5. Addy
CHAPTER FIVE
For years, I’ve heard people reduce Emma to surface-level descriptions. There is no denying her beauty and sex appeal, but those attributes only scratch the surface of what makes her truly captivating. It’s the genuine way she carries herself, radiating authenticity through every smile and word. Despite her fame, Emma remains humble and uncorrupted by conceit. Surprisingly, she doesn’t see herself as sexy or beautiful when looking in the mirror. But it isn’t because she’s self-conscious about her appearance; it’s simply not something she places importance on. In fact, she laughed off her first gray hair. A popular talk show host’s joke about the lines around her eyes made me want to punch him. “Now we know what happened to Dorothy when she left OZ,” he quipped, earning a loud laugh from Emma. “I guess there are no wizards or Botox in Kansas.”
We met in our late twenties at the height of Emma’s fame. I am continually amazed at how individuals in the public eye are devalued and reduced to objects. Too many women have experienced the emotional distress it unleashes. Treating women as dolls to be posed at will, the conventional concept of beauty is nothing short of absurd. Emma is nothing like that. She often jokes about how people would react if they saw her in her casual sweatpants, with her hair tied back, a mix of drool, paint, or mud stains on her shirt, and a clump of King’s crap stuck to her foot. Those are the moments when Emma truly shines. That is until I’m reprimanded for King’s mess in the yard.
Emma turns to me and cocks her head curiously. “Addy?”
I walk to her slowly and pull her close. “I love you, Emma.”
“Addy.”
I love the playful nature of my relationship with Emma, but there are times when the depth of my feelings for her acts like the force of gravity. I’m pulled toward her—rooted in place by her. It’s unlike any other feeling I’ve experienced. Attraction and lust have always existed between us, and when those emotions take the stage, playfulness adds to our exploration. But when gravity grabs hold of me, I need something deeper—to look into Emma’s eyes and give myself to her—lose myself within her.
Emma leans into the embrace, her eyes twinkling with affection and mischief. “Afraid you’ll confuse Lassie with Rin Tin Tin again?” She teases, but her voice softens as she wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me closer.
As the sun sets outside, its warm glow filters through the windows, filling the room with a golden hue. It’s moments like these when time stands still, and silence echoes. I see a tear glistening in Emma’s eyes. This is the place where we find solace and completion in each other.
As we stand intertwined, I feel her sigh against my neck—a contented, heavy breath telling me more than words ever could. We both feel our connection—a shared understanding and a history that has weathered both dazzling highs and devastating lows. There’s no music, but I gently sway like a soft chorus of horns serenades us. Emma pulls back to look into my eyes, a gentle smile tugging the corners of her mouth.
“You’re a hopeless romantic, Addy,” she says.
There’s no point in denying Emma’s observation. I lean in and softly claim her lips. The kiss begins gently, our tongues exploring and communicating without words.
“I love kissing you,” Emma says.
“Still?”
“Always. Sometimes, all I want is to kiss you.”
I tip my head playfully.
“Sometimes. Not tonight,” Emma clarifies.
A smile graces my lips as I delicately unbutton her shirt. My kisses set fire to her skin as they trail up her neck and gently caress the sensitive spot behind her ear. Every touch ignites a spark between us, making my heart beat faster with desire. As Emma’s shirt falls to the floor, I hold my breath. Every time I make love with Emma, my heart overflows with a rush of emotions, making the experience feel new. Cliche or not, it’s a feeling I never want to lose.
Emma lifts my t-shirt over my head and tosses it aside; the only sounds are our heartbeats and the faint rustle of fabric. She steps back, her eyes inviting me to follow as she leads us toward the bed.
The sunlight that spills through the window fades into a subtle orange glow that dances over Emma’s skin, highlighting her curves with an ethereal light. She looks otherworldly, like a celestial being who has graced me with her presence. As she sits on the edge of the bed and pulls me towards her, I can feel the electric charge of our closeness.
“Addy,” she whispers, her voice heavy with emotion and need. Her hands find my face, pulling me down for another deep, consuming kiss.
I push her back onto the bed and tug her pants from her legs. She lifts a brow at me, and I chuckle. “Yes?” I ask.
Emma’s eyes drop to my jeans.
“Oh,” I say, jumping off the bed. I struggle to undo the button on my jeans before realizing it’s a snap. I finally unzip them, but in my haste to escape their grip, my foot gets caught in the cuff, causing me to fall back onto the bed comically. “Ugh,” I groan, trying to untangle myself from the fabric. Emma’s infectious laughter invites me to giggle despite my embarrassing predicament.
“Come here,” Emma says.
I grin and crawl back up the bed toward her. She reaches out, her hands tracing lines across my shoulders, down my arms, and finally wrapping around my neck, pulling me closer until our lips meet again.
“Not exactly Romeo, huh?”
“He’s not my type,” Emma says.
“Juliet, then,” I whisper against her lips. Her soft laughter fills me with gratitude.
Emma’s fingers tangle in my hair as she deepens the kiss. Her other hand roams down my back, sending shivers spiraling through me. My hands explore the soft curves of her body. Breaking away just enough to speak, I trail kisses along her jawline to her ear.
“On that subject, who played Juliet in the 1968 film version of Romeo and Juliet?” I ask.
Emma pulls back slightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief and desire. “Olivia Hussey,” she answers.
My brow furrows, and I huff.
Emma shakes her head with amusement. “You didn’t even know the answer, did you?”
“I knew it was an Olivia—de Havilland, Newton-John?—”
“You suck at trivia, Addy.”
I chuckle and shift my weight, gently pinning her beneath me. Being with Emma isn’t like a carefully coordinated and flawless movie scene; it’s about the messy, silly, beautiful reality of us.
I gently press my lips against her forehead, the tip of her nose, and then her mouth before letting them wander slowly down to her shoulder. My mouth skates across her body faintly, my breath washing across her skin until I reach her breasts. I glance at her before lowering my mouth to surround her nipple.
As Emma’s body tenses in anticipation, she arches her back, playfully requesting me to tease her. I comply, my tongue drawing circles until she sighs with pleasure. My hands glide down her sides, tracing the contours of her hips before finding their place on her thighs. Emma’s fingers wind in the curls of my hair, urging me closer, guiding my movements as if she were scripting our intimate dance.
The soft rustle of fabric and the whisper of skin against skin fills the room. I navigate the landscape of her body with a tender curiosity, rediscovering her every curve and hollow as if it were both the first and the thousandth time. Emma’s breathing becomes shallow, her chest heaving as I continue my exploration.
I look up at her; her eyes are closed, her lips parted slightly, and a flush spreads across her cheeks. The sight fuels my desire to give pleasure as much as to receive it. I tenderly trail kisses across her stomach, each one a wordless declaration of my love and adoration. Emma’s hands reach my shoulders, steadying herself as she rides the waves of sensations I evoke.
Our bodies move in perfect synchrony, a wordless language shared between lovers who know each other’s desires and boundaries. There is a profound trust here, built through years of loving each other wholly and selflessly. Each kiss and every touch are imbued with our shared history.
As my lips reach the crest of her hip, I glance up again. Emma meets my gaze, and in her eyes, I see mirrored back all my love for her—intense and soft in equal measure. I dip my head and place a line of kisses to her center, allowing the warmth of my breath to heighten her arousal.
Emma’s response is instantaneous. A soft moan escapes her lips, encouraging me to explore further. I take my time, savoring the sweetness of her skin and the quiver coursing through her as I continue to explore her softness. Her hands tighten in my hair, a gentle pull that guides and pleads. Slowly, deliberately, I increase the pressure of my tongue, guided by Emma’s subtle movements and the deepening breaths filling the silence between us. Her hips arch, and I raise myself to follow. I hold on to her hips, pulling her to me.
“Addy. Jesus. I need you.”
Emma breaks away with a labored breath, and her gaze locks onto mine with an intensity that both challenges and invites me. She pulls me up and flips us over with surprising quickness. Her body now hovers above mine, a playful smirk playing on her lips as she traces a finger down my chest.
“My turn,” she whispers huskily into my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
Her movements are confident as she maps the terrain she knows so well; each touch is deliberate and assured. She worships every inch of me with her mouth, her fingertips, her body—each touch igniting a fire inside me that makes me writhe beneath her.
Emma’s touch is electrifying. She captures my lips in a kiss so deep and consuming that the world around us fades into oblivion. Her lips move from mine, trailing fiery kisses down my neck and collarbone, each sending pulses of heat radiating through my veins.
“Em,” I plead for something—I’m unsure what. I want to touch her again. I want her to take me to the brink of insanity. I want to be held and released all at once. It’s dizzying and intoxicating.
“What do you want, Addy?”
Before I can think of an answer, she descends my body, her hands framing my waist as her lips find their way across my abdomen, planting kisses that stir a storm within me.
“Addy? It’s not a trivia question.”
I can hear the delight in Emma’s voice at my frustration and desperation.
“There’s no wrong answer,” she says as her head dips lower.
She pauses to look up at me with those piercing eyes that seem to see right into my soul. With a mischievous grin, she continues her descent, her tongue painting strokes of pleasure across my center.
I feel Emma’s hum of satisfaction reverberate through me, sending a series of soft shudders through my core.
“Yes,” she hisses.
“God, Em. Please. I need you.”
“What do you need?”
“You, Em. I need you. I need to touch you. Please.”
A grin spreads across Emma’s face as she rises to press her lips to mine again. Her nipples brush against mine, and she deliberately teases me with the warmth of her body, pressing us together, deepening our kiss, and pulling away just when the friction builds.
“Fuck, Em.”
Emma chuckles faintly, takes my hand, and places it between her legs.
My eyes flutter closed at the warm softness that greets my fingers. I play with her gently until her hips swirl in a desperate plea for me to fill her. I moan when he lowers herself onto my hand, her forehead falling against mine.
“Addy,” she whispers my name with reverence and urgency.
Our foreheads touch lightly as she slides further down my hand, enveloping me in her warmth. I feel the tender, rhythmic clenching that pulls at my fingers, binding us in an intimate dance of give and take. Emma’s eyes, half-lidded and heavy with desire, lock onto mine, grounding me in a moment that teeters on the edge of overwhelming.
“More,” she whispers.
Emma’s plea is barely audible over the sound of our mingled sighs. My fingers move with a gentle assertiveness, exploring the familiar yet always exhilarating contours of her. With each movement, I feel her body respond, her grip on me tightening as if she’s afraid I’ll slip away. The air between us vibrates with the electricity of our connection, each touch sparking it further alive.
Emma shifts above me, guiding my other hand to her breast. Her skin feels warm and inviting under my touch, her nipple responding eagerly as I lightly caress it with my thumb. She throws her head back in abandonment to the sensations overtaking her. In that moment, she is both completely vulnerable and immensely powerful—my lover, my wife, my everything.
“Addy, I want you. I need?—”
I know what Emma desires. She wants to touch me. I understand. Nothing makes my desire to touch her more powerful than when her hands explore me. The need to bring her pleasure is all-consuming. I love this—watching her above me, feeling the exchange of power and trust that envelops us.
“Shh. Don’t stop, Em. Please. I love watching you—feeling you like this.”
Emma’s resolve is cracking slowly. I lean forward and suck her nipple between my lips.
“Addy!”
I can’t stop now when I’m so close to seeing her lose control. I flick my tongue and nibble on her nipples, enjoying the way her body arches and moves as she grinds against my fingers.
“Touch yourself, Addy.”
I gently tease the nipple in my mouth, and Emma releases a soft moan of pleasure.
“Please.” Emma’s voice is tender, as if she is making a request, but I understand it’s a command. “Addy.” Emma’s eyes open and meet mine with a lustful gaze. “Please. I need you with me.”
I groan in protest, wanting to prolong our connection. Emma surprises me when she reaches back and strokes my center with a fingertip.
“Jesus, Em.”
“I need you, Addison.”
I lift a hand to her cheek, understanding passing between us. Our lives constantly change—even if we’d like to think life remains static. The evidence is around us every moment—in the marks on our children’s growth charts that decorate the playroom walls, the tiny lines that pull the corners of Emma’s eyes, and the gray hairs she sweeps behind my ears. As the sun sets on this chapter of our life, a new one dawns that is sure to be filled with unexpected challenges and thrilling possibilities.
“You have me, Emma. Always.” I pull her closer, and our lips meet in a passionate kiss. Suddenly, her body trembles with ecstasy, and she cries out my name.
I refuse to release her, twirling my fingers inside her, my tongue rediscovering the contours of her mouth as she collapses into me. I sweep the hair from her eyes and smile.
Emma tries to speak, but I silence her with a gentle kiss. “You give me everything, Em.”
“No. But I wish I could.”
“There is nothing in the world I love more than feeling you close,” I tell her. “Just feeling you against me.”
Emma curls into my embrace and traces my lips with a fingertip. “Addy.”
“I know,” I say.
As a writer, I’ve spent countless hours trying to capture the indescribable feeling of love in words. I’ve captured the essence of falling in love—the thrilling yet uncertain journey towards an unknown destination—hopeful and terrifying. But what about staying in love? Staying in love requires gravity, the force that keeps us tethered to someone even when the thrill of falling has long faded. I still fall in love with Emma, but it’s different from when we met. I always feel the chord that connects us and holds us together. And I’m not sure there is any way to capture those feelings on a page or a screen. Still, I feel compelled to try. Maybe that’s why this project means so much to me.
“What are you thinking?” Emma asks.
“How lucky I am.”
“Mm.” Emma turns to look at me. “It’s not luck, Addy.”
“Maybe not. I know what you’re about to say.”
“Do you?” she asks.
“I think so.”
“And what am I about to say?”
I smile. “That we’ll always find our way.”
“We will,” Emma says. “But that isn’t what I was thinking.”
“No?”
“No,” she says firmly, taking a deep breath before continuing. “When we were first together, it felt like the ground shifted beneath our feet. It was like we were standing on a pile of sand, never knowing when it might give way and swallow us whole.”
I gently caress Emma’s arm as she shares her thoughts with me. I understand exactly what she means. The start of our relationship was intense and all-consuming, and not only in the bedroom. We spent countless hours learning about each other’s pasts, fears, hopes, and dreams. Being together felt like being in a private world where nothing else mattered. But whenever we stepped outside, the reality of our situation hit us hard. The lives we were leading seemed suddenly separate—almost incompatible. We had to put constant effort into nurturing our relationship and challenge ourselves to be open about our feelings. It wasn’t always easy, but we fought through the obstacles that came our way by being honest and open with each other. In the end, we found solace in each other—our solid ground amidst the chaos of the world around us.
“It’s different now,” Emma says. “I know no matter how unsteady I might feel—no matter how the earth beneath us rumbles, you’ll keep me steady.”
I smile and kiss her lips.
Emma sighs. “In some ways, Addy, I think we’ve been hiding here. I’ve been hiding here.”
Emma’s words don’t surprise me, but I also don’t agree. “Em,” I whisper. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No. We’re both private people who happen to have a public life—or, at least, a public-facing career. Don’t say anything yet. Just listen to me.”
Emma sighs.
“Finding the right balance isn’t easy for any couple or family. Let’s be honest. Fame adds a dimension to our reality most people will never need to consider. You worry about me. You worry about the kids. And I understand. More than you think I can.”
Another sigh passes Emma’s lips.
“But we all know who you are—not only me, the kids, too,” I tell her. “You’re my solid ground as much as I am yours. And we’re theirs.”
“I know,” she says. “Maybe I need to hear you say it. This project means more to you than anything since Off Screen,” she observes.
I nod. “I guess it does,” I reply.
Emma smiles.
“It’s about finding that solid ground,” I tell her. “About the gifts life lays unexpectedly at your feet, and how frightening it can be to embrace the change that goes along with them.”
Emma leans in and kisses me.
“What was that for?” I ask.
“Do I need a reason?”
“Never.”
“I love you so much, Addy.”
“Em?”
“When I read the pilot,” Emma pauses and shakes her head. “I laughed. But I also cried.”
“Why?”
“Because I felt you in it—your wit and your wisdom. And I felt us. Not the way we fell in love or the way we’ve created our life, but the chaos that fills it—the everyday insanity and the struggle for balance. It’s funny because it’s believable. And it has heart.”
“Thanks.”
“You don’t need to thank me. I only told you the truth,” Emma says. “It made me realize I can’t avoid being who I am. For me, that means creating—being on a stage or a set. I?—”
“I know,” I say. “So? Do you really think we should consider moving to the East Coast?”
Emma’s smile is bright, loving, and confident. “Yes. I do.”
“It would put us closer to my dad,” I muse.
Emma settles back into my arms and kisses my shoulder.
“You do realize you’ll have to bake a lot more cookies—even if you are working.”
“Well, make sure Emma Rowland’s kitchen has a working oven,” Emma tells me. “I’ll bake cookies while I’m at work.”
I chuckle. “Always looking for solutions.”
“Well, you know, you could learn to make the cookies yourself,” Emma suggests.
“Me? Uh—I don’t think so, Em. The last time I tried that, Vicki told me even the birds couldn’t eat them.”
I feel Emma’s light shaking against me.
“It’s not funny!”
“It’s funny,” Emma says, stretching to kiss me. “I didn’t fall in love with you for your culinary skills.”
“Yeah. It’s a good thing for all of us you have mastered the kitchen. We’d all be 1000 pounds from pizza delivery, Captain Crunch, and Hostess.”
Emma rolls her eyes and kisses my cheek. “You do have a flair for the dramatic, love.”
“Ha-ha. That’s Tam’s department.”
“Mm-hm.”
“I’m not dramatic, Emma.”
“No. Not at all.”
“Em?”
“Go to sleep, Addy.”
“Emma. Do you really think I’m dramatic?”
I feel more than hear Emma’s giggling.
“Emma?”
“Go to sleep, Addy.”
“Dramatic,” I gripe. “Writers are supposed to be dramatic. That’s how actors get work,” I mutter
Emma laughs.
“Well, it is.”
“Mm-hm. What about actors who also write?” she challenges me.
“You are versatile.”
I’m stunned when Emma climbs on top of me. She raises a brow in the fading light and cups my breast.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Showing you my versatility,” she replies before descending my body like a cat stalking unsuspecting prey.
“Oh, dear God,” I whisper and grab the sheets.
“Let’s see if you can manage to play a role in my silent film,” Emma says.
I bite my lip and hear her chuckle. One thing is for certain: Emma has mastered love scenes. Yep. She’s versatile.