7. Willow
7
WILLOW
A fter a couple of days of tests, Damien was finally released from the hospital with strict orders not to return to the ice for at least a month. He moved from his corner room down the hall to mine, growling at any nurse who dared to tell him visiting hours were over.
Even now, after Dr. Marshall had to threaten him with security, he’s still there, just out of sight, lingering in the hallway, stubborn as ever. Cast is caught up with cartel matters, and Vincent is at some mandatory lunch with his parents, but Damien refuses to leave, refusing to budge even for a moment. No one can convince him that it’s time to go, least of all me. He’s going to wait, no matter how long it takes.
When I try to get him to go home, and believe me I have, he flashes a sneaky smirk at me and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, as he whispers. I can’t let you get into any more trouble, Trouble.
Lindsey secures the blood pressure cuff around my arm, pumping it up with practiced ease. “How are we feeling today?”
“Same as yesterday,” I mutter. “Over it.”
She gives me a sympathetic smile, and finishes checking the cuff, scribbling down the numbers. Then she tilts her head slightly, her voice lowering just a touch as she glances toward the door. “How’s your... guard dog doing?”
I roll my eyes, though a small smile tugs at my lips. “You mean Damien?”
“Yeah. He’s been here so long, I should put him on the payroll.”
I snort, shaking my head. “I tried to get him to go home, but you know how he is. He just... won’t leave.” None of them will, if they can’t help it.
She smirks. “Having someone that devoted must be nice.”
“Multiply him by three,” I murmur.
She pulls out her stethoscope and places the cold metal against my back. “Deep breath in,” she instructs. Lindsey stifles a chuckle as she puts the stethoscope away and smiles sympathetically.“They got it bad, don’t they?”
I groan, leaning back into my pillow. “Worse than bad.”
Lindsey finishes up her charting, looking at me with a more thoughtful expression. “I get that it’s a little much. But honestly? I think you’re lucky. I see too many people go through things like this alone. You’re lucky you have somebody, even if it is over protective alpha males that are not good for your stress chart. ”
I groan, leaning back into my pillow. “I guess I can count myself lucky that someone cares, but I’m not sure how much longer I can handle the constant hovering.”
Lindsey smirks, stepping toward the door and glancing out into the hallway. “Well, speaking of your alpha males…” She leans over, staring at the door. “You can stop eavesdropping and come in now.”
The door creaks, and Damien steps inside. Lindsey crosses her arms. "Your vitals are looking good, Willow. Blood pressure’s stable, heart rate a little weaker but that’s to be expected. What is new is your high blood pressure which I am assuming is from stress.”
“Understatement,” I mutter. Cast and Vincent can’t be in the same room together. Damien is recovering from a concussion. And a new update, my mother tries every other day to come visit me since Cast updated her on my condition.
Lindsey gives Damien a pointed look. “If Willow says jump, ask ‘how high’—no arguments.”
His lips curl as he glances at me. “Understood, ma’am.”
“I’m not fragile,” I protest.
Lindsey pats his shoulder. “Don’t let her fool you. She is.”
She pauses at the door. “I’ll check in later. And Damien? Make sure she rests.”
With that, she leaves the room, the door clicking shut behind her. The silence that follows is thick, almost suffocating. I cross my arms over my chest, refusing to look at Damien. He’s standing there, leaning against the wall with that infuriating smirk of his. His grey eyes are sharp as they wander over me. I hate how he makes me feel transparent, like he can see right through me.
“I think you’re right, Willow” he says, his voice laced with amusement.
“I’m always right,” I tease, my voice sharper than I intend.
Damien pushes off the wall and takes a step closer, his hands in his pockets. He’s dressed casually, but he still looks like he stepped out of a damn fashion magazine. It’s unfair how effortlessly attractive he is. His blonde hair is outgrown from his usual buzz cut, strands stick up like he’s been running his hands through it, and his jawline could cut glass. I hate that I notice these things. I hate how my heart skips a beat when he’s near, because Damien said that nothing could ever happen between us.
“You know,” he says, his tone light, “there are better ways to deal with stress than glaring at people.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, really? Enlighten me.”
He smirks, and it’s dangerously charming. “Well, for starters, you could try relaxing . Ever heard of it?”
“Relaxing,” I repeat dryly. “Brilliant advice. I’ll get right on that.”
He chuckles, low and deep, and the sound sends a shiver down my spine. “You’re wound up tight, Willow. You need to let go. ”
I narrow my eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He takes another step closer, and now he’s standing right beside my bed. His presence is overwhelming, and I can’t help but feel small in comparison. “It means,” he says, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “that I can help you release some of that tension. If you’ll let me.”
My breath catches in my throat, and my heart starts to race. I can’t tell if he’s serious or just messing with me, but the intensity in his eyes tells me it’s the former. I should say no. I should tell him to back off. My heart can’t take this, but the way he’s looking at me—like he’s already undressing me with his mind—is making it hard to think straight.
“Damien,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, “this isn’t a good idea.”
“Why not?” he asks, tilting his head slightly. “You’re stressed. I’m willing to help. Seems like a win-win to me.”
“Because—” I start, but my voice falters. Because I’m scared. Because I don’t know if I can handle this. Because this would be our first time, and I look gross in a hospital gown. But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I just look away, my cheeks burning.
Damien reaches out and gently places a hand on my cheek, turning my face back to his. His touch is warm, and it sends a jolt of electricity through me. “Trust me, Willow. I only want to do what’s best for you.”
His words are like a spark igniting a fire inside me. My body is betraying me, my pulse quickening, my breath coming in shallow gasps. I want to protest, to push him away, but I can’t. I’m paralyzed by the need that’s building inside me, the need to feel something other than the constant ache of fear and stress.
“Damien,” I whisper, my voice trembling, “I—I don’t know if I can…”
“Shhh,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over my lower lip. “ Just let me take care of you. Let me help you forget, even if it’s just for a little while.”
His words are like a drug, intoxicating and impossible to resist. I nod, barely able to form a coherent thought. Yes. Please. Make me forget.
Damien’s smirk widens, and he leans in, his lips brushing against my ear. “Good girl,” he whispers, and the praise sends a wave of heat straight to my core. Damn him.
He pulls back slightly, his eyes locking with mine as he reaches for the heart monitor attached to my chest. “May I?” he asks.
I nod again, unable to speak. He carefully leans over me and yanks the cord for my heart monitor out of the wall.
“Damien!” I gasp, but my breath is stolen away by the intoxicating look on his lips.
“I’ll plug it back in when we’re done,” he leans over me, eclipsing me with his size as his fingers brush against my skin in a way that makes me shiver. But he keeps one hand on my chest, right over my heart, his palm warm and firm. “I want to feel it,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I want to feel every beat of your heart, Willow. I want to know exactly how much I’m affecting you, but I don’t want anyone rushing in here to save you, when only I can.”
My breath hitches, and I can feel my heart pounding beneath his hand. God, he’s going to kill me.
The intercom buzzes and the squeaky voice of a nurse comes over the line. “Everything okay in there? The heart monitor is offline.”
“Yup,” Damien says, popping the p. “I tripped over the cord.”
“Need someone to come in and hook it back up?” She asks .
“Nope,” he hums, kissing my stomach. “We got it.”
“Okay,” she sings, “we’ll send someone to check in as soon as we can.” The intercom buzzes off.
Damien doesn’t waste any time. He moves down the bed, his hands sliding to my hips as he positions himself between my legs. My hospital gown is pushed up, exposing me completely, and I’m suddenly very aware of how vulnerable I am. But there’s no shame, no embarrassment—just an overwhelming need that threatens to consume me.
“They’re going to—” I whisper, my voice trembling.
“Relax,” he says, his breath warm against my inner thigh. “Just close your eyes and let me take care of you.”
I do as he says, my eyes fluttering shut as he lowers his head. The first touch of his tongue is like a shock, a jolt of pleasure that makes me gasp. He’s slow at first, teasing, exploring, as if he’s savoring every inch of me. But then he begins to pick up the pace, his tongue lashing against me with a precision that has me gripping the sheets.
“Oh God,” I moan, my hips bucking involuntarily. My hand flies to my mouth, biting down to stifle the sounds that are threatening to escape.
“Don’t hold back,” Damien growls, his hand tightening on my hip. “I want to hear you, Willow. I want everyone in this hospital to hear you. I want to know how much you’re enjoying this.”
I shake my head, embarrassed, but he doesn’t relent. His tongue moves faster, harder, and I can feel the pleasure building inside me, threatening to spill over. My back arches, and I can’t stop the moan that escapes my lips. It’s too much, too intense, and I’m falling, spiraling out of control .
“Damien,” I gasp, my voice broken, “I—I can’t?—”
“Yes, you can,” he says, his breath hot against me.
And then I’m falling apart, my body convulsing as the wave of pleasure crashes over me. My vision goes white, and I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel. Damien’s hand stays on my chest, feeling every beat of my heart as I come undone.
When it’s over, I collapse back onto the bed, my chest heaving, my body trembling. Damien lifts his head, a satisfied smirk on his face. “Feel better?” he asks, his voice dripping with amusement.
I can’t even form a coherent response. All I can do is nod, my mind still hazy with the lingering effects of my orgasm. Damien chuckles softly and leans in, brushing a strand of hair from my face.
“Good because I want to do that again.”