Chapter 15 Carina
Carina
The kitchen feels wrong without William's presence.
It's been this way all of yesterday, and this morning—Knox making too many jokes, Travis checking his phone every thirty seconds, and me pretending that the ache in my chest is from too much coffee and not from the memory of William pushing me away.
"He's really not coming down," Knox says for the third time, staring at the empty chair where William usually sits in. "He never misses breakfast."
"He's processing," Travis replies, but even his diplomatic tone can't hide the worry. "You know how he gets."
"Yeah, I know how he gets. He gets impossible." Knox pushes eggs around his plate without eating. "More impossible than usual, I mean."
They both look at me like I have answers. Like I didn't spend half the night replaying that scene in William's bedroom, feeling his hands on my skin, the desperation in his kiss before he shoved me away like I'd burned him.
"Should we go after him?" Knox asks, his usual brightness dimmed. "I could bring him coffee, pretend nothing happened—"
"Give him space," Travis interrupts. "When William's like this, pushing only makes it worse."
"So we just what, pretend everything's fine? Pretend he didn't basically tell Carina she's ruining his life by existing?"
"Knox," I say quietly. "He didn't say that."
"He might as well have." Knox's jaw clenches. "I'm so fucking tired of his martyrdom complex. Poor William, too scared to—"
"Enough." I stand, decision made. "This has gone on long enough."
Both men look at me with surprise. I've been letting them handle William, letting them navigate their complicated dynamics while I tried to find my place. But I'm tired of being passive. Tired of watching William self-destruct while we all dance around him.
"Carina," Travis starts, "maybe you should—"
"What? Give him more time to convince himself that wanting me is some kind of weakness?
" I move to the coffee maker, pulling out William's black mug—the one with the tiny chip on the handle that he refuses to throw away.
"I spent five years with a man who made me feel like my desires were too much.
I won't watch William do the same thing to himself. "
I make his coffee exactly how he likes it—strong enough to strip paint, no sugar, temperature somewhere between volcanic and nuclear. My hands shake slightly as I pour, remembering how they shook yesterday when he kissed me. How they shook when he told me to leave.
"Want backup?" Knox offers, but I shake my head.
"This is between William and me."
The walk to his office feels longer than usual. Each step is a choice to be brave, to push when pulling back would be easier. The door is closed, of course. William's always closing doors.
I knock softly. No answer.
"William, I have coffee."
Still nothing.
"I'm coming in whether you answer or not."
That gets a response. "The door is locked."
"No, it's not." I turn the handle, proving my point. "You're sulking, not having a security crisis."
The office is dim, curtains drawn against the morning sun. William sits behind his desk, but his laptop is closed, papers untouched. He's just sitting there, staring out at the sliver of mountain view visible through the gap in the curtains.
"I'm working," he says without looking at me.
"Liar." I set the coffee on his desk, careful to use a coaster because even in crisis, William has standards. "You're brooding."
"I don't brood."
"You're right. Brooding implies some level of romantic mystery. You're pouting."
That gets him to look at me, gray eyes sharp with annoyance. "I don't pout either."
"Then what would you call this?" I gesture at him, at the dark office, at the untouched work. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like a man who's decided to be miserable rather than brave."
"You don't understand—"
"Stop." I move around the desk, refusing to let furniture be another barrier between us. "Stop telling me I don't understand. I understand perfectly. You want me. It scares you. So you're choosing safety over happiness."
"Carina—"
"I'm not done." I'm close enough now to see the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his jaw. "You kissed me like you were dying. Like I was everything. Then you pushed me away because feeling that much doesn't fit into whatever your plan is."
He stands abruptly, the chair rolling back. "This isn't about a plan."
"No? Then what's it about?"
"I can't do this anymore, Carina." The words burst out of him, raw and ragged. "Watching you with them..."
He stops, runs a hand through his hair. It's already messy, like he's been doing that all morning. William with messy hair feels wrong.
"Watching me with them, what?" I press, stepping closer.
"Watching you with them is killing me." He turns away, facing the window. "I know I have no right to ask, but I can't share you. I'm not built that way."
The confession hangs between us, heavy with pain. I want to touch him but I'm afraid he'll shatter.
"William—"
"I've never felt like this before." He's still facing away, but I can see his reflection in the window.
"I run a multi-billion-dollar company. I negotiate with hostile CEOs.
I manage supply chains across continents.
But you... I can't manage you. Can't strategize my way around wanting you so much I can't breathe. "
My heart cracks at the desperation in his voice. "Why is that bad?"
"Because I don't know how to want someone without consuming them." He turns finally, and the look in his eyes makes me step back. "I'm not like Knox with his easy affection or Travis with his steady warmth. When I want something, I obsess over it."
"You're not—"
"Every time I see you with them, something breaks inside me." His voice drops, barely above a whisper. "Not because I don't want you to be happy. But because I want to be the one making you happy. Only me. And that's not fair to you or them or—"
"Stop." I close the distance between us, my hands finding his face. "Look at me."
He does, reluctantly, and I see everything—the fear, the want, the self-loathing.
"You remind me of my ex when you try to control everything," I say softly, feeling him flinch. "But I also see the difference. Dylan did it to make himself feel bigger. You do it because you're terrified of being hurt."
"Carina—"
"I'm not done." My thumbs stroke his jawline, feeling the tension there. "You're not trying to hurt me. You're trying not to need me. But William... you already do."
Something breaks in his expression. "I can't share you. I know that makes me selfish, possessive, everything you escaped from, but—"
"What if I want you to be possessive? What if I need someone who wants me that completely?" I take a shaky breath. "Knox makes me feel free. Travis makes me feel safe. But you... you make me feel powerful. Like I'm something worth obsessing over."
"You are." His hands come up to cover mine. "God, Carina, you have no idea—"
"Show me."
The words hang between us for a heartbeat. Then he snaps.
He kisses me like he did yesterday but more—more desperate, more demanding, more everything. His hands tangle in my hair, pulling just hard enough to make me gasp, and he swallows the sound like he's starving for it.
"Mine," he growls against my mouth. "Say it."
"William—"
He presses my back against the wall, caging me in with his body. "Say it, Carina. I need to hear it."
"Yours," I breathe, and feel him shudder.
What happens next is a blur of heat and need. His hands are everywhere, learning my body like he's memorizing it. When he lifts me onto his desk, shoving papers aside with complete disregard for his organizational system, I laugh breathlessly.
"Your filing system—"
"Fuck the filing system." He attacks my neck, finding that spot that makes me melt. "Fuck everything that isn't this."
I've never heard William curse like this, never seen him this unraveled. It's intoxicating. My hands work at his shirt buttons, needing to feel his heart racing under my palms.
"So beautiful," he murmurs, pulling back to look at me. "Do you know how many times I've imagined this? You under me, looking at me like—"
"Like I want you to ruin me?"
His eyes go dark. "Careful what you ask for."
"I'm not asking." I pull him back down. "I'm begging."
He makes a sound that's almost a growl, and then coherent thought becomes impossible. His mouth is everywhere—my lips, my throat, my nipples. His hands map my body with devastating precision, finding every place that makes me gasp and exploiting it ruthlessly.
"All those mornings," he says against my skin, "watching you cook, watching you laugh with them, wanting you so badly I couldn't think straight."
"You could have had me." I arch into his touch. "I've wanted you from the beginning."
"Liar."
"Truth." I pull his head up, making him look at me. "That first day, the interview. You were so in charge, so precise, and all I could think about was making you lose it."
"Mission accomplished." He kisses me again, deep and possessive. "You've ruined me. Completely fucking ruined me."
When his hand slides under my skirt, I nearly come off the desk. He makes a satisfied sound at what he finds there.
"So wet," he murmurs. "Is this for me?"
"Yes." The word comes out as a moan when his fingers land exactly where I need them. "William, please—"
"Please what?" He's watching my face with intense focus. "Tell me what you need."
"I need you inside me. Now."
"So demanding." But he's already reaching for his belt, his movements sharp with urgency. "I love that about you. Love that you know what you want and ask for it."
"Less talking," I gasp, helping with his zipper. "More—oh god."
He enters me in one smooth thrust, and we both freeze, overwhelmed by the sensation. He's huge, filling me completely, and the stretch is perfect.
"Fuck," he breathes against my neck. "You feel... Christ, Carina."
"Move," I plead, wrapping my legs around his waist. "Please, William, I need—"
He does, setting a rhythm that's measured at first. But when I bite his shoulder in frustration, something snaps. His hips slam forward, the desk creaking under us, and all pretense of control vanishes.
"Mine," he growls with each thrust. "Say it again."
"Yours," I gasp. "Yours, William—"
He kisses me so I can’t finish what I was saying, his pace becoming brutal in the best way. I'm probably leaving scratches on his back but he doesn't seem to care, just drives deeper, harder, like he's trying to claim every part of me.
"Touch yourself," he commands. "I want to watch you fall apart."
I obey without hesitating, my hand sliding between us. The combination of his thrusts and my own touch has me climbing fast, too fast.
"That's it," he encourages, his voice rough. "Let go for me. Show me how good I make you feel."
When I come, my body clenches so tightly around him I feel like it’s never going to stop. He follows right behind me, his groan muffled against my throat as he pulses inside me.
We stay like that for a moment, both breathing hard, clinging to each other like survivors of a shipwreck. Which maybe we are.
"That was..." I start, then trail off. What words could possibly capture the intensity of that. It was volcanic, mind-blowing.
"Everything," he finishes, pulling back to look at me. "That was everything."
The vulnerability in his eyes makes my chest tight. This is William without armor, without anything but need and fear and hope all tangled together.
"Hey," I say softly, touching his face. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
"How can you say that?" He's still inside me, but the doubt is creeping back into his voice. "You have Knox and Travis. They're easier, simpler—"
"Yes, I love that." I kiss him gently. "And I also want this. Us.”
He stares at me like I'm speaking a foreign language. "But the others—"
"Will understand." The words come out more certain than I feel. "William, I can't keep pretending I don't need this. Need you."
"Carina..." His voice breaks on my name.
"I know it's complicated. I know it's not what any of us planned. But I'm tired of doing what's expected or safe or easy." I pull him closer. "I want you. All of you. Even the parts that scare you."
He kisses me then, soft and deep and full of something that might be hope. When he pulls back, there's wonder in his eyes.
"You terrify me," he admits.
"Good." I smile. "You terrify me too. But I'm done running from things that scare me."
We clean up in silence, fixing clothes and hair and trying to restore some semblance of order to his destroyed desk. But there's an ease between us now, a connection that wasn't there before.
"What happens now?" he asks, watching me smooth my skirt.
"Now? Now we figure it out. Together."
The truth is, I don't know what will happen, but I know that at the end of the day, it’s all going to work out.