Chapter 26
Willow
I glare at Graham, lounging in my armchair as though he hasn’t just taken my damn phone and ensured I’m trapped inside my own apartment.
Carson paces the room, a caged animal, his sharp movements restless, muscles coiled tight. Every time he cuts past me, heat rolls off him in waves.
He’s pissed. That makes two of us.
Hunter sits on the edge of the couch, deceptively calm, but I know better. His broad shoulders are tense, his fingers curled against his knees like he’s one breath away from launching to his feet at the first sign of trouble.
And my dad was worried about Finn? I snort at the thought. Apparently, his bodyguards are the ones I should be concerned about. Because they just kidnapped me.
For my protection, obviously.
“You can’t just lock me in here and take my phone like I’m some fucking bird in a cage,” I snap, crossing my arms.
Graham doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t so much as look up. He just leans back further in my chair, stretching his long legs out, every inch of him radiating patience—as though he has all the time in the world to wait me out.
Carson stops pacing long enough to scoff. “Peaches, we absolutely can.”
Hunter lifts his chin, his voice calm. “We can. And we will. Until you come to your senses, princess.”
My pulse spikes.
I don’t like the way that sounds, both threat and promise in the same breath.
Graham finally meets my gaze, his gray eyes icy with finality. “Finn is dangerous. He’s unhinged. And we don’t need you seeking him out. Or calling your dad and convincing him you don’t need our protection. He paid us to do a job, and we never fail.”
The way he says it makes my stomach flip. Because part of me wants it to be about more than doing a job. It wants all of this to mean they’re staking their claim. That they don’t want anyone else close because they want me.
“My dad paid you to keep me safe. I’m safe with Finn. He hasn’t hurt me.”
Why am I arguing with them to see the guy who is so obviously stalking me?
God, I must be more fucked up than I thought.
A muscle ticks in Graham’s jaw. “You don’t even believe that. And you’re missing a part of that sentence, he hired us to keep you safe from Finn, who hasn’t hurt you yet.”
I don’t answer.
Instead, I pivot and stalk toward the hallway. “I’m going to bed since I obviously can’t talk sense into you.”
Graham is on my heels immediately.
I spin around just inside the bathroom, my heart hammering. “Seriously?”
He leans against the doorframe casually, blocking my only exit.
“You think we’re letting you out of our sight tonight?” he asks, just above a whisper. “After you just admitted you’re more fucked up than any of us thought? No, Willow, we will be within touching distance.”
My breath catches. I hate that he can tell what I just thought myself. I am fucked up. I shove the bathroom door shut between us.
When I emerge, he’s still there. And then he follows me into my bedroom.
I freeze mid-step. “Excuse me?”
Graham shuts the door behind him as though he belongs here, making it clear this is how it will be.
“Can’t have you sneaking out your window,” he murmurs, his eyes flicking toward the fire escape. “We both know you’ll try.”
My blood boils. “This is ridiculous—”
He moves fast.
One second, I’m glaring up at him. The next, I’m against the wall. His hands braced on either side of my head. Caging me in.
The heat radiating off him is everywhere.
“Stop.” My voice isn’t as strong as I want it to be.
“You stop,” he murmurs. “Stop acting like we don’t know exactly what you’re doing. Exactly what you will do.”
I try to scoff, but his scent is everywhere.
Coffee and brown sugar and something undeniably alpha. It’s the first time his musk has broken through, and I never thought I would think the combination of coffee and brown sugar would appeal to me, but damn does it.
I should push him away.
I should say something biting, cutting.
But I can’t.
His stare pins me down, full of possession, daring me to continue pretending I’m not already his.
He doesn’t push. Doesn’t rush. Just waits, certain I won’t move. My breath stumbles when his fingers brush my cheek, when his hand tips my chin up. And when his mouth finally crashes into mine, I don’t resist.
I shatter.
Fuck, I wanted this.
Graham kisses me hard, the kind of kiss meant to prove a point. Every drag of his mouth against mine is a claim, rough and relentless. He swallows my defiance, my smart mouth, every fight I thought I had left—until all that’s left is heat and the burn of needing more.
Too bad he’s giving me exactly what I want. I pull him closer. A sound rumbles from deep in his chest—surprised, dark, approving.
His hands snap to my hips, grip rough as he drags me into him. And fuck—he’s hard. All of him. Heat floods through me, my breath shuddering out as his fingers bite into my skin, holding me there, holding me still, like the only thing keeping him in check is sheer will.
I don’t want him in check. I want him unleashed.
His tongue sweeps against mine—demanding, claiming—and I open for him, give him everything he asks for. The room tilts, spinning around us, and I don’t even register we’ve moved until the mattress hits the back of my legs.
I gasp. He swallows it, drags me under.
His teeth catch my bottom lip, pulling, biting just enough to make my whole body shiver.
My nails dig into his shoulders. I arch into him. His groan rumbles against my mouth, raw and guttural, the sound of someone who needs this too. Who needs me.
The thrill that tears through me is sharp, intoxicating. Dangerous.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
Not with him. Not with any of them. But I can’t stop.
Not when he feels this good.
Not when his scent is in my lungs, his hands scorch my skin, his weight pins me down.
Not when he’s kissing me as though he owns me.
And I fucking love it.
His lips tear away from mine, dragging lower, marking a path down my throat. I feel the smirk curl against my skin.
“You talk too much,” he rasps. “Good girls know when to talk and when to shut their mouths.”
I don’t even get the chance to snap back before his teeth scrape over my pulse point. Heat explodes through me, sharp and filthy. Fuck, if this is what bad girls get, put me on the naughty list.
A moan slips free, betraying me, and his whole body goes taut.
Then—just like that—he’s gone.
I blink up at him, dazed, panting, still burning from his touch. Graham’s chest heaves, gray eyes stormy, jaw locked tight as he stares down at me—on the edge of saying something, on the edge of doing something.
Instead, he steps back.
Fucking. Steps. Back.
His hands curl into fists at his sides, nostrils flaring, fighting to breathe me out of his system. Fighting because he already knows this was a mistake.
Cold slams into me the second he’s gone. And I hate it.
I hate that I already want him to do it again.
He rakes a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply through his nose. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
My stomach tightens.
“Too late,” I whisper.