Timeless (2 page)

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 directly 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.

Instantly, I was engulfed in his arms, deafened by the cheers and applause surrounding us. Then we were kissing—kissing like no one else was there. Mouths devouring. Hands roaming. Lips claiming. Tongues coaxing. Hearts submitting.

And thus, our love was reborn.

“Scarlett, come in here, please.” Mason’s voice echoes through the house, ripping me from my blissful reminiscence. “We need to know where you want the bed.”

Startled, I hop to my feet and head towards the master bedroom, where he and the movers await my instructions for furniture placement. Once we get all of the pieces in just the right spots, Mase runs back outside to help the movers bring in the kids’ furniture. Hoping it will take them a while to get it unloaded and up the stairs, I scurry back over to the container of old pictures, eager to see what else I can find.

SCARLETT

Plopping back down on the floor next to the container of old photos, I open several additional boxes and set a few miscellaneous items out around me, in an attempt to appear productive. I dig back into the pictures and pull out another handful, excited for my next journey down Memory Lane. On top of the stack, I find myself staring into familiar green eyes sparkling with excitement and wonder, a young woman ready to embark on an expedition of the unknown. Flipping through a few more, there are shots of me and Mase, the entire band, me and Sophie, and a few of all six of us together. We’re all standing next to the tour bus
—
which we later nicknamed
Cerrano
—
the day I left to go on tour with Jobu’s Rum.