Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
brOCK
T he second the cops drive away, I turn to Willow. She’s standing next to her car, her arms wrapped around herself, her face pale in the glow of the streetlamp. The calm, collected front she’s been holding onto all night is starting to crack.
“You’re not staying at your place tonight,” I say, my voice firm but steady.
She looks up at me, her honey-colored eyes wide and tired. “Brock, it’s fine. I’ll be fine—”
“Willow,” I cut her off, stepping closer. My tone softens, but I don’t give her a chance to argue. “Someone slashed your tires. This wasn’t random, and it sure as hell wasn’t a mistake. Until we know what’s going on, you’re staying with me. No discussion.”
She hesitates, her gaze drifting toward her bakery like she’s weighing her options. “I don’t want to impose—”
“You’re not,” I interrupt, gentler this time. “I want you with me. Let me take care of you, baby.”
Her shoulders sag slightly, like she’s finally letting herself feel the weight of everything. After a moment, she nods, her voice quiet. “Okay.”
I nod back, relief washing over me. “Good. Now, where’s Frankie?”
Willow glances down the sidewalk where Frankie is sniffing a planter box. “Frankie, come here,” she calls.
Frankie sniffs again, ignoring her completely.
“Frankie,” I say, my voice low and commanding.
To both of our surprise, Frankie’s little ears perk up. He looks at me, then trots over like he’s known me forever.
Willow’s jaw drops slightly. “He doesn’t even listen to me half the time,” she says, watching as Frankie sits obediently at my feet.
I crouch down, scratching behind his ears. “Smart dog. He knows who’s in charge.”
She huffs out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”
I straighten, pulling out my phone. “Let me call Liam. He can tow your car to his shop tonight.”
Liam pulls into the lot twenty minutes later, his tow truck rumbling to a stop beside Willow’s baby blue Mini Cooper. He steps out, his tattooed arms visible even in the dim light, and surveys the car with a low whistle.
“Slashed tires, huh?” he says, glancing at me.
“Yeah,” I reply, my jaw tight.
He walks over to the Mini, crouching to inspect the damage. “Damn. Clean cuts,” he mutters. “Whoever did this wasn’t messing around.”
“Exactly,” I say, stepping closer and lowering my voice so Willow doesn’t hear. “Liam, can you check the car over when you get it back to the shop? Make sure nothing else is wrong with it.”
Liam looks up at me, his brows furrowing. “You think this is more than just tires?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, glancing back at Willow. She’s standing by the bakery, holding Frankie and looking lost in thought. “But I’m not taking chances.”
He nods, standing and dusting off his hands. “You got it, Steele. I’ll give you a call if I find anything.”
“Appreciate it,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder.
Liam flashes a small smile at Willow as he starts hooking up her car. “Don’t worry, miss. I’ll take good care of it.”
“Thank you,” she says softly, hugging Frankie closer.
Once the Mini is secured, Liam nods at me. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Thanks, man,” I say as he climbs into his truck and drives off.
With Frankie curled up against Willow’s side, I glance over at her as we drive toward my cabin. She’s staring out the window, her eyes unfocused, lost in thought. Her hand absently strokes Frankie’s back, but she doesn’t seem to notice. The faint glow of the dashboard lights highlights the worry etched on her face, and it tugs at something deep in me. I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, wishing I could take all of this off her shoulders.
At her house, it’s quick. She gathers a few essentials while Frankie trots along behind her, his little tail wagging. I keep watch near the front door, my unease from earlier still gnawing at me.
When she finally emerges with her bag, I step forward and take it from her without a word. “You ready?” I ask softly.
She nods, glancing down at Frankie. “Ready.”
Back at my cabin, I watch as she steps inside, setting her bag down near the couch. Frankie immediately starts sniffing every corner, his little nose in overdrive. Willow stands there for a moment, looking around like she’s not quite sure what to do next.
I walk over, rubbing my hands up and down her biceps in slow, firm strokes, letting the warmth and motion soothe her. “Hey,” I say softly, squeezing gently. “You’re safe here. Okay?”
She nods, but her expression is still distant. I let my hands linger for a moment longer before stepping back, giving her space.
“You know where everything is,” I say, heading toward the kitchen. “Hungry? I can make us something.”
She turns, her lips curving into the faintest smile. “Maybe just some tea?”
“Tea it is,” I say, grateful for even the smallest spark of normalcy.
With Frankie still sniffing around and Willow looking a little more settled, I head into the kitchen. She asked for tea, but I figure she could use more than that. I grab some bread, peanut butter, and jelly—something quick and easy—and slap together a plateful of sandwiches, cutting them in half. I toss a bag of chips onto the tray and add her tea before carrying everything back out to the living room.
She’s sitting on the couch, legs tucked under her, watching Frankie sniff every corner like he owns the place. Her eyes flick to me as I set the tray down on the coffee table.
“Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” I say with a smirk, sitting down next to her. “Can’t say I don’t know how to treat a woman.”
She picks up a half-sandwich, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Impressive,” she teases, taking a bite.
“I aim to please,” I say, grabbing one for myself and reaching for the remote. I scroll through for a minute before landing on The Office . The familiar theme song fills the quiet space, the volume low enough to not drown out the sound of us chewing.
We eat in easy silence, the crunch of chips and the soft hum of the TV breaking up the stillness. Frankie hops onto the couch after a while, curling up against Willow like he’s claiming her as his. She strokes his head absentmindedly, her shoulders starting to relax.
“This might not be five-star dining,” I say, popping the last bit of sandwich into my mouth, “but I think it’s doing the job.”
She glances at me, her honey-colored eyes soft and a little more at ease. “It’s perfect,” she says quietly. “Thanks, Brock.”
I shrug, leaning back against the couch. “Anytime.” And I mean it. If it takes PB&J and reruns to make her feel a little safer, I’d do it every damn night.
When we head to the bedroom, there’s a low fire crackling in the corner fireplace, casting a warm glow over the space. She pauses for a second in the doorway, her eyes scanning the room like she’s taking it all in. There’s a shyness in her that wasn’t there earlier, like the weight of everything is finally catching up to her.
“You good?” I ask, watching her carefully.
She nods, her voice soft. “Yeah. Just… the fire. It’s nice.”
“Figured you’d like it,” I say, grabbing an extra pillow and tossing it onto the bed.
She picks up her bag and disappears into the bathroom to change. When she comes back out, I almost drop the pillow I’m holding. She’s wearing an oversized T-shirt, the hem brushing mid-thigh, and a pair of fitted boyshorts. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, and her cheeks are pink, probably from washing up. She looks… stunning, without even trying.
“You okay?” she asks, her voice soft as she tilts her head.
I clear my throat, nodding. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
She climbs into bed without another word, curling onto her side. Frankie hops up, circling a few times before settling at her feet. I join her a moment later, lying on my back, staring at the ceiling, and hyper-aware of how close she is.
“Thank you, Brock,” she says softly after a long moment.
I glance over at her. “For what?”
“For everything. For making me feel safe.”
I turn onto my side, meeting her gaze as my voice drops. “Always, baby. That’s what I’m here for.”
Her lips curve into a faint smile as her eyes flutter closed. I watch her for a moment, the soft glow of the fire dancing across her face, and one thought keeps running through my head: I’d do anything to protect her. Always.
T he fire has long since died down, leaving the room bathed in the soft, silvery glow of moonlight. Willow lies curled against me, her soft breaths steady and even as she sleeps. My arm drapes over her waist, my hand splayed across the curve of her hip, holding her close.
I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep when something pulls me from my dreams—a subtle movement, a pressure that sends a low hum of awareness thrumming through my body. It takes me a moment to register what’s happening, but then I feel it, Willow’s ass snug against me, her warmth pressed against my cock.
I bite back a groan, my body stirring as I try to keep still, not wanting to wake her. But then she shifts again, her hips rolling slightly, and a low, guttural sound escapes me before I can stop it. My hand tightens on her hip instinctively, trying to still her movements. “Willow,” I murmur, my voice rough with sleep and growing arousal.
She doesn’t stop. Instead, her hips shift again, this time deliberate, the curve of her ass rubbing against me in a way that makes my restraint snap like a frayed thread. “Willow,” I rasp, but there’s no urgency in my voice now, just pure want.
She turns her head slightly, her voice soft and teasing in the quiet darkness. “You’re awake.”
“Barely,” I murmur, squeezing her hip again, trying to keep my breathing steady. “Kind of hard to fall asleep right now.”
Her laugh is a breathy whisper, and then she shifts again, her ass pressing more firmly against me. I can feel the heat of her even through the thin barrier of her boy shorts, and it makes my cock twitch in response. “Are you saying I should stop?” she asks innocently, though the deliberate roll of her hips says otherwise.
“Christ, Willow.” My hand slides down, my fingers dipping beneath the elastic band of her shorts, finding the soft, smooth skin beneath. She gasps softly when my fingers move lower, brushing against her soaked folds.
“Fucking hell,” I murmur, the words more of a growl as I glide my fingers between her slick, swollen lips. She’s dripping wet, her arousal coating my fingers as I trace her heat, and the feel of her makes my restraint crumble completely.
Her body arches slightly against me as my fingers tease her entrance, and she lets out a soft, needy whimper. “You’re so wet for me,” I murmur into her ear, my voice thick with desire. “Did you dream about this? About me touching you like this?”
She doesn’t answer, but the way her hips move against my hand tells me everything I need to know. My fingers slide deeper, finding that spot that makes her gasp, and I press my lips to the back of her neck, kissing her softly as I work her with slow, deliberate strokes.
The room is quiet except for the sound of her breathing, growing heavier with every movement of my fingers, and the faint, wet sound of her arousal as I circle her clit, teasing her, building her up. Her hand grips my arm, her nails digging in as her body begins to tremble. “Brock,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need.
“Shh,” I murmur against her neck, my voice low and soothing. “Let me take care of you.”
Her breaths come in shallow gasps now, her body trembling against mine as I tease her with slow, deliberate strokes. But it’s not enough—not for her, and certainly not for me. The need to have more of her, to taste her, to claim her completely, becomes an overwhelming ache.
I slide my hand out from her shorts, my fingers slick with her arousal, and she whimpers softly at the loss. I shift behind her, rolling her onto her back, and the moonlight spilling through the window illuminates her flushed cheeks and parted lips. Her honey-brown eyes blink up at me, heavy with sleep and desire, and I can’t help but smile. “Stay right there,” I murmur, my voice a low growl as I hook my hands under her thighs, spreading her legs slightly. The little boy shorts she’s wearing cling to her hips, teasing me, but not for long. I grip the waistband and tug them down her legs in one smooth motion, tossing them aside.
Her thighs press together instinctively, as if she’s suddenly shy, but I’m having none of it. I grip her legs, my hands firm but gentle, and pull her closer to me until she’s fully spread before me. Her glistening folds catch the moonlight, and I swear I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.
“Brock,” she whispers, her voice trembling, but I don’t let her finish. Instead, I dip my head between her thighs, pressing my lips against her pretty pussy. “Fucking perfect,” I mutter against her, my breath hot on her sensitive skin. My tongue flicks out, tracing her folds slowly, savoring the way her hips jerk at the contact. I circle her clit with deliberate strokes, feeling her body respond, and when I press my tongue flat against her, she lets out a breathy moan that goes straight to my cock.
Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer as I devour her, my tongue exploring every inch of her wet pussy. Her taste is intoxicating, sweet and rich, and I can’t get enough. I suck her clit into my mouth, teasing it with gentle pressure, and her thighs clamp around my head as she cries out, her back arching off the bed. “Brock,” she gasps, her voice trembling with need. “Don’t stop.”
I have no intention of stopping. I grip her thighs tighter, holding her steady as I slide my tongue inside her, tasting her from the inside. She’s so soft, so warm, and the way her walls pulse around my tongue makes me groan against her, the vibration drawing another desperate moan from her lips.
Her hips grind against my face, seeking more, and I oblige, sliding two fingers into her wet pussy while my tongue continues its assault on her clit.
Her moans grow louder, her body trembling beneath me as I work her with practiced precision, driving her higher and higher. “You’re incredible,” I murmur against her, my voice thick with hunger. “So fucking sweet.”
Her hands grip the sheets, her body arching as the tension builds within her. “Brock,” she cries out, her voice breaking, and I know she’s close.
I press harder, faster, my tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to push her over the edge. Her cries fill the room as her climax crashes over her, her body writhing beneath me as wave after wave of pleasure consumes her. I don’t stop until she’s trembling, her thighs quaking around me, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.
When I finally pull back, my lips and chin slick with her arousal, I look up at her and smile. Her flushed cheeks and dazed expression are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “Still shy?” I tease, kissing the inside of her thigh as she tries to catch her breath. She laughs softly, her hand reaching down to tug me up toward her. “Not even a little.”
I hover over her, my lips trailing along her neck, savoring the way she melts into my touch. Her warmth presses against me, her body pliant and eager, and when I catch the look in her eyes, it’s all I need to know.
“I need you,” she whispers, her voice trembling with urgency. “I can’t wait, Brock. Please—don’t make me wait.”
Her words are all the permission I need. I sit back on my heels for just a moment, my hands sliding to the waistband of my boxer briefs. Her gaze follows the movement, and her breath catches as I push them down, letting them fall off the edge of the bed. My cock stands thick and hard between us, and the way her lips part, her tongue darting out to wet them, nearly undoes me.
I move between her thighs, my hands sliding up the smooth curve of her hips as I settle over her. The heat radiating from her is unbearable, and when I grip myself, aligning with her entrance, I know there’s no going back. Slowly, I press into her, inch by inch, watching the way her body opens for me, the way her lashes flutter and her breath stutters with every movement.
She gasps softly, her hips rising to meet mine, and when I’m fully seated inside her, the tight heat of her surrounding me, I let out a low groan. “Willow,” I rasp, my voice raw with need, “you feel...”
“So do you,” she whispers, cutting me off, her hands sliding up to grip my shoulders. Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me even closer, deeper. Her body trembles beneath mine, her hips moving instinctively with mine, meeting every slow, deliberate thrust.
I lean down, catching her lips in a deep, searing kiss. Her moans vibrate against my mouth, her hands threading through my hair and holding me close. The rhythm builds between us, each stroke harder, deeper, until we’re completely in sync, our bodies moving as one.
“Brock,” she breathes, her voice trembling with pleasure. “You feel so good.”
“You have no idea,” I murmur against her skin, my lips brushing the sensitive spot just below her ear. My hand slides between us, finding her clit, and when I circle it with my thumb, her body jerks against mine, a soft cry escaping her lips.
Her hands clutch the sheets, her nails digging into the fabric as her breath comes faster, sharper. “I’m close,” she gasps, her voice breaking.
“I want to feel you,” I growl, quickening my pace, my thumb circling her clit faster. “Come for me, Willow.”
Her body tenses, her back arching off the bed as her climax washes over her, pulling a soft, breathless cry from her lips. The way her walls clench around me, the way she moves beneath me, is enough to send me over the edge. With a deep groan, I bury myself in her one last time, my release spilling into her as the pleasure overtakes me.
We collapse together, our breaths mingling in the quiet of the room, the glow of the moonlight washing over us. I press a soft kiss to her forehead, her cheek, her lips, unable to resist her.
“You’re perfect,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
She smiles up at me, her fingers brushing along my jaw. “So are you.”
I pull her into my arms, her head resting on my chest as her breathing slows, and for the first time in a long time, I feel complete.