Chapter 21
The next month flies by in a blur of pleasure, sex, and Will.
And I’ve never been happier.
We’re insatiable. I wake up with his hands on me, his mouth pressed to my skin, whispering filthy promises before the sun’s even fully up.
He makes me breakfast shirtless, in boxers and nothing else, looking smug as hell when I can't stop staring. Most days we don’t even make it to lunch without ending up tangled in my sheets. Or the shower. Or the couch.
He leaves notes on the fridge.
Little things like "Left early, but still thinking about how you moaned last night." Or "Wear those tight jeans today. You know the ones."
Every touch is heat. Every kiss is a dare. Every time he looks at me, I feel like I’m standing at the center of a wildfire and loving the burn.
But it’s not just the sex.
He starts sleeping over more often than not. Stocking my cabinets with the creamer he likes. Fixing the squeaky hinge on my bathroom door without being asked. He even starts leaving a flannel at my place like he lives there because, truthfully, he kind of does.
We talk more, too. About everything. About nothing. About the way he never thought he’d feel this grounded with anyone. About the way I can’t believe I ever thought I wasn’t enough.
We haven’t said I love you.
Not yet. But it’s in everything. In the way he wraps my hair around his fingers when I fall asleep on his chest. In the way he pulls me into his lap during movie nights and doesn’t let me go, even when the credits roll. In the way he touches me like he means it every time.
I think he’s waiting for the right moment.
And me? I think I might already be his. And for the first time in what feels like forever… I’m not scared of that.
That night, after the bar closes, I hear his boots first, coming up the stairs.
The door opens, and I sit a bit straighter.
“Sugar,” Will calls, voice low and already a little rough.
I smile from where I’m waiting on the couch in one of his flannels, unbuttoned enough to tempt, bare legs stretched out, pretending I wasn’t checking the clock every five minutes since midnight.
He rounds the corner and stops dead in the doorway, eyes dragging over me.
“Jesus.”
I bite my lip, slow and deliberate. “Rough day?”
He kicks the door shut behind him, eyes locked on mine. “Long as hell. But this?” His voice drops as he stalks toward me. “This is one hell of a welcome home.”
He tosses his hat onto the table, shedding his jacket as he moves, and before I can blink, he’s on me, kneeling between my legs, dragging me closer, his hands firm on my thighs.
“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over my bare knee. “How you sound. How you taste. How damn good you feel when I’m buried inside you.”
My breath catches. My fingers tangle in his hair.
He lifts his gaze to mine. “You miss me?”
“Too much,” I whisper.
“Let me fix that.”
His mouth is on me then. Hot, hungry, and claiming.
He kisses up my thigh, pushing the flannel open wider until he sees what’s not underneath. He groans like it physically hurts.
“No panties?” he rasps. “You just sittin’ here, dripping for me?”
I literally am.
“Was hoping you’d come home and do something about it.”
“Oh, I will.”
He doesn’t waste time.
One hand hooks behind my knee, tossing it over his shoulder as he dives in. Tongue slow, then fast, teasing me until I’m gasping, grinding against his face, begging for more.
And he gives it.
He devours me like he’s starving. Like this is what he’s needed all day to breathe again.
When I come, it’s sharp and sudden, my back arching off the couch as I cry out his name, trembling. He doesn’t stop. Not until I’m limp and flushed.
Then he stands, licking his lips, eyes dark.
“You’re not done.”
He lifts me like I weigh nothing, carries me to the bedroom, and lays me down. Stripping off his shirt, he crawls over me, hard and already lining himself up.
“This is the part,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to mine, “where I remind you just how mine you are.”
And he does. All night. Until I can’t remember anything but the sound of his voice, the feel of his body, and the way he makes the rest of the world disappear.
I don’t know how long we’ve been at it.
The sheets are tangled. My skin is slick with sweat. And Will is buried so deep inside me it feels like I might never breathe properly again.
He’s got me straddling him now. His hands gripping my hips, guiding me as I ride him slow, hard, and deep, like every stroke is meant to remind me who I belong to.
“Fuck, Phern,” he growls, head falling back as I grind against him. “You feel like heaven. Like you were made to take me.”
I moan, fingernails dragging down his chest. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
His eyes lock on mine. “Not planning to.”
His hands slip around to my ass, pulling me down harder, making me cry out.
“You’re mine,” he pants. “You understand? Mine.”
I don’t answer. I’m too far gone.
But he’s not having that.
One hand snakes up to my throat. It’s gentle, but firm enough to steal my breath as he growls, “Say it.”
I gasp. “I’m yours, Will.”
“Damn right you are.”
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
The phone on the nightstand lights up, vibrating hard against the wood.
I glance toward it, out of breath, and see the name glowing on the screen.
Nash Kimzey.
Will sees it too. His jaw locks. And then? He flips me onto my back in one rough motion and thrusts back into me. Hard. I cry out, clinging to him as the phone continues to buzz.
“You gonna answer him while I’m buried inside you?” he growls at my ear. “Let him hear you coming on my cock?”
I shake my head, moaning as he pounds into me, deeper.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he spits, voice thick with possessive heat. “He doesn’t get this. I do.”
The phone stops ringing.
He grabs my thigh, pulls my leg higher, and fucks me harder, like he’s chasing every second we wasted.
“Look at me,” he demands.
I do.
And I swear I come undone just from that. His eyes, the tension in his jaw, the claim in every inch of his body.
The phone goes silent.
The only sound left is the rasp of our breathing and the sharp, wet slap of skin on skin as Will keeps driving into me, like he’s trying to fuck every trace of doubt out of me.
“Mine,” he growls again, voice low and savage in my ear. “Every fucking inch of you.”
I gasp, clinging to him, my legs wrapped tight around his waist. I can’t speak. I can barely think.
“You think Nash could ever touch you like this?” he bites out, thrusting harder. “Make you this fucking wet just from his voice?”
“Will—” I whimper.
His hand slides down, fingers pressing against my clit, circling mercilessly. “I should’ve done this the second you made that list,” he mutters. “Should’ve put a baby in you before you ever thought about running.”
My body jerks. My nails dig into his back.
He sees it. Feels it.
And fuck, he leans in more.
“You like that, yeah?” he growls, voice all gravel and heat. “Like the idea of me coming inside you, so deep it sticks?”
“God—Will—” I gasp, breath breaking.
“That’s what you need, isn’t it?” he hisses, biting at my neck. “To be full of me. Dripping. Walkin’ around with my baby in your belly so everyone knows exactly who fucked you right.”
I moan loud, high, and helpless as I arch into him, every muscle tight and straining.
He grins against my throat, cock pulsing harder inside me.
“Bet you’d look so damn good knocked up, all swollen and needy, still beggin’ me to fuck you through it.”
I cry out his name, back arching, and he pounds into me faster, rougher.
“I’ll give it to you, sugar,” he groans, voice fraying. “Gonna come so deep you’ll feel me for days.”
And when I shatter, it’s not a slow fall. It’s a goddamn free-fall, my body clenching around him so tight it drags him over the edge with me.
He curses into my neck as he spills inside me, his body jerking, pressing me down into the mattress like he’s anchoring himself to the only thing that makes sense.
Me.
When it’s over, he doesn’t pull out.
Doesn’t move.
He just stays there, buried inside me, breath shaking against my skin, his voice wrecked as he murmurs, “I’ll put a ring on you before I put a baby in you.”
And something deep in my chest aches. Because that’s what I want, too, I’m just too scared to say it.
The next morning, Will grabs my hand as I pad past the couch, pulling me onto his lap. We’re both naked, which is how we spend most mornings.
“Come here,” he says.”
I go easily, straddling him, and his mouth is already on my throat, tongue tracing that sensitive spot just below my ear.
“Still thinking we should wait to tell Sam, sugar?” he murmurs against my skin, voice dripping with challenge.
My breath hitches. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you plan to shut up and kiss me or—”
He cuts me off with a growl and crashes his mouth to mine, teeth grazing my bottom lip before his tongue claims every breath I have left. He kisses me like I belong to him. Like we never stopped. Like he’s starving and I’m the only thing that will satisfy him.
“You sitting on my lap like this,” he breathes between kisses, “makes me want to fuck you so deep you forget every man’s name but mine.”
I gasp as he drags me tighter against him, already hard beneath me.
“You feel that?” he mutters, grinding his hips upward. “That’s what you do to me. Every time you walk in the room. Every time you look at me like you don’t know I’d burn the whole damn world just to stay buried inside you.”
I whimper, hips rocking.
He rubs slow circles over my clit with the pad of his thumb. “You’re already soaked, baby. Didn’t even need to touch you.”
“Will—please—”
He growls low in his throat. “That needy little voice? Fuck, I’ll give you anything you ask for.”
And he does.
One hard thrust, and he’s inside me again—deep, thick, hot—and I cry out, head falling back as he fills me all the way.