Chapter 49
Willow
“What the fuck happened to you two?”
Okay, so leaving the pitch was a mission in itself, thanks to the mud that I think has lodged itself into places it shouldn't. And by the time we made it out, I realised I hadn't even driven there in the first place when I went looking for River.
So we had to walk.
I also think the universe has a personal vendetta against me.
When we set off, the rain got worse, and some absolute idiot of a driver tore through a puddle and drenched both of us head-to-toe.
I’m chilled right through to the bone, and I don't think I have toes anymore.
“She forgot the car,” River mutters, shaking his head like a wet dog. “And you lot look like Christmas just threw up all over you.”
“Still look better than you, Rivy boy.”
I flinch, throwing my hands up to shield myself from the spray. “Oh, I’m sorry. Whose idea was it to dramatically storm off to a football pitch in the pouring rain?” I rejoined, teeth chattering.
“You didn't have to tackle me,” he fires back.
I fixed him with a look. “Got you to listen, didn't it?”
We both know that wasn't the only reason he listened. I might need to use Quinn as blackmail more often before his crush disappears.
“Will ye two quit the bickering,” Moira cuts in, her Irish lilt threading through her voice as she waves a hand at us. “I’ll grab some towels—and both of ye are getting in the shower before you catch your deaths.”
She gets up and leaves her seat, muttering as she goes.
Ezra, who is completely useless, starts laughing and almost falls off the couch. Thankfully, Elijah leans over and smacks him on the back of the head.
My attention shifts before I can stop it.
Elijah's already looking at me.
There's something restrained in it. His fingers flex where he sits, like he's holding himself back. Every instinct is telling him to come over, but he won't.
Not with River standing right here.
Emmet and Ethan both glance between their brother and me as Ezra rubs the back of his head with a scowl.
He really must be used to it by now.
River clears his throat, and I catch the glance he shares with Elijah. An unspoken conversation seems to linger between them before he gently nudges my shoulder.
“I’m gonna get a shower. You might want to follow that idea before you start permanently resembling a mix between a pile of shit and a smurf.”
I pinch him. “The only little shit here is you.”
He just chuckles under his breath. I don't miss the small, fleeting smile that lingers just long enough for me to notice, just as he turns and heads for the stairs.
“River Lawson!” Moira's voice rings out, thick with warning. “Don’t ye dare be trampling those filthy boots all over my carpet.”
I wince.
Because he absolutely is.
“Ah, he's done for,” Ezra says, far too pleased with himself. “She’s getting the spoon out for that.”
“I’m surprised that spoon isn't permanently lodged up your ass,” Emmet mutters, voice flat and unimpressed as he takes a sip of his drink.
Their voices blur into the background as they continue because Elijah's already making a beeline for me.
In seconds, he's in front of me and pulling me straight into his arms.
My home.
My unexpected love.
“You're going to get dirty.” My voice is rough, and my body trembles from the cold.
He doesn't let go. If anything, he holds me closer.
“I don't care,” he states, and I sink into him, warmth enveloping the cold still clinging to my bones. “Besides… I don’t mind getting dirty with you.”
I can't help it—my shoulders shake as I stifle a laugh at that, the corners of my mouth twitching.
“Ah, fuck. Don't dirty talk here. Ethan will pop a boner.”
Ezra groans dramatically.
“What? Don't be gross,” Ethan protests.
I just bury myself further into Elijah, grinning against his chest, ignoring them entirely, just focusing on his warmth and how at ease I feel being wrapped up in him.
“Alright, you two.” I pull back reluctantly as Moira comes into the room, arms full of towels. “You get yourself a shower, Love,” she says, giving Elijah a pointed look as her gaze catches the mud streaking his Christmas jumper. “You'll need to change.”
I look down. “Wait—did you just use me so you didn't have to wear that hideous thing?”
He smirks, completely unbothered. “Don’t know what you're talking about.”
Sure, he doesn't.
“Can we order food now? My stomach's trying to eat itself,” Ezra whines, flopping over the arm of the couch.
Moira gives me a warm, knowing smile before turning her attention to her son. “Ye’ve got fingers, haven't ye? Get that phone out, you're always glued to and order something.”
Elijah scans me and takes my hand. “Come on. Let's get you all cleaned up.”
“I need to take my shoes off first,” I reply, but before I can bend down, he's already crouching and scooping me up bridal-style.
I squeal and wrap my arms around his neck, laughter bubbling out of me. “Elijah!”
“Can’t have you getting my mam’s floor dirty,” he says, unfazed, and starts walking, careful strides taking us up the stairs and along the corridor to the far end of the house.
I catch glimpses of the sprawling interior as we move, forgetting how large this place is. It's understandable after having five boys grow up here, with chaos and memories built into every corner.
I rest my head against his shoulder.
He leads us straight to the bathroom, and my eyes widen at the sheer size of it.
It's enormous—too big to really be called a bathroom.
The walls are a smooth slate grey, the tiles a crisp white, and every surface gleams. A massive glass shower dominates one corner, featuring multiple showerheads lining the ceiling and wall.
There's a long, sleek bench along one side that looks like it belongs in a spa, not a house.
Holy hell. I’d happily live in here if I could.
He gently lowers me to the floor, shuts the door behind him, and turns me toward him, that familiar concern softening his rugged features.
“What happened? Please tell me you didn't get into a fight.”
“Not exactly a fight,” I utter, shrugging. “I just tackled him. He was saying stupid stuff, and he pissed me off.”
He nods, then his finger lifts to stroke my bottom lip. His touch was gentle. "Not surprised at all. You can be quite feisty when you want to be.”
I can't resist. I press a quick kiss to his finger. “I know.”
His green eyes soften as he studies me as I continue. “He's upset, obviously. I told him we’d keep the lovey-dovey stuff minimal for now, and he wants to apologise for that.”
My eyes fall to his jaw, the bruise already darkening, and I can't stop myself from reaching out, letting my touch trace the shadowed curve.
“It'll take time,” I whisper. “But we don't have to hide us anymore.”
Even saying it aloud feels surreal, but the way his chest rises with a relieved breath tells me he understands. No more sneaking around.
“So…” he grins, lifting my hand in his. “I can hold your hand in public now.”
I dip my chin in agreement, and his grin widens.
“Hug you…” He trails off, inching me impossibly closer, heat radiating from every touch.
“Kiss you.” His lips brush over mine, hands sliding down until they cup beneath my arse.
“Yes,” I breathe, letting the words tumble out as I melt into him.
I watch him sink to his knees, a gesture he loves to do just for me, and I won't lie, I love it. He slips my shoes off, setting them aside, then tackles my pants, which cling stubbornly to my legs. I’m bare from the waist down, and the way he looks at me—so full of desire, so full of love—makes me feel like I could combust right here.
I’m so glad that nobody else gets to be loved by him the way he loves me.
“I’m going to love you forever.”
He presses a soft kiss to my thigh, then the other, before placing the gentlest one on my pussy.
I nibble at my lip. Maybe not the best time to ask, but I need to know. “What happened with Rose?”
He stands, taking off my coat and top with casual ease, leaving me completely naked while he remains clothed. His hand snakes around my neck, tilting my chin up as his eyes meet mine.
“She doesn't matter anymore. We had words, and I told her to fuck off out of our lives.”
I relax under his touch, my body throbbing with need.
“Bet that went well.”
“Let's just say I’ll be having my locks changed. What matters now is that we don't have to deal with her anymore. Just you and me. For the rest of our lives.”
The sound of that is like a dream come true.
“Are you going to talk to River?”
“I will, but when he wants to. The only thing we can do is give him time because I'm not losing you. I refuse to let you go, and that may be selfish, and I love my son, but I just can't imagine not having you by my side.”
“I feel the same, and I'm assuming your family knows?”
I really hope they are okay with it because they mean so much to him. Although I doubt he would have shown me that affection downstairs if they hadn't known.
“Nothing to worry about there either; they all had a suspicion that there was something between us.”
I crinkle my brows. “Oh?”
“Everyone can see how in love I am with you.”
Oh my word.
The look on his face is everything.
This amazing man is in love with me, and I still can't get my head around it. I don't think I ever will.
“Thanks for stealing my heart.” I lean up and kiss his lips. “I don't want it back.”
He holds me in front of him as he looks me up and down, pupils darkening with a familiar hunger.
“I wasn't going to,” he smirks, his voice rough. “Get your ass in the shower.”
He guides me back, fingers still wrapped around my neck, and with a firm but gentle push, he nudges me inside. I sputter, half laughing, half exasperated.
There's no way he wants to do whatever dirty thing is on his mind in his parents' house.
“You cannot—” I start just as he cuts me off, stepping in anyway, turning the water on, unfazed that he's still clothed.
I’m suddenly on the bench, water cascading over us, drenching us both. It drips from his dark hair, tracing his face as he sinks to his knees again, gripping my thighs, spreading me wide. His tongue darts across his lips.
“Oh, I can and I will,” he growls. “It's been far too long since I've tasted you.”
I tug at his hair, trying to push him away or pull him closer; I don't know, but he doesn't budge.
“You had me yesterday, you insatiable horn dog,” I hiss, a mix of warning and desire.
“Too long, baby. Now I want you to make a mess all over my face.”
A wave of excitement courses through me as he nips along my thighs, stretching them until I’m in a perfect split, utterly exposed. My body is vibrating with need.
“Your family are literally downstairs,” I gasp, trying to sound composed—and failing miserably.
He bites my clit and releases it. “Then you'll have to be quiet.”
Easier said than done with that talented mouth of his.
“You know I can't be quiet,” I pant, arched toward him, every nerve on fire, and he's hardly touched me.
“Believe me, I know. Just keep your legs open for me.”
I obey, trembling as his two fingers slip into my mouth. “Suck on them while I fuck your pretty pussy with my tongue,” he commands.
His mouth, tongue, and teeth drive me wild.
Every movement is precise, every touch designed to unravel me.
I suck on his fingers, gagging slightly as they reach the back of my throat, the sound of my moans muffled.
He doesn't falter, doesn't pause, and in no time, he pushes me over the edge—not once, but twice—his attention on my piercing amplifying every nerve-ending until my legs go weak and my body trembles, utterly spent.
And then, in classic Elijah fashion, once he's had his fill, he doesn't just leave me. He lifts me in his arms, washing every part of me, hair and body, with almost reverent hands, lips on my neck, soft murmurs of how happy I make him, slipping between kisses.
I relax into him, every fibre of my being still singing, my heart pounding not just from what he just did to me, but from the way he looks at me.
It's as if I’m everything he’s wanted and more.
So much love radiates from him that the world around us seems to vanish, and I realise, with an ache in my chest, that this—him holding me like this—is what perfection feels like.