23. A Willow Whore
A WILLOW WHORE
RAYMOND
T here’s something about the nighttime that’s always felt like magic to me.
The first time I met my father was on a night like this—dark, endless, full of unknowns. The first time my daughter wrapped her tiny arms around my neck and held on for dear life was under the same moon. Then there’s Willow—this stubborn, infuriating woman who’s tangled herself into my life like she was always meant to be here.
All of our most intense moments, those whispered confessions, stolen glances unfolded under the cover of darkness in the pergola. Now, here I am again, one foot inside her bedroom, watching her burrow under her sky-blue comforter like she’s hiding from me.
I’d woken up thirsty, but instead of water, I got something infinitely more dangerous—the sound of soft shuffling movements in the kitchen. There were no security alerts from the numerous sensors and security men stationed around my property.
I don’t know what I was expecting when I walked in, but it sure as hell wasn’t her —standing in the middle of my kitchen, attempting to bake something that looked more like a science experiment gone wrong than an actual cake.
My mother would have had a heart attack.
The mess was spectacular. But it was the look on her face that stopped me in my tracks. She was trying for Quill, for my daughter. The picture Willow had pulled up on her phone—bright yellow sunflowers, honey bees, a pale yellow cake base—it screamed my bug.
Something about it cracked me wide open.
Helping her was instinct. Capturing her against the counter while we worked together was something else entirely. I’d underestimated the force of attraction between us. I’d misjudged that I could stand this close, breathe her in and not touch her.
I was so fucking wrong.
I spent the entire time torturing myself. My hands were occupied with batter and frosting, while my lips barely grazed her cheek, her shoulder, just ghosting over her skin. And somehow, that was worse than if I had just pinned her to the damn counter and kissed her until we both forgot our own names. I was so fucking turned on that I could hammer nails with my cock.
There was no way to hide it. I didn’t want to hide it.
But then like everything good, the night had to come to an end. Every ounce of my resolve was tested when Willow walked out of the kitchen. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to sleep. My body was too wired, my brain too wrecked with thoughts of her—her scent, her laugh, the way she looked at me like I was both her problem and her solution.
I was debating which was a lesser evil—jerking off thinking about her or smoking an entire pack of cigarettes to forget her—when I got her text.
One mistake. One beautifully, perfectly disastrous slipup.
Now, here I am, watching her hide under her covers, pretending she didn’t just throw gasoline on a fire that was already burning.
“How long?” I murmur.
The covers shift. Her fingers tighten around the edge of the blanket.
“How long has it been, Willow?” I ask again, dragging the vanity stool loudly next to her bed and sitting down like I have all the time in the world.
I do have all the time in the world for this, for her.
She peeks out from under the blanket, her hazel eyes locking on to mine in the dark. “What are you doing here?” Her voice is quiet, almost a whisper.
I grin, stretching out my legs and getting comfortable. “You texted me about your tragic lack of orgasms and mentioned you were in the market for a vibrator. What kind of man would I be if I ignored a distress call like that?”
She bolts upright. “Oh my God, that was not meant for you!”
I cock my head, giving her my best I’m not buying it for a second smirk. In reality, I know it wasn’t for me. She must have meant to text her friends about her little issue .
“Wasn’t it, though? Maybe deep down you knew exactly what you were doing and were expecting exactly this—me in your room.”
Her lips part like she’s going to argue, but then she closes her eyes, swallows, composes herself, and squares her shoulders. I know what it means. She’s calming herself down and preparing herself because losing to me is not something Willow Pershing allows.
When her eyes finally open, the fire is back, but I don’t let her say whatever comeback she’s thought of. Tonight, I want to see the real Willow. The one who I happen to meet during our long talks in the night. The one who’s vulnerable inside even when she puts on a strong front.
I lean forward, close enough that I can breathe the fruity, citrus smell of her shampoo. Her eyes flick to mine, and for a heartbeat, we just stare at each other.
“I didn’t mean to send it to you.” Her voice shakes and hits me square in my chest.
“But you did and now I don’t want to pretend that I didn’t receive it.”
“Ray…I…I’m not looking for serious.” Her eyes stay on my face, and her unspoken words are heard loud and clear. I’m sure she knows by now that while she’s not looking for serious, I’m someone who’s nothing but serious when it comes to relationships and my personal life. I don’t know what she sees on my face, but she adds carefully, “I…I can’t do serious. I’m not built like that.”
“Willow, do you see me on my knee, holding a ring?”
Despite the words, my mind immediately goes to the ring I’d designed with the jeweler just for her. I wade through my thoughts as my hand holds her chin. My thumb drifts to her bottom lip, full and wet, as she licked it a second ago, probably unconsciously. It’s almost enough for me to lose my mind and crash my lips to hers, but this is Willow—the one woman with whom I don’t want just one night.
“Listen carefully, Miss Pershing.” My thumb is still grazing her lip, which is begging to be sucked, as I bore my gaze into hers. “It’s your choice. If you tell me to leave, I will. But if you ask me to stay, I’ll give you a night that will show you the difference between a man and a vibrator.” My every word is slow and careful, and Willow’s eyes never leave my face. “So what’s it going to be?”
Her breath hitches. “But I don’t do serious?—”
“It’s a one-word answer, Willow. Stay or leave.” My voice comes out strained.
When she continues to stare at me, I lean forward, my lips a breath away from hers, my thumb still on her mouth. “You don’t do serious. I heard you the first time. Now answer my goddamn question. Am I leaving you here burning, writhing in sheets the whole night, or am I showing you what it’s like to be with a man?”
She shudders.
I give her a heartbeat. A moment to tell me to go.
Instead, she whispers, “Don’t leave.”
“Good answer.” My lips curl and my face dips further. When she lifts her head up to meet me halfway, I feel a rush of adrenaline through my system. But Willow is not a quick fuck. She’s someone to be savored, and I do just that.
Instead of ravishing her lips, I graze mine over the corner of her mouth.
Right now, the woman who used to be my archenemy is like my favorite wet dream come alive. I don’t push, just run my nose along her cheeks, her jawline, while my hands push the covers down.
She’s soft, compliant, as if in a trance. I hold her hands in mine and glide my fingers in between hers. Her breath hitches, and every other second, she sucks in air whenever my lips make contact with her skin. Our fingers continue caressing, tangling, gliding to the back of our hands in a sensual dance, and I bring my lips close to the shell of her ear. “Are you wet?”
She freezes, but I tighten my grip on her.
“No thinking, Willow. It’s just about feelings tonight. You get that?”
I look in her eyes and there’s a brief moment of hesitation before she nods.
Thank fuck.
“I can smell you and I’ve barely touched you. That’s the difference between a man and a vibrator. You trust me?”
This time, her nod is immediate, and it fills a crevice in my heart with warmth. I place her hand over her stomach, covered by the thin, faded maroon T-shirt.
“Touch yourself.”
“Ray, I?—”
“Shh. Just do as I say.” My hand covers hers as I push our hands beneath the elastic waistband of her cotton shorts and descend lower. I guide her fingers to gently rub against her sex through her cotton panties. Her breath hitches and my eyes don’t move from her face.
Willow Pershing is a vision when she’s hot and turned on.
She starts to rush with her fingers, but I tighten my grip.
“No rushing. The buildup is half the fun.” I continue to play the slow game. Caressing her face with my nose, caressing her sex without directly touching her.
Moments later, she’s panting and I’m not far behind. I haven’t been more turned on in my whole life. It’s frustrating, but everything is when it comes to this woman.
When my lips finally crash into hers, there’s nothing soft or sweet between us. The pent-up frustration of all the past months finally finds a reprieve. I want her, and even if she claims otherwise, the way her mouth yields to mine, in this moment, Willow wants me too.
Her lips are tender, soft, and her tongue…damn her tongue. Wet and eager as it meets mine, and my self-control starts to crack.
The feelings are too much, the emotions too high, and everything is too fucking perfect.
We are past buildup. I push into her, taking more of her, trying to steal as much of her taste as I can. My fingers above hers are in tandem—relentless, yes, but in complete sync. As if our hands are two pieces of a common system. Her free hand drifts to my forearm, and she scrapes her nails against my skin.
“Ray,” she groans against me. “Fast. Please.”
It’s an amazing feeling to be wanted, desired by the woman who has become the limelight of your fantasies.
“I’m going to touch you now.”
She moves her hand away, and that’s enough confirmation for me. Within the next second, I’ve pushed down her shorts and panties, and my fingers make their first contact with the velvety skin of her sex, damp with arousal.
She’s so beautiful and so surprisingly willing.
Her head falls back against the pillow, exposing her slender throat, and I take the opportunity to lick down her column and bite on her skin.
“Yes,” she whispers. “More, Ray.”
My mouth sucks her skin, licks across her collarbone, tracing my tongue over the tattooed lines that meet her skin there.
“I’ll give you what you want in exchange for a truth.” I kiss my way to her jaw, then bite her earlobe. “Why the tattoo of a willow tree?” I make my way down again, to her collarbone, pushing down the neck of her T-shirt just enough to expose the tattoo that has haunted me since her first night in the house.
I don’t know if she heard me, because Willow rubs her sex against my fingers in a fast-paced rhythm, making me wonder if her pussy tastes as sweet as the rest of her.
“Answer, Willow, or I’m going to stop,” I say, even though stopping is the last thing on my mind. I take her mouth again, drawing sweet little moans from her into my kiss, which deepens when I sweep my tongue incessantly again in her mouth.
I’m greedy, possessive, burning in her want. Not just for the night, though. I want Willow Pershing for much longer than we agreed on. Before my mind can get lost in the battle of wants and reality, I pull an inch away from her, even bringing my fingers to a halt.
“Answer or I’ll stop.”
Her eyes meet mine, the curtain of lust dropping for a second. I worry she’s going to put an end to the night, but she once again surprises me.
Willow drops her gaze and whispers, “It’s to remind me that Whispering Willow is not just a business. It’s my responsibility. My grandparents’ legacy.”
I can read her well by now. That’s how I know she might not have exactly lied to me, but she’s left a big part of the truth out of her response.
“Thank you,” I reply nevertheless. With every intention to bring the mood back to where it was, I kiss her hard. I lift her from the bed, and her legs wind around my hips. “Enough talking for the night, then.”
“Says the man who started—” Her words remain trapped in her throat as I take her lips in mine and pull her T-shirt over her head. My hands trail over her stomach, her rib cage, and the underswell of her tits before I graze the pads of my thumbs against her nipples.
“Hmm,” she moans as I cup her ass and untangle her legs from my waist.
Willow is all but writhing against me, searching for any kind of friction, but I keep my rock-hard cock away from her.
“Raymond,” she whines, which stops when my hand drifts lower, skimming her stomach, before dipping my fingers between the folds of her sex and giving it a tap.
“Figures, Miss Pershing. You’ve got to have the best pussy in the whole world.”
It’s as if changing positions has sent the vulnerable Willow packing. “Are you admitting that you’re a manwhore, Mr. Teager?” Her voice is hoarse as she grips my forearms.
“I’m confessing that for a few months now, I’ve only been a WW. A Willow-whore.”
Laughter breaks out of her.
I slap her bare ass. “It’s so fucking true. All I can think right now is how wet you are, how good you feel under my fingers.” For emphasis, I push two fingers inside her. “How good you would taste when I finally go down on you. How tight you would feel wrapped around my cock.”
Willow moans, rolling her hips against mine.
“Is that permission to eat you, Miss Pershing?” I growl into her neck before lifting her and placing her on the dresser and dropping to my knees before her.
The first time I put my mouth on Willow’s sex, it’s intoxicating. I plunge my tongue, penetrating her in one sudden movement. She cries out, grabbing my hair.
“Fuck my tongue, Firefly. Fuck it hard.”
Her hips rock and she moans out loud when my thumb lazily runs slow but firm circles on her clit. I squeeze her ass with my free hand, controlling how fast and hard I want her to go.
It’s not long before Willow clenches around my tongue, her thighs vibrating, her muscles shaking with a rippling orgasm.
“Ray. God. Fuck. Ray.”
“Yes, baby.” I nudge my finger into her wet, weeping sex. “I want you to sing my fucking name while I fuck you with my finger.”
“Ray, fuck. I already came! What the hell are you doing?”
“You complained about an orgasm drought. You think I’d let you off with just one? I’m so not done with you, Willow.”
True to my words, I make Willow sing my freaking name for the next hour. She sure won’t be complaining to her friends anytime soon.
* * *
“Ray, why didn’t you…?” Willow whispers, as I finally settle her on the bed after fixing her clothes.
“It wasn’t about me tonight.” My gaze lifts to hers, settling on her beautiful face, where there are a few sweat beads shining on her forehead and above her lips. “My orgasm drought hasn’t been going on as long as yours.”
I hope it’s clear to her that even though I’m not exactly flashing my lack of sex publicly, I’m also not hooking up with random women. Her eyes don’t leave me, as if waiting for me to say more, so I deflect.
“Is it okay if I take the cake with me tomorrow?” I ask, sitting on the edge of her bed. My voice comes out casual, but my fingers tap against my thigh like they didn’t get the memo.
“To work?” She raises a brow, her hair splayed against the pillow like a flame.
I shake my head, suddenly feeling an odd flutter of nerves around the woman who was under the mercy of my tongue minutes ago, who I just teased and touched like I’d known her body forever.
“No,” I say, pausing to find the right words. “Once a month, Alex and I visit the local boys’ home. We help the kids with sports, schoolwork—whatever they need. I figure they’ll be happy if I show up with cake.” I try to keep it light, but the words don’t land the way I intend.
Willow sits up and leans against the headboard, her expression somewhere between surprise and disbelief. “You and Alex help some random kids with sports and schoolwork?”
“Yeah.” I shrug, pretending not to notice the disbelief in her voice. “Why is that so surprising?”
“How is it not surprising that Raymond Teager, real estate and hotel tycoon, and Alexander Teager, one of the richest businessmen in the country, spend their free time mentoring kids?”
“People do charity all the time, Willow.” I keep my tone even, but the word charity feels wrong and hollow.
She crosses her arms over her chest, and the way she’s staring at me makes me feel both exposed and seen. “Charity is writing a check or sponsoring a teacher. What you’re doing is personal. I’m not that na?ve, Raymond.”
I rub my hand down my face, not because I hate her prodding—it’s the opposite. I find myself wanting to share this part of my life with her. Hell, I want to share everything with her. But instead of diving headfirst into my messy backstory, I default to humor. “Are you sure you want to push this? I can still taste you on my tongue, and this conversation is dangerously close to ruining that.”
Her cheeks flame under the soft glow of the bedside lamp. The faint sheen of sweat on her skin makes her look like she’s glowing, her hair clinging to her forehead in messy, irresistible strands. “I want to know,” she says, her voice quieter now. “But only if you don’t mind sharing.”
I shift, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees. “Alex and I know what it feels like to have someone care about you when no one else does. To be taken in, loved unconditionally, even when there’s no blood tying you to them.”
Willow’s brows knit together, confusion clouding her features. “I…I don’t understand, Ray.”
I glance at the alarm clock, debating whether now is the time for this conversation. “Are you sure you want to get into this now? You’ll wake up with a headache if you don’t get enough sleep.”
“If you stop now,” she replies, unwavering, “I’ll spend the whole night replaying your cryptic words in my head.”
I let out a breath, running a hand through my hair. “Alex was adopted by Uncle Zander and Aunt Rose.”
She nods. “Chloe mentioned it once during a girls’ night.”
That tracks. Chloe is the only person who will never forget that fact.
“But what does that have to do with you?” Willow asks, her brows drawing together again.
“I’m not my dad’s biological son,” I admit, my voice low. “I was six when my mom married him.”
Her jaw drops. “What? How does no one know this?”
“Because my dad is damn good at keeping his personal life private,” I say with a dry chuckle. “To him—and to our family—it doesn’t matter. But for me? I can’t forget it. My life could’ve been completely different if he hadn’t walked into it.”
Willow stares at me like she’s trying to reconcile the image she’s built of me with this new revelation. “But you and your dad…look so much alike.”
A small smile tugs at my lips. “That resemblance is pure coincidence. But it’s part of what helped us bond. We connected in a way I don’t think anyone expected.”
Her lips part like she wants to say something, but no words come out. And for a moment, the only sound in the room is the soft hum of the night.
“Enough about my life.” I reach out to brush her hair back from her face. “Now get some sleep, Firefly.”
As she settles back against the pillows, her face still painted with quiet surprise, I let myself think, just for a moment, about what it might be like to let this woman into all of it, including the things I haven’t been able to share with my family.