“Ahh,” I moan as Jake tilts his hips, hitting that sweet spot inside of me.
“You’re gonna come for me,” he breathes over my skin. “Right here in the Pacific Ocean. You’re gonna scream my name as I bring you to orgasm.” He licks my lower lip, then plunges his tongue deep into my mouth with each hard thrust into me.
His movements increase in tempo, and I hold on tight to him, fingernails digging into his skin, the wash of the salty water slick between us.
“I’ll never get enough of you, Tru. Never,” he growls into my ear, hitting me with hard, sure thrusts, penetrating me deep inside.
And he makes sure he doesn’t as he continues to make love to me in the swell of the Pacific Ocean, while the sun descends, making its effortless journey behind the water.
Dusk has settled, and Jake and I lie together in the four-poster bed of our villa.
It’s a tasteful, modest villa. Not flashy. It’s us.
The whole place is open, each room flowing into the other. It has a free feeling about it. The type of freedom Jake isn’t usually granted.
I wonder if that’s one of the reasons he chose this place for us.
The bedroom is light and airy, the bedsheets a clean, crisp white. Even though it’s a haven many celebrities choose for a getaway, it’s not overdone. It’s understated.
It’s perfect.
The sheets are kicked back because of the insane evening heat. Our legs are tangled together, our bodies touching, sticky from the sea salt and sand coating our skin. I’m draped across Jake’s chest as he absentmindedly plays with my tangled hair, quietly humming a song.
I listen intently as he starts to softly sing the words.
He sounds beautiful. I love listening to Jake sing. Especially a cappella.
“What song are you singing?” I ask, lifting my head.
“Our song.”
“I didn’t know we had one.” I smile. Jake and I have lots of songs that remind us of our childhood, but none that are just him and me, that symbolise us as a couple.
“It’s called ‘You Started,’ by Ou Est Le Swimming Pool.” At my puzzled expression, he says, “You never heard it before?”
I shake my head.
“And you call yourself a musical journalist.” He clicks his tongue in mock reproof. “They were a band from the UK as well. Poor showing on your part, baby.”
“Shut up.” I stick my tongue out at him.
He catches it lightning quick between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a gentle tug before letting go.
“So why is it our song?” I rest my chin on his chest.
“Because it’s us,” he replies simply.
“Okay…,” I say, needing more. “And just when did you decide it was our song?”
I see a flash of pain cross his face. I don’t like the way it makes me feel.
“The first time I heard it was the day after you left me in Boston.” With his words comes a fierce pain in my chest as I remember our time apart. “I was in the car with Denny. He’d forced me out of my hotel room to get some food, and he had the album playing in his car. When I heard the song, it was just like listening to the story of us, Tru.” He focuses his gaze in on me, staring deep into my eyes like no one else can. “If I didn’t already know at that point that I had to win you back, then that song made me realise even more that I…” He pauses, blowing out a breath.
“Realise what?” I urge.
“That I had to fight for you. That I had to do whatever it took to get you back. Even if it meant playing dirty.” He runs his rough fingertips down my cheek. “There is no one else for me. I begin and end with you.”
Reaching for my hand, he lifts it to his and places them palm to palm.
“Can I hear it?” I ask, feeling choked up. “Do you have it?”
“It’s on my phone. It’s your ringtone, in fact,” he adds, reaching for it.
“How do I not know that?” I narrow my eyes at him.
“Because when you ring me, you’re usually elsewhere.” He gives me a dumb face.
“You’re such an idiot,” I say with a laugh, shoving him in the chest.
Chuckling, Jake presses a button on the screen of his phone and sets it down on his chest between us. A few seconds later, I hear light synth piano keys start to play.
The sound fills our villa. The only other sounds are the washing waves outside and the thudding of my aching heart.
The singer begins, and goose bumps shiver down my arms as I listen intently to every word. Hanging on them. Then it hits the chorus, and I can’t stop the tears that fill my eyes.
I know exactly what Jake is saying. It is us. Him. Me. Everything. The good, and the bad.
The second chorus breaks, and violins strum in the background, setting the tears to spill over and run down my cheeks.
“Hey, don’t cry,” Jake says, soothing me, brushing away my tears with his fingers.
“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. It’s stunning. And it’s us, completely. You’re right.”
“You did…start my life,” Jake says, referring to the song title, pushing his fingers into my hair, cupping my cheek.
“And you mine,” I utter, climbing on top of him. I crush my lips to his.
His hand goes to the back of my neck, holding me to him as his tongue gently strokes over mine. He sucks my bottom lip into his mouth, exhaling a gentle breath over me. “You don’t complete me, Tru. You make me who I am. You make me better. I’d be nothing without you. Nothing. I’ve been there once before, and I’m never going back. I’m never losing you again.”
I get chills at his words. “Good, because I’m going nowhere.”
“No regrets?” he asks.
“Never. I’m right where I’m meant to be—where I was always meant to be.”
Reaching between us, he moves his phone away, placing it on the bed, as the song comes to a close.
I lie against his chest, closing my eyes. I breathe in the essence of him as he wraps his arms tightly around me.
“We’ve got dinner plans,” he says after a moment, picking up his phone and checking the time.
“We do?”
“Yep, and we should get moving if we’re going to make them.”
Jake rolls me off his chest and gets up.
“The staff will wait, Jake. It’s not like they’re booked up or anything. Come back to bed.” I pat the empty space beside me.
I really can’t be bothered to get up. I’m happy to stay here, wrapped up in him.
He stretches his arms over his head, giving me a full, unadulterated view of his luscious body, then leans down and places a chaste kiss on my lips.
“Just humour me for once,” he says, then retreats to the bathroom, leaving me behind to ponder.
Humour him? What the hell is he talking about?
I hear the shower turn on.
“You’ve got half an hour to get ready, so get that sweet ass of yours moving,” Jake calls from the bathroom.
He’s so bossy.
With a huff, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and head into the bathroom to join him in the huge twin shower.
“You look beautiful,” Jake says, coming up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist.
I’m in front of the large bathroom mirror, putting the finishing touches on my outfit. I fasten my locket—the one Jake bought me in Paris—around my neck and smile back at his reflection.
“So do you. I love how your freckles stand out when you’ve been in the sun.”
He scrunches his face. “They make me look like I’m fourteen.”
I turn in his arms and run my fingertip down his nose. “No, they make you look hot. Hotter than usual.” I reach up on my tiptoes and kiss the tip of his nose.
I’m struggling on Turtle Island without my heels—I miss my heels a lot. I’m either barefoot or in flip-flops, which I’ll be donning tonight with my white strappy shift dress.
I step back, leaning against the sink, appraising my man, who is wearing cutoff jean shorts and a sleeveless Pearl Jam tee, looking the epitome of a rock star, with his tattoos exposed. You can take the rock star out of LA but never the rock star out of Jake.
“You ready?” he asks, fingering my locket against my chest.
“I am.”
Jake takes hold of my hand, linking our fingers, and leads me out of the bathroom, through the villa, and outside into the moonlit night.
It’s amazing here. I can see every single star in the sky. No smog shielding them from view—just clear skies for as far as the eye can see.
We walk to the beach, taking the short path to the main house, where the restaurant is. When we reach the turnoff, I start to head that way, but Jake tugs on my hand, pulling me back. He shakes his head.
I tilt my head, intrigued, but I let him lead me onward, no questions asked.
As we round the curve of the island, I catch sight of a table on the beach a short distance from the shoreline, set up and ready for us.
“Dinner on the beach?” I beam at him.
“Only the best for my girl,” he says, then kisses my forehead.
There are hanging lanterns, attached to sticks driven into the sand, surrounding the table. But it’s not the lanterns that catch my eye—it’s the lights just beyond the table.
Dropping Jake’s hand, I walk to the candles in the sand.
Marry Me
It’s spelled out by tea-light candles that have been worked into the sand, centred in a heart.
With my heart in my mouth, and my head a little dizzy, I turn to him. “You’re asking me to marry you?”
Staring steadily at me, he says, “I am.”
“Didn’t you already do that?” I offer a confused smile, holding up my left hand, displaying my very beautiful engagement ring.
Jake walks over to me. I don’t know why, but my heart starts to beat faster. My insides tremble, almost as if this is the first time he’s asking.
Reaching for me, he takes hold of both my hands. “Tru, I asked you to marry me backstage at Madison Square Garden in the midst of a show. Hardly a romantic setting and not how I ever envisioned it actually happening.” He takes a fortifying breath. “So this is me asking you the right way, the way I always wanted to.”
“Jake, I didn’t care how or where you asked me…only that you did ask.”
He rubs his thumb over my engagement ring. “I want you to have the best of everything I can give you. And I’m not talking money here, Tru. I’m talking memories. Our life together. I asked you to marry me straight after we had both just dragged each other through an emotional wringer. Now things have calmed and we’re good—”
“Great,” I add.
“Great.” He smiles. “I’m asking you again so your mind is clear on the fact that asking you was no knee-jerk reaction on my part. You, forever, is everything I want. And I guess, well…” He looks down, shifting uncomfortably, before meeting my eyes. “I guess I want to know for me too. I want to know that marrying me is exactly what you want. That you didn’t just say yes because you felt pressured into doing so.” His hands tighten around mine to almost the point of pain. “I wasn’t exactly taking no for an answer that night, was I?”
