21. Abigail
ABIGAIL
Ifeel better now that the day’s behind me. I’m in pajamas, watching TV and eating a box of discounted Dutch chocolates for dinner.
The garage called just before closing with bad news.
My car’s prognosis was grim. A laundry list of mechanical jargon that might as well have been a foreign language.
At this point, replacing it might be cheaper than trying to fix the money pit.
Until then, I’m stuck relying on cabs. And I have no one to blame but myself for ignoring the warning signs.
I pop another chocolate into my mouth and immediately wince. My teeth meet what feels like fossilized caramel. It could crack a molar. I’m still trying to unstick it from my back teeth when a sharp knock at the door startles me. No amount of frantic chewing can salvage my dignity in time.
I open the door to find Will leaning against the frame. Without a word, he tosses something toward me. I fumble, catching the glint of metal. Car keys.
“What’s this?” I ask around a mouthful of stubborn caramel.
“Sorted it,” he says casually, like he just brought over a coffee. He steps aside, revealing a white Porsche SUV parked in my driveway.
What.
“I told you I’d sort—” I start.
“I have enough to worry about,” he cuts in. “I can’t spend my time stressing over how you’re getting around.”
He heads into the living room. I take one last stunned look at the car before closing the door and following him. He sinks into the couch, leans back, and closes his eyes. I’ve never seen him this tense.
That car feels like too much. But what am I supposed to do? Say no?
To him, these luxuries—the necklace, the dress, now the car—are just part of life. To me, they’re reminders that I don’t quite belong in his world.
But it isn’t just the car. It’s the weekend. Henry’s pointed questions. His smug tone. The way he looked at me like I was some kind of mistake.
He got under my skin. And I slipped. I said the quiet part out loud—that I’d never sign a prenup. Like an idiot. That’s not something you admit to a Carter.
Will didn’t walk away. At least not yet. But now I can’t stop wondering if we’re really built to last.
And with the mood he’s in, now is definitely not the time to make a point about not needing him to buy me a car.
“This was sweet of you,” I say, settling beside him. I lean into his side, my hand resting absently on his chest.
“We’ll take it for a drive soon. Just give me a minute,” he says.
His arm wraps around me, pulling me close. We stay like that in silence until his shoulders finally begin to loosen.
“Rough afternoon?” I ask. I expect a tense meeting or maybe, for once, he actually lost a case.
“I’m thinking of handing Pinnacle off to someone else,” he says. “Only, I’m not sure I trust anyone enough to get it done.”
So, he’s sure he can beat me, but not sure anyone else could. I’m not sure how to feel about that. I guess it’s flattering he still thinks I stand a chance, especially after the mess I was today.
“You shouldn’t be telling me this,” I say.
“I don’t want it to affect things between us. You’re more important.”
Of course he noticed how rattled I was after the meeting. But he wasn’t supposed to see that.
“It won’t,” I lie. “It’s work.”
It seems he can separate work and personal life effortlessly. I need to be more like him. It’s not his fault we’re on opposite sides of this case. He’s just doing his job.
“We can handle this,” I say.
“I’m not sure I can,” he says quietly, eyes lowered.
I glance at him. He looks completely drained. And then it hits me.
Oh.
“You want to cool things off?” I ask, pulling away.
His hands catch me immediately, drawing me back.
“No,” he says. “That’s not what I meant.”
Well, what did he mean? I want to press him, but now’s not the time. Besides, how do I know this isn’t more calculated vulnerability? Another way to throw me off balance?
I stop the thought. I stop the conversation.
“No more talk about the case,” I say. Nothing will happen for weeks, maybe months. The thought is oddly comforting. Still, it feels like kicking a bucket down the road, eventually, we’ll have to pick it up.
His expression shifts, the strain beginning to lift. “I hope you like the car.”
“You didn’t have to buy me a car,” I reply, trying to sound appreciative.
“I did,” he says. “Because taking care of you is my job.”
The words send a ripple through me.
“My most important job,” he adds.
“And the law firm?” I tease.
“Just something I do for fun on the side.” He flashes a disarming grin. “So, should we go for a drive?”
“We will,” I say. “But first, there’s more important business.”
I climb onto his lap, my knees framing his hips. Heat rolls off his body as I ease his jacket from his shoulders and loosen his red tie, slipping it free and letting it fall to the floor. Then I cradle his jaw in both hands and kiss him.
He doesn’t hesitate, but there’s a different kind of hunger in the way he kisses me back. His mouth is rougher, the pressure urgent, like he needs this more than he wants to admit.
Will rises in one smooth motion. I wrap my legs around his waist, arms looped tight around his neck.
His hands slide under my thighs, fingers pressing deeper than usual.
He carries me down the hall slowly, kissing me between each step, but there’s tension simmering in him.
My back brushes the wall as we turn, and then his foot kicks the bedroom door open.
He sets me down on the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. His belt is already coming undone as I peel off my sweatpants.
When we’re both naked, he moves over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress, not crushing, but firm.
His hand fists in my hair as he kisses me again. Rough, desperate, and deeper than before.
There’s something raw in him tonight. Something barely leashed. It doesn’t scare me, exactly, but it unsettles me.
Will always takes control. But something about the edge in him tonight makes me push back.
I press my palm to his chest and flip him onto his back, climbing over him with purpose.
I grab a condom from the nightstand and roll it on, then pause, biting my lip as I brace myself.
Then I sink down onto him, slowly, adjusting to the stretch. A gasp escapes me as he fills me.
His hands lock around my hips, steadying me. “That’s it,” he says, voice low against my throat.
The initial sting fades into something deeper, a steady pulse of pleasure that builds slowly in my belly. But his patience wears thin as I ride him slowly, dragging it out, teasing with every roll of my hips.
His hands slide down, gripping my ass as he thrusts up into me, drawing a sharp moan from my chest.
“Oh god,” I moan.
“I like that nickname. But I don’t like you doing all the work.”
Without warning, he flips me beneath him, pinning my wrists to the mattress.
Control slips through my fingers. He looms over me for just a second, eyes dark, unreadable, then drives back into me with one hard thrust.
Every motion is relentless. Measured. Unforgiving.
I cling to him, breathless and trembling, as the pressure builds fast and hard. His mouth crashes into mine.
“Will—” The word splinters in my mouth, half plea, half warning.
I fall apart, hips lifting, nails biting into his shoulders as waves of pleasure ripple through me.
But he doesn’t slow down.
“Again,” he says.
I’m already spiraling, barely clinging to breath as he works another climax from me. He watches every tremor, every moan, like he’s memorizing the exact ways I unravel beneath him.
I’m still trembling when his rhythm falters. His jaw clenches, breath stuttering as he thrusts one last time and breaks.
A moan leaves his throat as he buries himself deep, heat flooding me. His body stills, pressed to mine, his breath harsh against my cheek.
“Fuck,” he says, forehead resting against mine.
For a moment, we just breathe. Slick skin, thundering hearts, nothing else.
Then he nips my earlobe. “Now let’s go christen the car.”