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“I do.” She puts the bottle between her thighs, and plays with the lid as she speaks. “I had that feeling in my stomach,” she whispers, pressing her other palm low to her belly. “And I was wet, I got wet thinking of what it would be like to take such a good, solid man, to have you inside me, to feel you pulsing and throbbing, to have your sweat on me, your body pressing against mine.”
Jesus fuck. My sweats tent.
“You started to unpack my groceries that day, do you remember?”
I remember. I remember because she asked me not to help, so I didn’t. As much as I wanted to help her, more than anything, I always want to obey her, give her exactly what she needs so she never doubts her voice matters, never wonders where she stands with me.
I nod. “I remember.”
“You left, and I took that bottle, and I went into my bedroom, and I pulled my panties down, and I fucked myself with my eyes closed, wanting it to be you.” With a loud click that makes my shoulders jump, she snaps the lid closed and looks at me. “And I had an orgasm. The first time in… over a year.”
To an outsider, the question may sound silly, but between two people with our baggage, I know she’ll understand the complexity of my question. “How was it?”
She sighs, and a strand of blonde hair sails up in her exhale. I reach out and tuck it behind her ear. “It was intense, physically it was intense. I was trembling, it was… explosive.” She places her palm against my chest. “Not unlike yours. But it was also… life-changing. Knowing that I could still, knowing that I wasn’t broken. That he didn’t get the best parts of me. It gave me hope.” She slides into my lap, straddling me, our faces a breath apart. Taking my face in her palms she whispers against my lips, “You give me hope, Cohen.”
I slide my hands up her smooth, bare back, and pull her into me, gripping my wrist with my hand, holding her so goddamn tight. Our hearts beat wildly, rhythmically, together.
“Can I tell Aug about us?” she asks quietly. “Can we officially be an us?”
I grip her by the shoulders, push her back so our eyes align. “I’m yours, Scarlett.”
nineteen
scarlett
He’s beautiful and flawed, but perfect. And mine.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been happily exhausted from work. But as we wrap the final voiceover for the Loved by Lucy promo, I’m thrilled to be, from the inside out, utterly exhausted.
I’ve worked so hard today and it’s been so rewarding.
Vienna pulled me in for another casting, showed me her final prototype, and then I had three back-to-back solo scenes, each with a completely different set, costume and vibe. It was so much fun, and the best part?
I actually orgasmed.
It reminded me why I love what I do so much, how good it feels to give the viewer exactly what they came for—and more. And to bring the honesty and intention to the scene like I want to—that feels so good, so real… so me.
The old me, at least. Although, I was only happy and free and enjoying my work as Lucy Lovegood for a year before things took a turn, and even then, I wasn’t as happy then as I am now. Despite the fact I was top billing for nearly every role, and was gaining notoriety in the community as a star, still, Pete’s darkness was always there. Like a hand muffling the cries of a victim, his predatorial side was always present… just faint, lurking, something I could almost convince myself wasn’t really there. But I felt it in my gut, I was just too sidetracked by promises of money and the life I desperately wanted.
I slip the headphones off, and carefully place them on the table, draped in thick, fuzzy, sound-absorbing fabric. The engineer ushers me out and I head straight to my dressing room, eager as ever to get home.
It’s only been a week since me and Cohen have been an official item. Though in truth, our connection began weeks before that. The first time he showed up for me, driving me home then checking on me the next morning. He went out of his way with no expectations, and from that moment on, he’s been at the forefront of my brain. Wiggling into places in my heart that I told myself would never be invaded again.
Now my arms are open, and I want everything he has to give me. I trust him, and I believe that together, we’ll heal, more than we ever could alone. There’s something about sharing pain, and starting to heal fractures that unites souls. That can’t be denied.
Pulling on my very favorite pair of sweats, I quickly braid my hair to get it off of my face, and slip my feet into my slippers. Normally I’d never wear slippers to work in the event that my car broke down and I’d have to get out and walk—slippers are not the walking through the city vibe.
But Cohen is picking me up.
He told me he’d stay on set with me until we were finished, we were running a couple of hours late, and I did not want him to waste his evening waiting. The only way he’d leave is if I agreed he could pick me up.
After saying goodbye to Lance, who is lingering in Augustus’s doorway, I push through the heavy metal door and my heart does backflips at the sight.
Cohen leaned against the back of my car, ankles crossed, those lace up boots and black jeans he always wears, paired with his favorite long sleeved flannel, have bumps rising up on my skin, heat slipping down my hoodie. A smile lifts his lips as he looks up, spotting me. He crosses the lot and takes my bag from my shoulder, looping a strong arm around my waist.
Cedar and sandalwood engulf my senses, mixed with shampoo and toothpaste, and being in his arms after a beautifully long and rewarding day feels like the perfect end.
I can see myself ending all of my days with Cohen.
