Four Years Later
When the announcer of the annual Harrington Writing Convention, Audrey I think was her name, introduced me in a grand fashion, my first thought was: I have to pee.
My second thought revolved around cussing myself out for thinking it was a good idea to wear heels to this event. I mean seriously, why do formal event call for accessories that double as torture devices? My pinky toe lost feeling back when I first walked into the ballroom and that was almost an hour ago. But still, as I wobbled up to the stage I wore a huge smile pretending like my toe wasn't about to fall off.
Audrey met me halfway to hand over the microphone. Even she was wearing heels but she looked completely fine. I wonder what's her secret?
"Here you go, ma'am. And before I forget they were also wondering if you would do a quick poetry reading," she informed.
My eyes widened. "What? Now?"
"After your speech," she suggested. "It doesn't have to be anything huge. It's just that we reviewed the feedback from the last convention and a lot of people wrote that down as a suggestion. They want to hear the work from the person hosting the event. It sort of proves to them that they are being guided by someone reliable."
"I see." My bladder was screaming in protest but still I said, "I guess I'll throw in something at the end."
The announcer perked up with a smile. "Thank you, ma'am. I'm sure it will be wonderful."
"Thank you." I sent her a friendly smile before taking the mic then added, "And stop calling me ma'am, I'm only twenty-six."
She blushed furiously as she took her seat off the stage with the guest professors. All of their seats were filled up except one that I kept frowning at. Where is he? By instinct I wanted to check my phone but that wasn't possible right now. Later, I promised myself.
Before stepping up to the podium I mentally cut my speech in half now that I had to throw in a reading at the end. Last year my speech lasted almost ten minutes, but I'm shooting for five at the most this time. Not to mention I had to pee like racehorse, but I digress.
When I looked out into the crowd I couldn't see majority of the attendees because the spotlight was blinding on me. However, from what I could the room was packed with at least seventy participants this year. Much more than last year, and if we go as planned, it will only keep growing from there.
I made a vow when I got this position to accept as many eager applicants as I could into the convention as possible. That way people don't get discouraged and feel like they are failures if they don't get accepted like I did. There are restrictions, however, to make sure that the people coming here are truly in it gain something and not just for extra credit. So far we have done well, and I couldn't be more happy.
"Thank you for the amazing introduction Ms. Hillsman," I spoke into the mic once the applause died down. "I am so honored to be here with you all this week. It is absolutely amazing that I can say this will be my second year hosting the Harrington Writing Convention."
I had to pause the crowd erupted into another round of applause. When they quieted down I continued.
"It holds a special meaning to me for many different reasons. The most important being the I was once in your place about five years ago. I would say that I was sitting in the chair you are now, but I actually arrived late so I opted for sitting on the floor," a few laughs rang out in the crowd.
"Yeah, it was a rough day. Anyway, I was were you are now even if I wasn't in a chair. I was looking up at the stage listening to the host with excitement as they went on and on about promises of making me a better writer and succeeding," I refrained from gagging when thinking of who the host was.
"I took their words to heart because they are what I've been hoping to hear since the day I realized I wanted to be a writer. You see, none of us are perfect. None of us are the absolute top notch best writers and even those who are spectacular have an editor. You know why? Because there is always room for improvement. Your writing now is not how it's going to be years from now. What you learn now and take with your from this convention is what's going to sculpt you into who you will be.
"So you may be asking what will this convention do for me? Well, I could give you a list of our workshops, but that's not all there is to it. Take a look around you," I had to admit it was cool when I saw heads turn back and forth under my command. "The people here that you are surrounded by are more than just attendees, they are the second type of writers. What does that mean, you may ask. Well, to me there are two different types of writers," I held up two fingers in the air. "One type of writer is someone who enjoys it. Now I know you are looking at me thinking, well I enjoy writing, and that's great! But there is more to this type so hold on."
I cleared my throat before continuing. "The first type enjoys writing like I said. They spend a couple hours in the day writing something here or there when they get the chance. They do it more as a hobby, which I'm not saying is a bad thing, but there is one major difference between the two. The second type first and foremost do not enjoy writing . . . not even in the slightest. You know why? Because the term 'enjoy' is such a minuscule term. No, the second type has to write."
I paused again when I heard some cheering in the crowd. "Yeah, you understand! The second type has to write, what does that mean? It means they do all of the things the first type of writer does but on a grander scale. There is a story, maybe multiple, trapped inside of them. These stories aren't just fictional beings either, they are a part of them. When you close your eyes, before you go to sleep, instead of imagining strolling on the beach you think of that world you created. When it is three in the morning and your body is begging you to retire your fingers keep tapping on that keyboard because you will not rest until Bobby gets to the cave. A second type finds solitude in their writing and reaches for dreams that others laugh about. Because when the second type is asked "What do you want to be when you grow up?" the immediate response is, "I am a writer."
The applause was outrageous now. "I am a writer, not I want to be a writer. A writer is ingrained in you. It's a disease that you don't want the cure for. It's a part of you whether you like it or not. Ten, twenty, thirty years down the road you will still be working on something because you have to. And if life throws a curve ball and you are not the next J.K. Rowling what do you do? Giving up is not an option. You write on your break, you write late at night, you write when early in the morning you write because you have to. The second type is a writer because they have no choice. And my friends . . . you are all here because you are the second type. And that is the greatest part of the convention, to be surrounded by others who understand."
So much for cutting my speech in half, I thought to myself when the crowd went wild. Now their response was giving me even more energy to power through despite my bladder's protests. I felt like a rockstar.
"I am here not just as a host, but as a person giving you tools to groom that passion inside of you. I say groom and not tame because I know a writer can never be tamed," the crowed hooped and hollered. "The tools provided to you here at the Harrington Writing Convention are those that will only make you better at the skills you already have.
These are skills and lessons you should take with you for years to come. I know I did. The things I learned at my first Harrington Writing Convention are what helped my poetry collection Invariably succeed, " someone let out a cheer and I laughed into the mic. "I hope . . . I hope that--sorry, I just lost my train of thought. I wasn't expecting someone to actually cheer about my book as if it was Adele's new CD."
A few people including the professors laughed for a moment before I shook my head and began again, "Sorry, anyways, I sincerely hope that you all can find the same tools that I did and use them to your advantage because that it was this convention is all about. It is here to help you succeed in accomplishing those dreams people laughed at you about. And when you do, you can finally look at them and says 'Told you so'."
I felt like I was on top of the world when everyone in the room applauded. Usually I would go on a little further from here, but at this point I felt like I was going to pee on myself. I began to wrap things up after thanking the crowd. "So, before I go I was told earlier that there is a request for a little reading of my own work. Obviously I don't have my book in front of me, so I can't actually read anything, but, there is one poem that I know by heart. I actually wrote it during my convention, so I hope you will enjoy it," I took a sip of water on the podium. "It's entitled, Onyx."
I was surprised once again that a few people from the crowd actually cheered. It was as if I was playing a song rather than reading a poem. Now I really felt like a rockstar.
I cleared my throat once more before reciting the words ingrained in my heart and mind.
"Some will swoon for hazel
And others melt for jade
Nordic blue or maybe glacial
Blended browns of every shade
In truth, these tones are lovely
Yet another tempts me further
It is an onyx that I study
Black tears through me, a fervor
Claims me in entrapment
This charcoal fills my mind
As a fire, spreading rampant
Thick smoke leaving me blind
Innocent and wicked
Eyes of raven leave me mute
This craving you elicit
My own forbidden fruit
But something deep within them
Hints at a gentle mercy
No longer can I pretend
When at my seams, I'm bursting
Stones of your eyes, they draw me
Building pressure, then diffuse
Light and darkness most alarming
Though I try, cannot refuse
It is onyx, mostly taunted
Through my chest, this heartbeat thrums What I can't have, and all I've wanted
Is all wrapped into one"
I couldn't help but think of the source of the poem when I read it. My lips curled at the thought of the man with dark eyes.
When I finished, the room was silent for about a heartbeat until their applause filled the ballroom. I was astounded when I noticed they were not only clapping, but standing as well. I smiled at the crowd thanking them once more. When I could get a word in I informed that they can collect their daily schedule on the table in front of me.
Once they started moving I scrambled away looking for anything that resembles a bathroom. A few people tried to stop and talk to me but I told them I would return shortly and that I had business to attend to.
After my bladder didn't want to kill me anymore I returned to the ballroom as promised to answer any questions. But soon my time to shine was over, at least for now, and I could escape to my room. On my way to the elevator I remembered my promise I made earlier and checked my messages on my phone.
Majority were business related, but I smiled when I saw that Granny had sent me something. It's only been twenty-four hours since I last spoke to her, but I stilled missed her like crazy. When I clicked on the link she sent it revealed a photo of her and Dale standing near the eiffel tower kissing with a sour looking Watson between them. Underneath in small text it read, 'Just figured out how to french kiss!'.
I snorted at her comment then clicked on another link that showed the couple eating pizza in Italy. Ever since the two established their relationship all they've been doing is traveling the world, and I couldn't be more happy. Granny was continueing doing what she loved and Dale wasn't alone anymore. Plus he did tell me once how badly he wanted to travel and now he got his chance.
When Granny offered to travel the world together he sold his bar to Maddie who then turned it into her own restaurant. As I figured, her best selling dish is chili cheese fries. I heard she married Harris only three months after dating because according to Dale "their love could not be contained, or somethin' like that". So far they've stayed together, even if Harris did try to paint a nude mural of Maddie on the restaurants walls.
While continueing my path to the elevator I looked at another message from Mom sent last night asking if had I arrived to the hotel. As usual, she was clingy right before I left to go somewhere. There was another text right underneath from Dad telling me to reply to Mom's message. Oops. I quickly texted her back letting her know that I am safe and sound and to stop using Dad when I don't reply quick enough.
Four years ago I would have loved to have her this conerned about me all the time, but now, it's becoming a hassle. I think Ben's crash really took a toll on her and now she's an overprotective mother. She even quit her job as a lawyer and instead helps Dad rennovate houses to sale. She isn't the best decorator, but it turns out she is better at the business aspect of it than Dad. Whereas Dad comes off as too nice and unorganized Mom swoops in to handle it all while closing a deal. I was truly happy for them.
The final message was a video sent from my brother. I smiled and pressed the play button as I stepped in the elevator. Once inside I tore off my shoes and leaned against the wall watching the video.
On the screen Ben was standing in what looks like Mom's living room holding his three year son upside down by his feet. Without warning he flipped the toddler up and over his shoulder before spinning around in circles. Danica looked completely horrified but my nephew laughed the entire time. Just like his father.
"What do you say to Aunt Alli?" Ben asked directing the camera on his son.
The toddler was laughing so much he couldn't speak so Ben tickled him producing squeals. "Tell her Benny, what do you say?"
Benny laughed, his dark blonde curls bouncing, when he said to the camera, "Go kick ash at the com-ben-shun, Aunt Alli!" I snickered at him trying to say 'convention'.
In the background I heard something drop and Mom came storming into the video yelling, "Language!"
Soon after that the video stopped right when I reached my floor. I checked for any other messages, particularly one from a certain person explaining his absence, but was met with nothing. Frowning I put my phone in my pocket and stepped off the elevator with ease now that those damn heels are off.
When I reached my suite I began to unlock it when suddenly the door swung open from the other side. Stunned, I looked up to see an incredibly handsome man standing there with the door open. The familiar man with curly brown hair, dark brown eyes, and a fitted suit smiled at me.
"Hello beautiful," Jasper greeted.
Ignoring the desire pulsing through my veins I stepped around him and into the room.
"You didn't show up."
"I know," he shut the door behind me. "I couldn't get Jade off the phone."
"Because?" I asked shrugging off my blazer.
He let out a sigh. "Paisley got in trouble because she got caught kissing a boy from school."
"I bet Jade was really happy about that," I snickered walking towards him.
"Completely," Jasper rolled his eyes. "She told me how happy she was about it for almost an hour." He wrapped his arms around me pulling me close before kissing my forehead. "I'm sorry I missed your speech."
"That's not what I'm concerned about. They announced the guest professors and when they got to your name you weren't there."
"They know who I am," he shrugged.
"Yes, but I think it looks bad on Ridgefield when their top professor doesn't even show up to his introduction," I pulled back to look at him pointedly.
But instead of taking it seriously his eyes traveled up and down my body heatedly. "God you're so hot."
I pushed him away. "Stop changing the subject."
"I'm not," he pulled me back to him and held on. "Ridgefield will be fine. It's not my first rodeo representing them."
I hate to admit that he was right. Everyone knows Jasper always come to the convention representing Ridgefield. It turned out years ago while I was interviewing to work for Harrington Publishing Jasper was also going through the same thing with Ridgefield University. He didn't want to tell me until everything was for certain, but apparently back when I broke things off with Jasper after the convention he hit an all time low. One drunken night he decided to apply for a teaching position at Ridgefield for the fifth time. In his eyes he had nothing left to lose.
What he didn't expect is that on my graduation day they called him to offer an interview. The next day before I told him about my own interview at Harrington they offered him the position. He admitted he flipped out like I had because he didn't want to leave me, but after I broke the news, he was excited.
Therefore, while I was in turmoil over possibly being three hours away from Jasper, he kept silent to make sure he didn't influence my decision. I punched him the day he told me he would be a professor at Ridgefield. And then afterwards I made it up to him at our new house we bought together.
"Besides," Jasper continued breaking me from my thoughts, "if they knew Jade, they would understand."
"Definitely," I chuckled thinking of the many times Jade has called flustered. "So Paisley is being a little scandalous now, huh? Sounds like somebody I know."
"Please," he groaned. "All I know is," he slid his hand from waist to the front of my stomach, "if Ella ever gets caught kissing a boy, we are putting her in a nunnery."
I placed my hand over his but rolled my eyes. "I'm sure the first thought you'd have when your daughter tells you she kissed a boy is to rip her away from society."
"Exactly," he kissed my nose. "Glad we are on the same page."
I chuckled and laid my head against his chest. His familiar scent instantly soothed me even after smelling it every day. We started to sway back and forth slowly, as if we were dancing, when I thought of something.
"Babe?"
"Hmm?" He rested his cheek on top of my head.
"Why are you so certain the baby is a girl? We just found out last week."
"Call it father's intution," he rubbed his hand over my flat stomach. I imagined what it would look like when its plump and round. We wouldn't be able to hold each other this close, not that I would mind. It was just an odd thought realizing how soon things will change.
"And if the baby is a boy?"
"The baby is a girl."
"What if I told you we are having twins?" I challenged.
He pulled back to look at me, all blood drained from his face. "You're not though, right?"
"No," I smirked. "But that would be hilarious."
"Did Sara think it was hilarious? And don't lie, I was there those nights when she called at four in the morning complaining about her back pain."
"No I suppose not," I thought about those long nights staying up on the phone with Sara while she was in Tokyo. She said she would use Kenji to vent but her pains apparently made her want to "rip his throat out" so she settled for complaining to me instead. It was definitely a safer option. "I just . . . don't want to let you down if the baby isn't a girl."
At that all swaying together came to a complete stop. Jasper framed my face with his large hands, his expression now serious. "You could never let me down, Allison. I may keep saying that the baby is a girl, but honestly if the baby is a boy I wouldn't be less proud. I don't care about the gender as long as it is our baby. I love you, and our child, invariably."
A smile spread across my face. He always knew exactly what to say.
"Good," I rested my head back on his chest. "Because I kind of like the name Jasper Jr."
"Oh hell no we are not doing that."
"Why not?!" I looked at him. "Ben named their son after him."
"Well that's great for them, but I hate my name."
"I love your name!"
"Well you're biased," he insisted. "If you want to give our son a good name make it strong. Something like . . . Robert."
"Robert?"
"Yeah," he nodded. "Like Robert Browning."
"Robert," I thought about it for a moment. "I like it. Oh, or maybe Nathaniel?"
"Nathaniel?"
"After Nathaniel Hawthorne?"
He made a face. "I didn't know you were a fan."
"We were talking about the Scarlet Letter in my Forbidden Literature online class awhile back. I had to write a paper over works that were banned because society didn't deem it acceptable," I informed. "I've been reading a lot of his stuff and I have to say, I really like it."
"Huh," he scratched his stubbly chin in thought. "I guess Nathaniel sounds nice. And if you like the forbidden genre I could give you a couple of books. Or even better," he pressed his hips to mine suggestively, "we could just reenact the parts that made it forbidden."
"I believe we reancted that in the beginning of our relationship. Or have you forgotten?"
"No of course I haven't forgot--I mean, yes I don't remember a thing. Please show me again."
I rolled my eyes but couldn't hold back my smile. "Always so eager."
"Speaking of eagerness, do you have any meetings or anything?" his husky voice asked walking us backwards.
"No," I focused on not falling by accident.
"Good." The back of my legs hit a soft object before he pushed be backwards on it. The second I realized it was a bed Jasper was already on me.
Immediately his hands went to work popping the buttons off my shirt exposing my black lace bra underneath. He looked up at me heatedly. "My, my, and you say I'm the scandalous one."
"It was all I had left--" But the rest of my sentence was cut off when his lips crashed into mine.
It never fails to make me lightheaded when his soft lips brush against mine. Soft, rough, hard, gentle I craved his lips on mine. And I wanted them everywhere.
But I couldn't right now.
"Jasper," I pulled away but he just went to work on my neck. My concentration was slipping fast. "Jasper, I-I don't have any meetings, but you do."
"Fuck the meetings," he nipped at my shoulder.
"You have a class to teach."
"Fuck the class."
"Jasper!" I put my hands on his chest and pushed back with as much force I could gather. "You were selected to lead the poetry workshop, you have to be there. I hate to do this, but as the host of the convention and Vice President of Harrington Publishing I require you to go."
He pulled back to look at me. For a second I thought my words had impact him, but instead said, "And I will." He ripped off the last of my buttons and unclasped the front of my bra. "After I fuck you."
"Jas--!" my words came to a halt when his mouth covered my breast. Sweet mother of all that's good I am weak against this man. And I will be for as long as I exist.
A little while later, okay maybe nearly an hour later, we got our things together, I changed my ruined clothes, and went to the elevator. When inside Jasper smirked at me. "Give you any memories?"
"Shut it," I sounded stern but I was blushing the entire time.
"You know," he ran a finger down my arm. "My workshop doesn't start for another forty minutes, Vice President."
Instead of caving in like earlier I flicked his hand away. "You are insatiable!"
"Only when I'm with you," he flashed a wicked smile.
I groaned and pressed the level floor button even harder, because everyone knows the more you press it the faster you go.
"I can't believe I am late again on my first day back at the convention. Last year was nothing like this."
He placed his hand over his chest as if he had been hit. "You wound me. Do you not remember our escapade in the stairwell?"
My eyes widened. "I knew you weren't drunk!"
"Oh, baby you are so gullible sometimes. Or how about that time in the car?"
"That," I held up a finger, "didn't last that long."
Now Jasper really looked hurt. "The third time lasted nearly over an hour--"
I covered his mouth. "Have you still not learned your lesson?!" I pointed up towards the ceiling. "Cameras."
"Right," he said behind my hand. When I dropped it it revealed his smug smile. "How about we give them a show again?"
"Jasper Andrews! If you really think that I'm going to do that again you're insane."
"Okay, okay," he held up his hands in defense. When it was finally quiet he added, "You mean what we did last year or when we first met?"
I slapped his arm repeatedly but he only laughed.
"I swear when we get back to our room I am kicking your--!"
But all commentary was lost when the elevator stopped at the third floor and slid open. I planned on ignoring it when I heard a throat clear loudly. I paused my string of curses to look and see who it was. When I did my heart dropped.
Ms. Harrington.
The older woman looked the same as she did four years ago. The only difference is that she traded in her nice blazer for casual pants and a shirt. Her once long platinum hair now fell to her shoulders. Other than that everything was the same, including her twisted smile.
"I would say that this is a pleasant surprise, but then I'd be lying," she sneered.
Oh hell no. Not today Satan.
I grabbed Jasper's arm and pulled him out. "We're taking the stairs."
When I stepped out I heard a throaty chuckle behind us.
"After all these years and she's still calling the shots?" Ms. Harrington stepped out of the elevator to join us in the hallway, her unwaxed eyebrow raised. "My my Jasper, you really have changed. You used to be so dominant."
Immediately Jasper slipped through my grasp to turn and glare at the woman. "Don't speak about Allison that way," he growled.
"Well now, isn't this situation familiar?" She crossed her arms making her breasts practically pop out of her shirt. "You defending Allison. After all this time, huh?"
Whatever Jasper was going to say got cut off when I demanded, "What are you doing here?"
She narrowed her eyes. "I don't think it's really any of your business."
"Well," I took a step forward, "seeing as how you are banned from being around my company, I believe I have every right to know."
Ms. Harrington's smile was nowhere to be found. A storm was brewing in her blue eyes when she said, "I believe you are refering to my company. Check the title."
"Yes, I know the title. And we are in the process of changing it."
"Daddy won't let you--"
"Daddy has no choice," I barked back. "You have no attachment to this company anymore. You threw that away after your third of fifteen affairs."
"Affairs happen all the time. You two of all people should know that," she eyes us pointedly. "And besides, the real reason why I no longer have attachment to my own company isn't because of my affairs." She glared at Jasper and said, "It's because of you."
"Damn right it is," he spoke proudly.
"How did you do it, Jazz?" She turned towards him.
"Don't you dare call me that."
But she ignored him and continued, "How were you capable of clearing your own name while taking me down? Because we both know you have more dirt than I do that week."
Jasper scoffed. "That's not true and you know it."
Apparently that's not what Ms. Harrington wanted to hear because her cool demeanor completely dropped and she yelled, "How did you do it, Jasper?! What in the hell did you protect yourself? I shouldn't be the one who lost my career, it should be you! You slept with a student, you assaulted a student, so why are you still here? "
For a moment I didn't understand what she meant by assault until it dawned on me. Aaron. Jasper hit him when he almost slapped me in the hallway, but for some reason I never thought of it as assaulting a student. He had been protecting me, so how could anyone see it as otherwise?
"Let's just say the person with the most influence isn't you this time, June," Jasper smirked. "You always said that you could see right through me when really you were blind. You don't know anything about me or what I'm capable of doing."
I had to admit, hearing that made me a little intimidated. Ms. Harrington, however, looked the complete opposite. She was furious.
Slowly she walked towards Jasper, like a predator approaching its prey. Only the prey stood its ground defiantly. "If you really think that I'm going to let you have a happy ending after ripping away my future . . . think again."
"You won't fucking touch us," I stepped in front of Jasper.
She turned her wild glare on me. "I won't?"
"The power you think you have is gone. You are nothing now so stop living in the past."
That set her off.
"I am powerful! I am the most fucking powerful person here!" She yelled and actually stomped her foot like a child. Now I could really see her true form, and it was really depressing. She was nothing but a woman pretending like she was a queen when in reality she is a peasant.
"You are so sad," I spoke sincerely. "Do you really think you have any influence anymore? We've seen the stories. We know you work at WalMart now."
"It's Target actually," she sniffed smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on her shirt. "And you make it sound like it's not a powerful position at all."
"Because it isn't," Jasper confirmed. Unless it's Black Friday, I mentally added. But I wasn't going to let her know that. "Not compared to what you used to be."
She looked at him like she wanted to yell even more, but behind her anger I could see the pain. I almost sympathized with her, if I didn't remember that she threatened my family earlier.
"I truly feel sorry for you," I admitted. "I used to be so afraid of you, but now I don't understand why. You might have been something once before, but it was all a false pretense. You don't know the first thing about publishing or writing, all you know is how to hide behind your family's title that you so carelessly threw away. And now, you are nothing. Your threats are meaningless."
Maybe years ago if Ms. Harrington was standing as close to me as she is now I would have been intimidated like she wanted, but now I couldn't feel anything. Even if she was a whole head taller than me making her look down at me, I stood my ground.
When we were nearly chest to chest she said, "Just wait," in a low, menacing tone.
I could tell Jasper was about to say something, but he stopped when I took a step forward. "If you fucking touch my family . . . your career is the least of your worries. You don't call the shots around here anymore, I do. And if you even think about contacting us anymore, I will destroy you. That's not a threat, that's a promise, bitch."
Piece by piece her once confident demeanor came tumbling down like shattered glass. Her eyes stayed on mine a moment longer before looking away. I made a vow a long time ago that I would never back down to women like her again, and I'll be damned if I do today.
When I felt like she got the message loud and clear I took a step back and found Jasper's hand. "Have a good day, Ms. Harrington," I said sweetly. When we walked away I called over my shoulder the same thing she told me years ago, "And thank you for attending my convention. I do wish you the best of luck."
A part of me wanted to turn around to see her reaction, but I kept matching forward hand in hand with Jasper. Something she could never do.
The whole way down the stairwell my heart was racing but not from fear, from excitement. I finally did it. I stood up to the biggest pain is my ass for nearly half a decade. I truly felt . . . powerful.
When we reached the bottom floor I stopped and turned to Jasper.
"That felt good," I admitted.
"That was fucking hot," he placed his hand on either side of my face.
"How did I do?" I asked although the look on his face was enough for me. The wicked gleam in his eyes returned on full force and he pressed me against the wall. The situation I swore I would never repeat was on its way.
"You," he kissed me deeply and heavily making my head spin. When I thought I couldn't breathe, he let go and took my left hand in his, "are impressive as always," he gently pressed his lips against the diamond ring on my finger and looked up at me.
"Mrs. Andrews."
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Authors Note: Thank you ReeReverie for writing the beautiful poem Onyx ❤️
Please read next chapter.