Willow
willow
T omorrow was The Day .
They would be here in less than twenty-four hours, and I was not ready. At all.
All day, my hands trembled, my breathing was shallow and harsh, and my nerves were fried. Gracie kept trying to get me to go home, to relax, but I couldn’t.
I’d already had so much time off recently, leaving her to deal with the bakery on her own, and I felt guilty about that. And sitting at home doing nothing but dwelling over the fact that they’d be here tomorrow sounded like hell. So I’d gone in early, left late, and worked hard all day trying to distract myself. But it still loomed over me, lingered in the back of my mind like a bad dream. It was all I could think about, all I could focus on.
I sat in my car, my hands braced on the steering wheel as I stared at the house. Ronan was already home, his truck parked beside my little car, and lights seeped from his side of the house. My gaze shifted to my half, and I took a deep breath. I knew I needed to go back soon, but I didn’t think I had it in me to do it today. Or this weekend.
A deep breath filled my lungs before I slowly blew it out. When I found this little duplex and met my neighbor for the first time years ago, I never thought this was how my life would turn out. I never thought I’d fall in love with him, and I certainly never thought he’d love me back.
Shaking myself, I slipped from the car and made my way across the small yard. The wood of the porch groaned with each step toward the door, and when I got to it, I rested my hand on the worn doorknob. I knew I needed to put a smile on before I walked in. Not because Ronan couldn’t handle me in a quiet or bad mood, but because he didn’t deserve to deal with it.
He’d been so amazing these last few days. From the break-in to my migraine, he was so careful. So protective. I didn’t want to bring the mood down, but it was hard . It was hard to pretend like I wasn’t anxious, like more dread wasn’t filling me with every passing hour.
I pushed the door open and froze.
Heat enveloped me, and the burning scent of something filled my nose. Ronan didn’t even glance at me as he ran from one side of the kitchen to the other, throwing something in the sink. Smoke billowed from it as he turned the water on, making a loud, sizzling loud.
I dropped my bags to the floor as I rushed across the house. “Stay back!” he shouted, holding his hand out. His face was red and sweaty, his hair standing on end. His eyes were wild as he looked from me to the smoking pan in the sink.
“I work in a kitchen every day. I know?—”
“Stay. Back ,” he said again, more firmly. “I can’t watch you and take care of this at the same time.”
I bounced on my toes, watching as the smoke cleared and all that was left was a pan with something burnt on it. Ronan shut the water off and stepped back, his fingers tapping together on both hands. He paced back and forth in front of the sink, muttering to himself.
“Ro?” I breathed, but he shook his head. I strained to hear what he was saying, confusion filling me when I realized he was counting. “Are you okay?”
“This is why I don’t cook,” he murmured, throwing his hand toward the sink. “This is why I don’t want you to cook. A fire could’ve started. I could’ve gotten hurt—you could’ve gotten hurt. It’s dangerous?—”
“Ro—”
“I knew better. I knew better.” He tapped his fingers on the counter as he stared at the pan.
“I can clean this up,” I said softly. “Go take a breather.” He roughly shook his head, pressing his palm flat against the countertop.
My heart thundered in my chest, my already frazzled nerves sending waves of tremors through my body. He needed me—he was spiraling, and I didn’t know how to stop it. How to help him.
Without thinking, I took a step toward him. “Ro, baby,” I whispered, resting my hand on his chest. “Let me count with you.”
He blinked a few times, his red-rimmed eyes shifting to me. “What?” he rasped.
“One, two…come on, count with me.” I felt his chest expand as he took a shuddering breath in.
“Three, four?—”
“That’s it. Five, six?—”
“Seven.”
We stared at each other, the smoke still invading my nose, his heart slamming against my palm. But he was calming down. Or at least I hoped he was.
“Now what? Should we check the stove?” I turned toward it, but his hand snapped around my wrist.
“Don’t go near it,” he rasped. He was trembling, his eyes wide as he stared at me.
His fear was genuine. It wasn’t just anxiety; it was something deeper. Something I couldn’t fully understand, but I sympathized with. Tension filled the air between us as I nodded. Turning back to him, my hand returned to his chest.
“Okay.” I tapped my fingers against him, focusing on slowing my breathing, hoping he’d follow suit. “You check it, then. Make sure it’s off.”
His breathing was shallow as he turned toward it. He reached for the first knob, gently touching it to confirm it was off. Slowly, he repeated it on the other knobs before his attention returned to me.
I hated seeing how red his eyes were, how much fear he still harbored. It broke my heart—all I wanted to do was help him, take his pain away. But there was nothing I could do other than this .
“It’s okay,” I murmured. “It’s off. It’s safe. Now the microwave.” I gestured to it, watching as he shakily strode to it, checking that it was unplugged.
My heart ached watching him, but I knew with each ritual checked off, he was calming down. His hands trembled as he moved back to my side, wrapping his hand around mine. “Now what?” I whispered, searching his face.
“Locks.” His voice was low and raspy, like he’d been screaming even though I knew he hadn’t been. “I have to check the locks.”
“Alright. Let’s check them.”
We went to the front door, and I stood by his side as he locked and unlocked the door. His eyes flicked to me with each turn, as though he was embarrassed, but I said nothing. I did nothing. I just watched and waited until he was done, until he was comfortable.
Finally, he rested his forehead against the door, his chest heaving as if he’d just run a marathon. I focused on his shoulders, watching as they rose and fell, each breath steadier than the last.
“I’m sorry,” he finally whispered, his eyes squeezing shut. His voice cracked on the apology, and emotion thickened in my throat. I wanted to yank it out of him, the fear, the shame, everything he was feeling. I wanted to protect him, wrap him up, make it all go away.
“Don’t apologize,” I said, leaning my head against his arm, breathing in his smoky, piney scent. We stayed like that for a long moment before he finally stepped away from the door, his hand falling to his side.
“Thank you.” He dropped his gaze to the floor, his hands sliding into his pockets. “For—everything.”
The embarrassment in his voice gutted me. I chewed on my bottom lip as I shook my head.
“You don’t have to thank me for anything,” I croaked. My chest shook as I breathed deeply, the burnt scent still lingering in the air. “What were you doing?”
He cracked a small smile but shook his head as if he were trying to push it away. “I was trying to cook dinner for you,” he whispered. “Obviously, I failed.” His throat bobbed as the words came out, and my heart squeezed.
“Thank you for trying,” I said softly.
He shoved his fingers through his hair, his hand a bit steadier now. Gradually, his breathing evened out, and he finally met my gaze again. A soft smile curved my lips. “Maybe we should go out to eat,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Yeah,” I huffed out a laugh. “That sounds like a great idea.”
“That was much better than the diner,” Ronan said as he pulled out of the parking lot of Dockside Grille.
“It’s my favorite restaurant in town.” I rested my head against the headrest, watching as a couple strolled across the lot to the front door. He hummed as he reached across the bench seat to rest his hand on my thigh.
It had been a few hours since the burnt pan incident, and he was back to his usual self. Calm, steady. Ronan.
Bob Dylan played through the truck speakers as I rolled the window down, the fresh air coating my skin, filling my lungs. A smile curved my lips as I mouthed the words of the song, peace settling over me.
It was perfect—almost enough for me to forget about tomorrow.
But it was still there, crowding the edges of my mind. I wanted to ignore it. I wanted to pretend like tomorrow was going to be just another day.
I needed a distraction.
I turned my attention to Ronan, his hand still on my thigh, the other one slung over the steering wheel. He felt me staring at him and quickly glanced my way.
“What?” he laughed, and I shook my head.
“You just…” I ran my lip through my teeth. “You look good.”
And he did .
His black shirt was almost too small, clinging to his chest and biceps, showing off every one of his muscles. It made my mouth water, made my legs press together. I wrapped my hand around his and slowly dragged it up my thigh.
“Baby—” He choked on the word as I pressed it underneath my dress.
“I want you,” I whispered, gasping as his fingers brushed over my panties.
“I’m driving,” he rasped, his throat bobbing. “Baby, we can’t. I’m—I’m driving.” He kept glancing my way as I used his fingers to press my damp panties against my pussy. “Holy fuck. .”
“Please,” I whimpered. “It feels so good.”
I rested my head against the headrest again as I spread my legs wider. He let me manipulate his fingers, hooking them under the elastic band and tugging my panties to the side. He groaned as I found my clit with his fingertips, grinding my hips against him.
“Ro,” I moaned, my eyes fluttering shut. His fingers moved on their own, rubbing my clit hard and fast, until my stomach tightened. “I’m coming.” I gripped his wrist, holding his hand where I wanted it as he moved faster.
“Fuck, baby. Come for me,” he commanded. “Come on my fingers.”
His hand shook as he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. My nails dug into his skin, and I lifted my hips, pressing harder into his fingers as he moved them faster. Moans and whimpers fell from my lips, over and over, desperate for release.
The truck came to a stop as a long, low moan left me. My orgasm shot through me, hard and fast, and my body trembled with every wave of pleasure. I held onto his hand, onto the door, trying to keep myself from falling off the edge of the world.
It felt so good . I didn’t know if it was because I was forcing his fingers to move exactly the way I wanted them to, or if it was because we were in the truck and anyone could see us. I didn’t know, and I didn't care, because all I cared about was how amazing it felt.
As I came back to earth, my heart still pounding and breathing harsh, I let my eyes open again. I turned my attention to him again, finding him staring at me with wide, heated eyes. It was dark in the truck, but we were home, parked under the massive tree in the front yard, secluded from the street.
Shakily, I unbuckled my seatbelt and shifted onto my knees. “?—”
I ignored him as I crawled across the bench seat, resting my hand on his thigh. “If you don’t want this, just say no,” I murmured, dragging my fingers along the rough denim of his jeans. “But I want to taste you. I want to feel you in my mouth.”
His head fell back. “Fuck,” he breathed.
Leaning forward, I pressed my lips to his neck, his stubble rough against them. I trailed kisses along his warm skin, the faint scent of smoke from earlier still clinging to him. His body was tense and trembled under my touch. My teeth moved to his earlobe, and I gently nipped at it.
My hand moved higher, skimming across the hardness under his jeans, and settled on the button. I fumbled with it for only a moment before it opened. The zipper was almost too loud in the truck as I dragged it down, the teeth vibrating against him. He groaned, and the veins in his neck strained.
“You need to pull your jeans down,” I murmured, trailing my fingers along the elastic waistband of his boxers. He wasted no time dragging his jeans and boxers down his thighs, letting his thick cock free.
My ass rose in the air as I lowered my mouth to his cock. It was hard and red, with thick veins circling it. I ran my thumb over the head as precum seeped from the tip.
“Baby,” he said, his voice strained, his hand resting on my back. “ Please .”
I grinned as I rested my tongue against his shaft, a deep, guttural sound ripping from his throat. Slowly, I dragged my tongue along his length, reveling in the salty taste of him. It was addictive—his sounds, his taste.
My lips wrapped around him, and I slowly took more of his cock into my mouth, gagging as he hit the back of my throat. His body trembled, his fingers digging into my back as I slid off, hollowing my cheeks. I did it again, my hand gripping his thick base.
“Oh, fuck,” he groaned. “Your hot little mouth—fuck. You feel good.” His hand dragged up my back, and his fingers tangled in my hair. Gently, but still firm enough for me to know that he was in control, he tightened his grip. “Do you like sucking my cock, baby? You like choking on it out in the open? In the car where anyone can see you?”
My pussy tightened at the thought of being in public— again . I liked it. I didn’t know this about myself, that I’d get so turned on at the risk of being caught in this position, but after yesterday with the tree, I couldn’t go back. I couldn’t close this door.
He angled my head the way he wanted and lifted his hips. I gagged again, and he groaned at the sound before pulling back. I wanted him to keep going, though. I wanted to feel him in my throat, stretching and filling me completely.
I pulled off, saliva dripping down my chin as I panted. “Fuck my throat,” I rasped. “Don’t hold back.”
Without another word, I dropped my mouth back onto his cock, swallowing as much as I could. He gathered my hair in both his hands, using it for leverage as he lifted his hips again.
My head went down at the same time, and he grunted out a breath. I gagged again, but this time, he didn’t pull back. Instead, he held me there, letting me breathe through it, and then I pushed myself down more.
The tip of his cock slipped into my throat, and his fingers tightened in my hair. God, I loved this so much—letting him use me for his own pleasure. I loved knowing I could make him feel good, that my body made him feel good.
I snaked my hand between my legs, finding my pussy even wetter than before. I dragged my fingers over my swollen clit as he fucked into my mouth, grunting and groaning with every sound I made.
“That’s it, my baby,” he gritted out. “Make yourself come while you choke on me.”
I pushed my head down again, feeling more of his cock slide into my throat. My arm trembled with the effort to keep myself upright.
“I’m close.” His voice was clipped, nearly choking every word out. “Where do you want it?”
“Mouth,” I mumbled around him before taking even more of his length. I still had a few inches before my lips pressed against his base, and I was nothing if not persistent. Even if I couldn’t take all of him tonight, I would one day.
He moved my head faster, his hips moving in tandem, as he fucked my mouth without abandon. Drool spilled from my lips, soaking into the front of his jeans, and my fingers moved faster over my clit.
My orgasm started low in my belly, tightening and warming me. And then I tasted the first drop of cum, and it ripped through me. My body went taught, my thighs trembling as I came. And then he pushed my head down, holding me still as he groaned.
“Fuck, . . Baby. Fuck .” He was whimpering, almost whining, as I swallowed everything he gave me. I knew he was oversensitive, but I kept suckling on the tip of his cock, wanting every drop. But more than that, I liked having his cock in my mouth. I liked the odd comfort it brought me, the pleasure it brought him.
“Okay,” he breathed, gently tugging on my hair. “I can’t anymore. It’s—it’s too much.”
Reluctantly, I slid off. I grinned down at him, at his wide eyes and slack-jawed expression. His hand was still in my hair, and he pulled me forward, pressing his lips against mine.
I froze—no man had ever kissed me after a blowjob, and it did stupid things to my heart. And when his tongue slid into my mouth, I nearly died. He was tasting himself, and he didn’t care. He wasn’t disgusted at the thought—he just wanted to kiss me, and he didn’t care that I’d had his cock in my mouth. That I’d swallowed his cum.
He kissed the air from my lungs, just like he always did, and when I pulled away, my mind was hazy. We stared at each other, our breathing ragged. The cool air from the still-open window caused goosebumps to ripple over my skin. A shiver worked through my body, and he moved his hand to cup my cheek.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” he murmured, stroking his thumb along my skin. I smiled softly, melting for him—falling more in love with him.
He tucked himself away and helped me from the truck. We showered together, and his touch was gentle, never lingering on any place of my body as he washed the day from me. And then we went to bed, falling asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.
Safe. Warm.
Loved.