Page 3 of Back to Willow

She chuckles, and from up close, I can see the glistening skin of her chest rising with every breath. She looks slightly dishevelled but in a good way. Her hair has a few wild pieces sticking out. She must have been hot from dancing for a while. Without being able to control myself, my index finger shamelessly grazes along her collarbone towards her shoulder, where her dress strap has fallen to her arm. Carefully, I slide my finger under it and drag the fabric back up where it should be.

This captivating girl in front of me shivers but doesn’t attempt to move away from my touch. Instead, she gifts me a seductive smile, and I suddenly feel like I’ve had enough small talk.

“You’re smooth.” She chuckles. “At least tell me your name.”

“Liam,” I whisper, moving closer to her as my hand sits on her neck.

Her skin prickles under my touch as goosebumps spread across her skin, and a light blush settles on her cheeks. She’s not afraid to call me out on my shameless attitude. I know what I want, and I’ve never been afraid to show it. And yet, she responds immediately to every touch or word of mine.

Subtly, but I can see she wants this as much as I do.

Maybe for different reasons, but the goal is the same tonight.

“That’s a good name.”

“Right?" I grin while tilting her chin up. “And yours?”

“Johanna.”

“Hmm, Johanna,” I muse, my lips grazing hers.

She shudders under my hold, and the moment my free arm wraps around her waist, her body moulds into mine, hands splaying across my chest as if she magically has lost the strength in her legs.

“I like hearing you say my name,” she whispers back, her white teeth biting on those tempting lips again.

“How about we find out the different ways we can say each other’s names?”

“Sounds good to me,” she answers in a sensual tone.

It’s all the confirmation I need. As soon as the words roll off her tongue, I crash my mouth against hers.

Here’s to forgetting.

ONE

Willow

“Mummy,Idon’twantto go.” Dylan kicks the air with a huff, and I roll my eyes.

This boy of mine is not a morning person.

Just a few months were enough to forget how hard it is to get a kid up in the early hours of the morning to get ready. Those were hard, long days during my last two years of high school that I sure don’t miss. And yet again, here I am at bloody six in the morning, fighting this little devil’s terrible temper so I can get him to kindergarten before I head to school.

I’ve genuinely received a few hits from his tantrums in the past, but I have been relentless in getting him to control his impulsive temper. Thankfully, he’s gotten better at it with time, slowly learning to explain what he’s feeling or what he wants instead of throwing fits. But I can see it’s starting to develop more as a personality trait, to often act without thinking.

Just like someone I used to know...

“Dylan, what did I tell you about kicking and hitting just because you don’t get what you want? What if you had hit me, huh?”

At my words, he sits up straight and looks at me wide-eyed. I know he doesn’t mean to hurt anybody with it, but still, he needs to start growing out of it.

“No, no, no! Sorry, Mummy! I didn’t mean to hit you, but I am just so, so sleepy,” he whines, burying his head in my chest and faking a sob.

Kids these days turn into professional manipulators at an early age. Thank god I don’t fall for it anymore.

“If you had done as I told you yesterday, you wouldn’t be tired right now. Tonight, you’ll go to bed earlier,” I scold.

Dylan groans into my chest but makes no move from the position we’re in.

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