanketing mine while he tickles my sides relentlessly. Wiggling, squirming, and flopping like a fish out of water, I try desperately to escape his grasp, but to no avail. Straddling my hips, his weight keeps the lower-half of my body prisoner as he manages to somehow pin both of my wrists to the floor above my head with only one of his hands, leaving his other hand free to taunt and tease the most sensitive areas of my body.
“Stop it! Please! I’m sorry!” I frantically plead in-between my gasps for air.
“Nope,” he says with a wicked laugh. “You wanted to be funny, now I’m showing you how funny I can be.”
For what seems like hours—but is actually only a few minutes—he tortures me with those five fingers, alternating from my ribcage, to my waist, to under my chin. All I can do is lie there with my eyes closed and pray I don’t pee in my pants. Eventually, his movements grow slower and the frantic motion is replaced with a light stroking of his hands across the bare skin of my stomach. I open my eyes to look up at his scruffy but still extremely handsome face, and the playful, mischievous look in his steel-colored irises has morphed into a lustful hunger. Without thought, my body reacts, my hips lifting up and pressing into him as my core floods with desire.
“What are you doing?” he asks, feigning innocence, his stare glued to my chest as he pushes my cotton tank top further up to expose my pale pink bra.
“What are you doing?” I respond breathily, now unashamedly grinding against his crotch.
His fingertips lazily trail along the edge of my demi-cup, coming ever-so-close to my hardening nipples straining to be freed. “I’m trying to remind my wife that we have lots of things we’re supposed to be doing, and napping on the living room floor isn’t one of them.”
Moaning softly, my back bows up off the ground, arching into his caress. Like a skilled snake charmer, his touch is my pungi, hypnotizing my body to slink and sway in an erotic dance of passion. I’m his willing captive, his adored angel, his loving wife. But most of all, I’m just his.
“I think I need more reminding,” I whisper. I’m fully aware we’re both a sweaty mess, but I couldn’t care less. With what I have in mind, we’ll just get sweatier and messier.
Tearing his heavy-lidded eyes from my breasts, he moves his gaze up to meet mine, flashing me a wicked grin. “You promise you’ll be productive afterwards?” He pushes his rock-hard cock down and rotates his hips slightly against my throbbing clit as he asks.
“Mhmm,” I groan, tilting my head back, offering the delicate skin of my neck to him. “I promise I’ll be good.”
He lowers his face to mine, and his lips hover so close I can almost taste him. Instead of feeding my hunger for his kiss, he dips down and traces his nose along my jawline—chin to ear, and back again—as his thumb dips under the satin fabric, flicking my pebbled nipple. “I never said anything about being good,” he mumbles, peppering kisses down my throat and across my collarbone.
I attempt to free my hands from his hold; I want to touch him…I need to touch him. The fiery ache seeded deep in my belly blazes through my body from the tingles in my scalp, down to the sizzling sensation in my toes, all converging in sweltering chaos between my legs. “Please, Mase,” I beg, “I’m gonna be a worthless mess if you don’t finish this now.”
Laughing softly, he lifts his chest up and looks down at me. “The movers will be back in about twenty minutes. What if they walk in and see us?”
“We can be fast,” I reply quickly, still squirming underneath him. We have five-year-old twins; we’ve mastered the act of fast sex.
He leans down and captures my mouth with his in a greedy, demanding kiss. He never denies me what I want, especially when what I want is him buried deep inside of me. “Stand up. Shorts and panties around your ankles. Bend over those boxes.” His bossiness enthralls me, my body and mind always eager to please him.
Hopping to his feet, he helps me up off the floor and I hurriedly obey his commands. My frayed denim cutoffs and pink striped panties slide effortlessly down my legs. Locating a stack of boxes at the perfect height, I bend at the waist and rest my chest on top of the flat, cardboard surface with the word BOOKS scribbled in black permanent marker across it. I chuckle to myself, thinking I not only read about sex in books, I now have sex on top of books.
He wastes no time giving me exactly what I want. As soon as I hear the zipper and the sound of clothes rumpling behind me, the tip of his erection slides up and down my slippery folds twice before he plunges deep inside of me. Bracing myself for the ride, he grabs my hips and begins to thrust in and out at the perfect pace. Over our years together, we’ve both learned how to play each other’s bodies like fine-tuned instruments. Even though we’re both skilled musicians, there’s nothing more harmonious than the sounds we make when our bodies move together—no matter if we’re tenderly making love, or fucking each other’s brains out.
Looking at him over my shoulder, I thoroughly enjoy watching him claim my body time and time again. The flexing of his inked arms with each thrust. The way he unconsciously sucks on his lip ring. The darkening of his eyes to a charcoal gray as he climbs closer to his orgasm. Every expression entrancing, every movement mesmerizing.
He digs his thumbs into the dimples nestled at the small of my back, and I know the end is near. His eyes are locked on mine as he pounds into me, each stroke pushing me higher and higher to the peak of ecstasy. One final plunge and we both freefall together as the white-hot flames coursing through my veins deliver an all-encompassing rapture. Absolute perfection.
Collapsing on top of me, his stomach flush against my back, he kisses the feather tattoo on my left shoulder blade peeking out from the spaghetti strap of my shirt. Neither of us moves for several minutes, until our ragged breathing returns to normal and our pulse stabilizes. Eventually, he slowly slides out of me, and I whimper softly at his absence.
Chuckling, he slaps my naked ass and steps back to pull up his boxers and jeans. “You’re insatiable, woman! Now get dressed and get to unpacking all these boxes like you promised,” he teases. “If you’re lucky, I’ll reward you later for your hard work.”
“Whatever, man. We’ve got three days with no kids, and I fully plan on taking advantage of our time alone.” I playfully roll my eyes as I redress, adding quietly, “Boxes…shmoxes.”
He silences my grumblings with an affectionate kiss. “I love you, Scarlett. I’m so glad we’re here—in our own home. We’re finally doing it right.”
“I love you too, Mase,” I reply, beaming back at him.
Our moment is interrupted by a knock at the door; the movers have returned with the final load of furniture. Quickly kissing me one more time, he goes to let them in and assist in getting everything in the correct room. As I spin around slowly, trying to decide where to start, a container in the corner labeled PHOTOS catches my eye. I know this is at the bottom of the priority list, but curiosity gets the best of me. Dragging it into the middle of the room, I pop open the side locks, anxious to find out what’s inside.
SCARLETT
The first picture waiting when I open the treasure chest of memories is one of Mason, Max, and me the night of the Jobu’s Rum homecoming party at Empty’s Pub. Even though we all appear to be genuinely happy, a different expression plays on the face of each of us. Max appears to be giddy and spirited with his flushed cheeks, Mase looks relieved and appreciative, and I…well, a glimmer of hope and promise sparkles in my mossy-green eyes.
Grabbing the next few photos on the top of the pile—all from the same night—there’s one of the entire band doing shots of tequila, another of me with my acoustic on stage, and finally, one of me and Mase locked in a passionate kiss. It was a night I’ll never forget—the night our love was resurrected.
After Mason showed up at my apartment, returning the bracelet to me with the addition of the Psyche butterfly charm, I didn’t see him for a couple of weeks. We spoke on the phone and texted often, but I was more than a bit overwhelmed with his unannounced arrival and the information about him getting daily reports on my healing process. Understanding and supportive, he kept his distance at my request, not wanting to pressure me into anything, but always reminding me he was there. I think I had three or four therapy sessions with Heather in the week following, as I struggled to surface under the multitude of emotions drowning me. Joy. Sorrow. Love. Guilt. Excitement. Optimism. Love. Grief. Forgiveness. Love. The one sentiment I always came back to was love—my love for Ash, my love for Mason.
When Max first told me about the big party Marcus was throwing for the band’s homecoming from their first world tour, I had no intentions of going. I hadn’t been in Empty’s since I left for California with Ash. Its walls held too many memories, and I was afraid if I ever returned, they would ruthlessly throw them in my face. But as the day drew closer, my love for Mason became more and more palpable, and I realized I was unable to break free from the hold he had on my heart. I knew what I needed to do.
No one except for Max and Andi knew I was coming, not even Mina. Thankfully, the clear January night offered colder-than-usual temperatures, so I was able to conceal myself inside a heavy parka and scarf as I walked through the front door of the bar I’d spent so many of my nights in. Working my way through the body-to-body crowd, I may have been able to hide from the people, but I couldn’t escape the pungent aroma of beer flowing freely from the taps, the vibrations from the live music reverberating throughout my body, the hum in the atmosphere thick with whispers of sex and lust, and all of the memories accompanying the devastatingly familiar sensations.
Immediately, I knew exactly where Mase was; all I had to do was locate the hoard of scantily-clad females and I could see the top of his recently-buzzed head dir
ectly in the center. Staying close to the outer wall, I made my way over to 32 Leaves’ table, where Max and Andi were sitting. As soon as they saw me, both of them hurried over to me, making sure I was ready to go with everything. Unsure if I was more nervous or excited, the exhilaration pumped through me either way.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” Max asked, true concern for my wellbeing evident in his voice.
Nodding, I smiled modestly at him. “It’s time. I have to move on; as hard as it is, I have to keep on living. He would want that.”
He pulled me into a tight embrace, kissing my cheek. “You’re gonna be great, Scarlett. The acoustic’s waiting for you on the side of the stage. I’ll make sure the mic is on.”
Before I could talk myself out of it, I stripped out of my outerwear and made my way towards the stage. Grabbing the guitar, I jumped up on the elevated surface, anxiety twisting in my stomach. Several people took notice of my presence immediately, but it wasn’t until I tapped lightly on the microphone that I got the attention of the entire room.
Laughing nervously, I glanced over to the area of the Jobu’s Rum table. “This feels like déjà vu. I’m almost positive I’ve stood in this exact same spot, telling the exact same man I want to give it another shot.” I paused briefly to clear my throat, praying the moisture would return to my parched mouth. “I know everyone’s here tonight to welcome our very own Jobu’s Rum back home, and even though I’m thrilled to see Cruz, Aaron, and Sebastian again, this song is for the only Rummer that owns my heart.”
I’d thought long and hard about what song I wanted to perform that night. There were so many options in which the lyrics nailed my feelings for Mase on the head, but no song had more meaning than Avril Lavigne’s “I Love You”—the song he sang to me at Mina and Noah’s wedding. As soon as I began the opening chords of my acoustic version, my eyes found his, and magically, every other person in the bar morphed into a blurry version of themselves. They were merely background scenery for the moment. Our moment. Somehow, I made it through the entire song without shedding a tear, but after I sang my last “La la la, that’s why I love you,” I lowered the guitar to rest on the floor, and said to him, “Consider my wings clipped, Mase.” And then, the water works began.