Chapter 37 Graham
Graham
“If you think that’s gonna stop her, I think you’re probably as blind as she is when it comes to her stalker,” Carson says, nodding toward Willow’s closed apartment door.
“Better than what you did,” I grumble.
Carson grins, slow and unrepentant. “Still don’t regret it. Best night of my life.”
I should wipe that cocky smirk off his face. I want to. But the truth is, if Willow had invited me into her bed, I wouldn’t have said no either. And I sure as hell wouldn’t regret it.
“I’m calling her dad,” I say, flipping my phone over in my palm. “He needs to know.”
That does wipe the smirk from Carson’s face, and I bite back my own.
“About Finn,” I clarify, and Hunter snorts, slapping Carson on the back.
“Looks like you’ll live to see tomorrow.”
Carson rubs the back of his neck. “You think he’d really kill me?”
“Oh, he wouldn’t do it himself,” Hunter laughs.
I don’t wait for Carson to sweat it out—I dial Mitchell Delong’s number, and he picks up on the second ring.
“What’s wrong? Is she safe?”
I swallow, steadying myself. “She’s safe. But…we’ve had to take some drastic steps.”
A beat. “What kind of drastic steps?”
He’s either going to gut me or pay me more for this. I take another breath before laying it all out.
“We took her phone. Locked her in her apartment and locked her windows.” A pause, then, “She snuck out the fire escape this morning. Finn got to her.”
Silence.
A tense, heavy silence.
My stomach clenches. We went too far. “Sir?”
A breath. One that sounds as if it’s fighting an internal war.
“Those are needed steps,” he finally says, voice tight.
“Willow is strong-willed. My fault, really. She’s never had any real restrictions.
If this keeps her safe—” Another sharp inhale.
“Then so be it. Just make sure she makes her practices, or I’ll be the one who needs protection. That team means everything to her.”
“Will do,” I say, relief loosening the tight coil in my gut.
“But Graham,” he adds, his tone shifting just slightly. “She can have her phone back. I assume you took it so she couldn’t call me. I’ll back up your decision, but…give it back.”
“Understood,” I say.
“And Graham?”
“Yes, sir?”
A chuckle. “Enough of the ‘sir.’ Call me Mitch.”
I hesitate. “Yes, sir—Mitch,” I correct, before he can do it himself.
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
The line disconnects, and I turn, only to find Carson watching me with an entirely too smug expression.
“Bet there would be no ‘Mitch’ if he knew you wanted to fuck his daughter,” he says, arms crossed over his chest.
I should let that slide. I don’t.
“I bet there’d be no air in your lungs if he knew you did.”
Carson presses his lips together, nodding once. “Fair point.”
A slow grin spreads across his face. “So get in there and corrupt Daddy’s little girl so I don’t have to die alone.”
And I’m fucked. Not because of what he said—no, I can handle Carson’s brand of poking the bear—but because I don’t ignore the shift in my thoughts fast enough.
My gaze flickers to Willow’s door before I can stop it. Before I can stop imagining.
I picture walking back in there, shutting the door behind me, stalking toward her as she lifts her chin in challenge.
I picture bending her over my knee, making her promise to take me seriously before demanding as many orgasms from her as possible before sunrise.
I picture her saying yes.
I shake myself out of the thought before my feet move to do any of that.
“Hunter, you’re with Willow tonight. Don’t fuck her. And don’t let her sneak out, for God’s sake.” I toss her phone to him and then turn to Carson. “Let’s go.”
Carson salutes me, throwing a wink at Hunter as he saunters past him.
“Don’t worry,” he tells him. “G won’t be as grumpy in the morning.”
Fucking hell.
He knows I’m worked up. Knows exactly what I need. And my cock? It twitches inside my jeans, proving his point.
My teeth grind together, my jaw clenching so tight it might snap.
Carson stops in front of me, all smug fucking arrogance, eyes flicking over me, waiting for me to prove him right.
Daring me.
Teasing me.
I look him dead in the eye, my voice low. Dangerous.
“And Carson?” I murmur, stepping close enough that his breath catches. “You’ll be lucky if you can sit down for a week.”
His smirk widens, his pupils darkening, and—fuck.
I need to get the hell out of here before I do something about it right here in the hallway. Before I drag him into a dark corner and take what he’s offering. Because Carson might be a smartass. He might be an instigator, a little shit, a pain in my ass—but he’s mine.
And he knows it.
I force myself to step back, inhaling through my nose, ignoring the way he’s fucking looking at me as if he wants me to throw him against the nearest surface and make him feel it.
“Let’s go,” I growl again.
Carson’s grin is pure sin, his voice playful, but with an edge of something darker beneath it.
“Yes, sir.”
And I swear to god—I’m going to ruin him.
I don’t say a fucking word to Carson as we step into our house. I don’t need to.
The door clicks shut behind me, and I flick the lock into place with a slow, deliberate motion.
Carson watches.
Of course he fucking does.
He’s standing in the middle of the living room, that shit-eating smirk still teasing at his lips, his hazel eyes flicking over me, anticipation in his gaze.
He knows what he’s doing.
Knows exactly how to push me past the edge.
And fuck, I’ve been fighting it all night. Fighting everything. The heat burning through me, the jealousy gnawing at my gut, the need coiling so tight inside me I feel like I might fucking snap.
He wants me to snap.
And I’m done playing nice.
I stalk toward him, my fingers flexing at my sides. His smirk grows, his pupils dilating, his breath hitching just enough that my cock throbs in my jeans.
Fucking brat.
My hand fists in his shirt, yanking him flush against me. He lets out a soft, choked noise—fuck—his body already submitting, already melting against me in a way that makes my vision darken with need.
I drag my lips close to his ear, my voice low. Dangerous.
“On your knees.”
A shudder runs through him. I feel it.
But he still has the audacity to chuckle. “You gonna say please, G?”
I yank his shirt up, over his head, and off of him before he can blink. “I don’t beg,” I murmur against his throat. “You do.”
His breath stutters. His lashes flicker.
But he doesn’t hesitate.
Carson drops.
He sinks to his knees in front of me, hands braced on his thighs, eyes locked on me as if I’m the only thing that exists.
And fuck—that does something to me.
My hands go to my belt, flicking it open, yanking it free, dropping it to the floor. I undo my jeans, drag down my zipper, and my cock is aching when I pull it free.
He licks his lips, pupils blown. He tilts his head back, mouth parting, waiting.
I thread my fingers through his hair, tightening my grip at the base of his skull. “Open.”
He does.
I guide my cock to his lips, pressing just enough to feel the heat of his breath, but not enough to push in. Not yet.
He flicks his gaze up, teasing. “Gonna make me work for it?”
I yank his head back just enough to make him gasp.
“No teasing,” I warn. “You take what I give you.”
His pupils flare with heat, with fuck yes, make me.
And then I slide between his lips, past that smirk, past that teasing tongue, until I’m hitting the back of his throat in one slow, agonizing glide.
Carson chokes. His lashes flutter.
But he doesn’t pull away.
No—he takes it. Takes me.
My grip in his hair tightens, my other hand cupping his jaw, feeling the way his throat flexes around my cock. I groan, tipping my head back, my fingers curling tighter in his hair.
“Fuck, that’s it, Carson.” My voice is rough, already strained, already so fucking close. “Take it deeper.”
He moans, his hands sliding up my thighs, holding me there, keeping my cock buried deep in his throat as his lips seal around me. His tongue flicks, his throat works—and fuck.
I lose it.
A sharp growl rips from my throat as I thrust forward, fucking his mouth in slow, deep strokes, keeping him exactly where I want him. His nails dig into my skin, his eyes flutter shut, his body completely relaxed beneath my touch.
And when I finally release, my groan is raw, as he swallows it all down like the good little brat he is.
I pull back. He licks his lips, thumbing some of my come into his mouth, smirking up at me, hazel eyes molten. “That’s all you got?”
Oh, he wants more.
And fuck—I’ll give it to him.
I haul him to his feet and toss him over my shoulder with a grunt. He lets out a surprised laugh, smacking my ass before I carry him into my room, slamming the door shut behind us.
He’s begging for it.
Not with words—he knows better than that. But it’s there. In the twitch of his lips. In the flex of muscle, coiled and ready. In the grin that cuts sharp, smug, daring me to deny it.
He thinks he’s already won.
He hasn’t.
And he’s about to regret thinking he did.
I drop him onto the bed, and he bounces once, his laughter cutting off as I climb over him, caging him in with my body, pinning him to the mattress.
“You think this is funny?” My voice is low, rough. I work my leg between his, and he shifts to give me space.
Carson meets my gaze, his hazel eyes flickering with something knowing. Something teasing.
“I think you’re mad,” he purrs. “And I think I know why.”
I tighten my grip on his wrists, pressing them down into the mattress above his head. He doesn’t fight it.
He’s already arching beneath me, pushing up against my hold, but there’s no real resistance. Just a dare.
I grit my teeth. “Enlighten me.”
Carson’s smirk is razor-sharp. “She begged me.”
The words are a gut punch.
I knew it. Know it. But hearing him say it out loud makes something in me snap.
She begged him.
Not me.
Carson fucking laughs when he sees the way my jaw tightens, the way my hands clench around his wrists, the way my breath drags in too sharply.
“You should’ve heard her, G,” he murmurs, voice full of sin, full of fucking goading. “So desperate. So sweet. She pleaded for it.” He tilts his head. “Wonder what she’d sound like for you.”
My vision goes black. He’s poking the bear again, and he knows it.
I yank his wrists harder, pressing them into the mattress. His breath catches in his throat.
“You like playing this game with me?” I growl.
Carson grins. “Love it.”
I flip him over before he can say another word, forcing him onto his stomach. He gasps, but it’s breathless, excited. He wants this.
I yank his belt free in one swift motion, looping it around his wrists, securing them behind his back. Then yank his jeans and boxers off before tossing them to the floor.
Carson groans, arching his back, testing the restraint.
“That’s all you got?” he taunts.
I slap his ass, hard enough to leave a mark. He moans, his back arching, his fingers flexing in the belt.
“You’re a fucking brat,” I murmur, dragging my nails down his spine. “You just love pushing me, don’t you?”
Carson’s breath is shaky, but his smirk is still there. “Maybe I do.”
I slap him again, harder this time. “You don’t get to be mouthy right now.”
Carson whimpers. Fucking whimpers.
I slide my fingers over the curve of his ass, ghosting over the tight ring of muscle. He shudders.
“You want me to ruin you, don’t you?” I murmur, pressing my lips against his shoulder.
Carson swallows hard. I drag my mouth down his spine, my fingers sliding lower, teasing him.
He trembles.
I lean in, my voice a dark whisper against his ear. “Let’s see how well you beg.”