The most respected photo editor in the country is shaking my hand. There are words coming out of her mouth, something about loving my portraits, about wanting to hire me to shoot a feature for her magazine. A feature spotlighting an A-list, Oscar winning actress. Something edgy, with personality, like all these lovely photos on the wall.

I nod yes and point her to my agent. Do I really have an agent? It's hard to believe that this is my life.

A familiar voice grabs my attention.

"Willow, sweetheart, these photos are amazing." Hazel takes my hand and pulls me away from the editor. She scans the walls of the gallery and settles on the first of my dozen pictures—a moody portrait of Tom. "I was worried you'd given up photography to follow him around the country when you turned me down."

"No way in hell I'd give this up."

Hazel smiles. "I'm almost glad you aren't my assistant."

"Almost?" I ask. "What's wrong with my replacement?"

"His ego is bigger than your boyfriend's and he's not even half as attractive." Hazel nods to Tom in the corner, directing a star struck gallery attendee to one of my portraits with a proud look on his face. "Enjoy this night. It's the only time you'll be more in demand than he is."

"Thank God. I'm not sure how the guys do this celebrity thing. It's exhausting."

Hazel kisses me on the cheek. "I'm proud of you honey. Your parents here?”

I shake my head. "No. We're not close. But—" I point to Ophelia, in the corner next to Tom. "Tom's mother is here. She's sweet and badass. You'd like her."

Oh. They're looking at the portrait of Ophelia, the one I took, in her words, to immortalize her one good tit. It gave me an idea—to offer discounted and free boudoir shoots to cancer patients, to help them feel at home in their bodies again.

The demand has kept me busy. Really busy. But it's more than worth the time crunch for the joy that spreads over people's faces as they look at their finished pictures.

Hazel laughs. "You've always been a daydreamer. I'm glad you haven't changed. Good luck with everything."

She nods goodbye. There's someone else ready to talk to me. A fan. I have a fan. It's totally bizarre. I have a dozen portraits in the most prestigious gallery in all of Los Angeles. A showing of my work. For the next six months. The owner is charging outrageous sums for my work.

It's dizzying.

I make it through another five introductions. Then ten. I'm about ready to drop when I feel arms around my waist. My body floods with warmth as Tom pulls me closer.

"You hanging in there, kid?" Tom presses his lips against my neck.

"Mmmm. I'd rather be doing this somewhere else."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

I scan the packed room. It's been a solid three hours of schmoozing. It's overwhelming, everyone here to support me, to see my work.

My studio business started slowly—a few clients here, a few clients there, but now I'm booked Monday to Thursday and every other Saturday. I mostly shoot boudoir but I make time to squeeze in editorials, headshots, even engagement photos. At first, Tom helped with the practical bits, but now I have the hang of it.

I'm a real, honest to goodness business owner.

A real working artist.

His hands go to my hips. "I have something to show you."

"What is it?"

"A surprise."

"Can I have a hint?"

"No."

"What if I have a surprise for you?" I do. I can't believe I've managed to keep it a secret the last few days.

"Oh, you're after a quid pro quo, are you?" He pulls me out of the gallery, onto the quiet Beverly Hills street. "Maybe if you go first..."

My cheeks flush. I know he'll love it, but I'm still nervous. "Has to be at home."

He leads me to me to the neighborhood around the corner. His red sports car is parked in front of some several-million-dollar mansion. It's a nice place. Too nice, as Hazel would say.

Tom pulls the passenger's door open. "Then my surprise first. You'll have to wait."

"You're a tease."

He slides into the driver's seat and turns the car on. "You keep talking like that, and I'll get ideas, kid."

* * *

Tom doesn't drive towards his place in Hollywood. He goes west.

The top is down. The cold air sends goosebumps up and down my arms. But it's worth it for the view of the sky. The stars come into focus the further we get from the center of the city. By the time we're in Venice Beach, the sky is filled with them.

"Where are we going?" I ask. "Your place is in the other direction."

"Is it?"

I turn towards Tom to take in every ounce of affection in his expression. "You're up to something, Mr. Steele."

"Not yet." He winks. "But soon."

Okay. It's a surprise. Something tells me it's an amazing surprise.

After five minutes driving city streets, we pull into an eclectic neighborhood. Into the driveway of a house on the beach.

It's actually on the beach. The backyard is sand.

My heartbeat picks up. We're staying in a house on the beach? There are a lot of ways this can go, and they're all amazing.

Tom turns the car off. He holds up his key ring, showing off one key in particular. It's shiny. New.

This place is gorgeous on the outside—very modern, all sharp corners and glass. Big white window shades provide plenty of privacy. If privacy is what we want. If not, well... it has quite the potential for showing off.

It's just as beautiful and modern inside. The den has all sorts of options for seating or screwing. A couch. A rug. An armchair. Wait. That's Tom's armchair, the one that is usually in his bedroom.

Huh.

He's smiling wide. Proud. Excited.

"That's your chair." I scan the room again. It's flashy and classic at once. There's only one possibility. "This is your new place? But... when did you move? I saw you two days ago." The gallery opening has kept me busy.

"It's our new place." He pulls another key ring from his pocket and hands it to me.

"What about Pete?"

"He has a mansion to himself. Don't think he's complaining."

My fingers curl around the key. "Our new place?"

He nods. "You like it?"

"It's perfect."

"Good. I bought it." He slides his arms around my waist. "It's ours, even if my name is on the deed. It won't matter soon... It will..." He runs his fingers through his hair. "It's only a ten minute walk to your studio."

He's nervous about something. It's hard to focus on that when I'm in such an amazing house. Our house. That he bought. For us.

The words bounce around my head. "We're living together."

He smiles. "Yeah, we are."

"And in the mornings, I'll wake up to the smell of coffee and you in the kitchen all sweaty from the gym."

"You sleep that late?"

"I'm a business owner. I can sleep as late as I want!"

"There's an office upstairs." He presses his lips against my neck. "It's yours."

I have my own office. I take his hand and pull him towards the stairs. "Let's see."

"Mmm, bossy today."

Tom leads me into the office. Everything is set up—a thick, white sit to stand desk, an ergonomic chair, a very expensive desktop computer. The one I've been eying for ages.

There are framed prints on the wall. My work. A smattering of different styles but all in black and white.

He squeezes me then leads me through a tour of the place. The master bedroom is especially gorgeous. It's decked with a king bed, string lights, and a disco ball. There’s a walk in closet and a master bathroom with a tub that fits two.

Tom leans in to whisper. "There's a particularly spacious shower in the bathroom downstairs."

"Whatever would we use that for?"

"Getting clean." He runs his fingers over my neck. "In fact, I'm thinking it's about time for that."

I look up into his eyes. "I have to show you something first."

He stares back at me. "You want to show me something before seeing me naked? Must be pretty good."

"It's better." I take a deep breath as I reach for the light switch. I want him to see this in as much detail as possible.

Okay. Here goes nothing. I pull my dress up my thighs and hips.

"Hate to break it to you, kid, but I've seen this before." He smiles. "Not that I'm complaining."

"No, I..." I push my panties to my knees and point to my hipbone. To my fresh ink. Tom in curvy letters, the same script as his tattoo.

His eyes go wide. "You... you..." He drops to his knees and runs his fingertips over my skin. "Willow." He looks up at me with all this wonder and affection in his eyes. "When did you get this?"

"Remember when I went shopping with Kara and Meg a few days ago?"

He nods.

"I went with them. But not shopping."

"You..." He swallows hard. "You're that sure you'll never leave?"

"More."

"How the fuck did I get so lucky?" He slides his hand to my stomach, holding my dress above his head as he traces the lines of the tattoo with his tongue. "As much as I love that dress, I need it gone."

I love it too. It's the same dress I wore the first night we were together.

But I'm just as desperate to get rid of it. After one swift movement, it's a pile on the floor. My bra joins it quickly.

"You're fucking perfect." He presses his lips against my stomach.

Then lower.

Lower.

Almost.

I tug at his hair.

Tom plants soft kisses up my thigh, starting at my knee and working his way up until he's almost there. Then he switches to my other leg and starts at my knee again.

He does it again.

My sex throbs with protest. I need him in every way it's possible to need a person.

Again.

And again.

Then his tongue is against me and everything else melts away. I dig my hands into his hair as he licks me. Up and down and left and right, almost where he needs to be.

When he finally presses his tongue against my clit, my knees buckle. I stumble.

Tom rises to his feet in time to catch me. He throws me into the bed, spreading my knees and planting his face between my thighs. No more teasing. His tongue plunges inside of me.

Pleasure spreads through my core. I pant. I scream. I tug at the clean white comforter.

He works his way back to my clit, teasing with light strokes. Then harder. Harder. I'm close. Every inch of me feels so good, so utterly his.

Harder.

There.

I squeeze his shoulder. With the next flick of his tongue, I come. My sex spasms, pleasure spilling all the way to my fingers and toes.

I relax into the bed, reveling in after shocks as Tom kisses his way up my stomach, chest, neck, chin. He presses his lips to mine. I'm not shy about kissing him back, tasting myself.

His body sinks into mine. His chest. His legs. His crotch.

He's hard.

God yes.

I pull back to stare into his eyes. Okay. There's no beating around the bush here. I have to come out with it. My cheeks flush. "I have an idea."

He brushes my hair behind my ears. "If you were wearing clothes I'd ask what you have up your sleeve, kid."

"There's a tripod in my office. And my camera is in my purse. The memory card has room for thirty minutes of video."

His eyes go wide.

"I was thinking we could record ourselves... If you want to."

"Fuck yeah. You sure?"

I nod. "Have you ever done it before?"

"No."

"Really?"

"Yeah." He pushes up and pulls me to my feet. "Never trusted anyone with sexy pictures, much less video."

My lips curl into a smile.

"You're a genius. Have I mentioned that?" He plants a kiss on my lips.

"Not recently."

Nerves threaten to swallow me whole as I collect the necessary equipment. Makes it difficult to attach my camera to the tripod.

But the excitement on Tom's face is more than enough to convince me to continue. I get behind the camera, adjusting it so the angle gives us plenty of room to play.

God, I'm going to film me and Tom having sex.

It's going to be immortalized. On my memory card. Forever.

The thought sends a thrill down my spine. As soon as I hit the record button this is happening.

There.

It's happening.

I explain the angle of the shot to him. We have most of the bed and all the space in front of it. This won't be fancy—one angle, straight on—but it will be us, ours.

Tom slides his hand over my side. "When did you get this adventurous?"

"When I met you."

He pulls my body into his. "You sure about this, kid?"

"Don't you want something you can take with you on tour? Something of me."

His eyes go wide. He nods.

Then his eyes are closed and his lips are on mine. I kiss him long and hard, taking my time exploring his mouth. Like it's the first time.

I pull his shirt over his head and show the muscles of his torso the same appreciation. Every part of him is hard and strong. My fingers dig into his skin. Shoulders, back, chest, stomach. He's yummy.

In fact.

I want him to feel as good as I do. I suck on his earlobe until he's panting and clawing at my skin. Then I move to his other ear and do the same.

"Willow," he groans.

My fingers find the zipper of his jeans. I push them aside and trace the letters of his tattoo. My name on his body forever. And his on mine forever.

It's perfect.

I kiss my way down his stomach and chest as I lower myself to my knees. Ah, the view of my name is much better here. Willow. The lines are months old now, but they’re still clean and defined. I work his jeans and boxers down his hips as I trace the letters with my tongue.

Tom's eyes are wide with desire. It does something to me. Makes me want him even more.

"Fuck, I'm going to watch this so many times." He slides his hand into my hair. "You're amazing."

I run my fingers over his tattoo. "We're amazing."

I wrap my hand around his cock and tease him the way he teases me. I brush my lips against his tip. Again and again, until I'm desperate to have him in my mouth.

Even then, I take my time sliding my tongue around his tip and playing with the metal balls of his piercing. God do I love the way it makes him groan.

He brings his other hand to the back of my head, nudging me forward.

I've teased him enough.

I take him as deep as I can.

I'm doing this on film.

Holy shit.

The thrill of the exhibition spurs me on. I let Tom guide me with his hands and his groans, taking him deep or shallow, sucking harder or softer. It's still amazing, watching the pleasure spread over his face.

His eyes roll back into his head. His lips part. His thighs quiver. One hand goes to my shoulder and squeezes.

I keep my pace. Until he's groaning.

His fingers knot in my hair. "I want to come inside you. Get on the bed on your stomach."

God yes.

I release him and shift to my feet. Tom presses his hands against my back, kissing me so hard and so deep that I forget how to breathe.

When he breaks the kiss, he helps me onto the bed, positioning me to give the camera a perfect view of us from the side.

God, I want to watch this.

Want him to watch this.

He shifts behind me, his hands on my hips.

His cock nudges against my sex. No teasing this time. With one swift thrust, he enters me. It's hard. Deep. I grab at the sheets, spreading wider, giving myself to him.

Tom and I... we're having sex on our bed... in our house.

On camera.

Everything about this is forever.

Pleasure wells up inside me with every thrust. I arch my back to meet him, desperate to come with him this time.

I'm not going to make it.

"Tom," I breathe. "Touch me. I want to come with you. Please."

He groans. "Fuck yes."

His hand slides around my hip and between my thighs. Then his fingers are on my clit, and I lose track of everything except the pleasure spilling through my body.

My sex clenches. Almost. The way he's shaking—he's almost there too. I let my eyelids flutter closed. I soak in everything about him—the skin on skin, the soft brush of his fingers, the sharpness of his teeth scraping against my shoulder, and his hard cock driving into me again and again.

Tom, God, Tom.

My sex clenches, pulling him closer. He's there. Pulsing inside me. Filling me. It pushes me over the edge.

Tension spills out from my core as I come. It takes me a full minute to catch my breath.

Tom untangles our bodies. He lies next to me, presses his lips to mine, runs his fingers through my hair.

"We christened the new bed," he says.

I nod. "We can get the balcony next.

"Then the couch."

"And the armchair."

"We've already fucked on that chair a dozen times," he says. "But I'm not complaining."

I kiss him deeply.

When he pulls back, he stares into my eyes. "You hungry?"

"A little."

"There's leftover pasta in the fridge. I'll meet you on the balcony."

"What do you mean leftover? You don't cook."

He laughs. "I tried." He pushes off the bed and motions to the closet. "Should be a new robe in there for you."

This day is already amazing. Now, on top of everything else, I have a present. I take my time pouring through the closet. All the clothes I usually keep at Drew's place are here. Most of the space is occupied by Tom's clothes. How can one person own this many different pairs of canvas sneakers? He has a rainbow of them.

The robe is a beautiful silk fabric in a lovely shade of pink. I pull it around my shoulders and cinch it tightly.

Tom is already waiting on the balcony. Our balcony. It's decked with a patio table and two chairs and it looks out on the ocean. God, the ocean is only a few hundred feet away. I can hear the waves. I can taste the salt in the air.

It's beautiful.

And cold. The wind rolls in from the beach. I cinch my robe tighter but that only helps so much.

Tom slides his arm around me and points to the plates of pasta pomodoro on the table. "You eat lunch or dinner?"

"Sort of." I take a seat and dig into the pasta. The basil is scorched and the pasta is undercooked, but so what? Tom made it. As far as I’m concerned, it’s perfect. "Setting up for the gallery kept me busy."

I practically inhale my plate. Tom takes two bites of his then passes it to me. Okay, it would be rude to reject the food he cooked me. I eat until the plate is clean.

Tom smiles as he wipes stray bits of sauce off my cheeks. There's something different about his expression. An uncharacteristic shyness.

He slides the table out of the way, leans back into his chair. "You know, you're the best thing that ever happened to me, kid."

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," I say.

He stares into my eyes. "It used to be that when I thought about the future, it was mom, and Pete, and Sinful Serenade. How we'd hit higher on the Billboard charts or how our next video would be bigger. All this stuff about taking on the world." He lowers his voice. "But I didn't think about what I wanted at the end of the day, when I was home, by myself in my head. I didn't want anything until I met you."

He lowers himself onto the tile.

Onto one knee.

Holy shit.

He looks up at me. "You make me happy. In a way nothing ever has."

My heart thuds against my chest.

Tom slides his hand into his pocket. He pulls out a ring box. "You're what I want."

He opens the box to reveal a three-stone ring. It's huge, classic and flashy at once.

It's so Tom.

He looks up at me. "Willow Denton, will you marry me?"

Warmth floods my body. "Yes. Of course."

He slides the ring onto my finger.

Tom rises to his feet. He wraps me in a hug and whispers in my ear. "I love you."

"I love you too."

I press my lips to his and, once again, the world gets a little bit better.