Chapter 20 #2
It’s raw and hot and full of something reckless, like the words we’ve finally spoken have unleashed everything we’ve been holding back. His hands slide over my body like he’s starved for it, like he needs to touch every inch of me to prove I’m real.
He rolls me beneath him, and his voice is low, right at my ear. “You staying means I don’t have to hold back anymore.”
I moan as his mouth drags down my neck, his hips pressing between mine.
“I’m gonna fuck you right,” he growls. “Real slow at first… so you feel every inch. Then hard enough you’ll forget you ever thought about leaving.”
I gasp as he pushes inside, deeper than before, his body claiming mine with smooth, deliberate thrusts that make my thighs shake.
He’s already close to losing control, I can feel it.
Then he grits out, “You know what I want, don’t you?”
My breath catches. “What?”
His thrusts get rougher, rhythm sharper. “I want to fill you up, sugar. Fuck you so deep and slow you’re dripping with me.”
“Will—” I moan, clawing at his back.
“You’d look so good round with my baby,” he pants, eyes locked on mine. “Bet you’d glow, all knocked up and aching, still begging for me every damn night.”
The thought rips through me, filthy and wild and irresistible.
“You want that?” he growls, one hand slipping between us, thumb circling tight over my clit. “Want me to fuck a baby into you? Mark you so deep there’s no doubt who you belong to?”
I choke out a gasp, legs locking around him. “Yes—yes, please, Daddy!”
“That’s right,” he grits. “Say it again.”
“I want it,” I cry out. “Want you to come inside me. Fill me up. Make me yours.”
He groans—deep, primal—and his mouth crushes against mine as we both unravel, my body tightening around him as he spills inside me with a desperate growl of my name.
When it’s over, he doesn’t move. He just holds me close, breath ragged, our bodies still tangled together.
And when he finally speaks again, it’s quiet.
“I meant every word.”
I do, too. Because whatever just happened between us? It’s not just heat. It’s the start of something real.
We finally drag ourselves out of my bed.
My legs are jelly. My hair’s a mess. I ache in places I didn’t know could ache. But I can’t stop smiling. It's that lazy, post-wreckage kind of smile. The kind that comes from finally giving in to something you were afraid to want.
Will’s sitting shirtless on my couch, sprawled out like he owns the place. One arm slung over the back, a mug of coffee in the other, bare chest gleaming in the sunlight like he has no shame about the fact that we barely made it out of bed before noon.
Me?
I’m laying across the couch with my head in his lap, his fingers sliding through my hair in slow, absent-minded strokes that make my eyes flutter closed. It feels safe, which is probably the scariest part.
Then he says it.
“We’re gonna have to talk to Sam, sugar.”
That yanks me right out of my bliss.
I sit up too fast, blinking. “What?”
He shrugs, casual as anything. “So we can tell him we’re a thing now.”
I blink again. “Are we… a thing?”
Will smirks, one brow raised. “What do you think?”
I hesitate. The moment stretches. I don’t want to ruin the magic by rushing the words, but I also don’t want to pretend I don’t feel what I do.
“I think last night was everything I dreamed it could be,” I say honestly, watching his face for any shift.
“But?” he prompts, his voice gentler now.
I exhale, curling one leg under me. “But what if it doesn’t work out? What if we’re just good at sex and bad at everything else?”
Will sets his mug down, turning fully toward me. His eyes are soft but certain.
“What if it does work out?” he counters. “What if we’re good at this too? The mornings. The hard stuff. The conversations that make you want to hide under the blanket.”
I bite my lip. “You’re making this sound real easy.”
“It’s not,” he says. “But I’ve never wanted something easy with you, Phern.”
He leans in, brushing his mouth over mine.
“I want this,” he murmurs. “Messy or not.”
And God, so do I. Even if it scares me. Even if Sam’s going to lose his mind.
I press my forehead to Will’s and whisper, “Then I guess we should figure out how to tell my brother you’ve been breaking in the bed he helped me move in.”
Will grins, voice wicked. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate the craftsmanship.”
I laugh. “Probably not. Are you sure? What if we wait a few weeks?”
He watches me, that easy smirk fading into something quieter. More serious.
“If I say yes… is that because you need time or because you’re still not sure about us?”
The question lands heavy between us. I open my mouth to deflect, but stop. Because he deserves more than that now. After everything.
“I just…” I pull my legs up, wrap my arms around them. “I’ve spent so long building walls, Will. Waiting’s not about you. It’s about me not knowing how to let someone in without bracing for the fall.”
His jaw tightens, but not with anger. With understanding.
He nods slowly, reaching for my hand. “Then we don’t rush it. We don’t have to tell him today. Or tomorrow. But I’m not gonna pretend like this isn’t real just to make it easier to breathe.”
I squeeze his hand, eyes stinging. “You’re kind of a softie, you know that?”
He leans in, voice low and wicked near my ear. “I just fucked you like a man who wants to wreck you and you’re calling me a softie?”
I laugh, breathless. “Fine. A possessive, smug, sweet-talking menace.”
“Better.” Then his fingers slide up my thigh and his voice drops again, rough with promise. “But don’t think for a second I won’t make you scream my name every night before we talk to your brother.”
I look at him, heat blooming in my cheeks.
“Promises, promises.”
“Sugar,” he growls, lifting me effortlessly onto his lap. “I’m not done with you yet.”
And just like that, all my hesitation melts under the weight of the one man who saw past every wall and decided to stay anyway.