Chapter 13 #2
His eyes soften instantly, the sharp edges melting.
He leans forward, elbows braced on the table.
“Willow, I think you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.
You did something about that shit bag. You didn’t just roll over.
You’re so fucking strong it’s intimidating.
And I mean that as someone who’s literally seen men eat their own fingers because of a debt they couldn’t pay. ”
Eww. But still, I snort, because of course he’d phrase it like that.
He continues, voice low, steady. “What you told me last night—it doesn’t make me want you less.
It doesn’t scare me off. If anything, it makes me want to stay closer.
And if all you ever want is what we’ve already done—holding each other, kissing, laughing at my morning wood—then that’s it.
That’s enough. I’ll take it and count myself the luckiest bastard on the planet. ”
The tears prick before I can stop them. My throat burns. I grab my fork just to have something to do with my hands. “You’re gonna make me cry into my eggs,” I say, my voice cracking just a little—dammit.
He smirks faintly. “Then I’ll know I cooked them right.”
The words unravel me. My laugh wobbles out, wet and real. “I think I want to keep you, Lucky.”
His grin is slow and feral, like I just handed him the world. “I was yours from your first thirsty comment, Willow. ‘Girl dinner, tonight. Don’t mind me licking my phone.’”
I choke on a laugh. “Oh, shit, you remember that?”
“I remember everything.” His voice is dark velvet now, but steady, certain. “And I want you too, Willow. Whatever that looks like. I’m here.”
When I reach across the table, threading my fingers through his, it feels like something clicks into place.
Not blackmail. Not chaos.
Us.
I squeeze his hand, my voice low but steady. “You realize you’re stuck with me now, right? Those words mean something. This makes us official, right?”
He raises a brow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Official?”
“Boyfriend-girlfriend official,” I clarify. “No auditioning other homicidal witches. I’ve got an exclusive contract now, Lucky.”
His grin is instant, wicked, feral. “Fine print better say I get unlimited make-outs and lifetime rights to your sarcasm.”
“Done.” I grin back. “Signed. Sealed.”
Lucky leans closer, green eyes blazing with heat and humor. “Want to know something, Dagger Kitten? You’re late to the announcement. I’ve been your boyfriend since the first time I helped you haul a corpse. I don’t do that for just anyone.”
I bark out a laugh, shaking my head. “You’re insane.”
“And I’m yours,” he says simply, like it’s the truest thing in the world.
The word boyfriend shouldn’t feel like fire in my veins. It shouldn’t make me want to crawl across the table and kiss him until I forget my own name.
But it does.
I watch him lean back in his chair, green eyes still on me like I’m the only thing in this penthouse worth noticing.
And maybe it’s the way he looks at me—like I’m sharp and soft at the same time—or maybe it’s the lightness humming under my skin from last night’s confession.
Whatever it is, I move before I can overthink it.
I slide out of my chair, push him back from the table, and plant myself in his lap.
Lucky’s expression is cautious and turned on at the same time. “Willow—”
“Just kiss me,” I murmur, pressing my mouth to his.
I feel him relax just a little at my request. His arms hesitantly wrap around my waist, and his lips soften under mine. His lips part when mine do. Warm and inviting. My fingers rise to tangle in his hair. I feel his hands twitch against my hips, hesitant. Waiting.
I pull back just enough to whisper, “You can touch me.”
That’s what he needs. Hesitantly at first, his palms slide up my thighs, slow, reverent, until they’re resting on the curve of my waist. His grip is steady but not trapping—like he’s grounding me, not holding me down.
The heat of it makes me shiver.
I love the feel of his hands around my waist. How massive they are, how tiny he makes me feel. He could damn near circle my waist. I love that I feel protected in his embrace. I feel cherished. Worshiped almost.
“I like it when you touch me,” I whisper against his lips.
And those few words, me speaking up for what feels good, Lucky growls against my lips in approval. “Good girl,” he murmurs, voice low against my mouth. “Tell me if it’s ever too much.”
My body lights up like he flipped a switch.
Good girl?
Oh.
Oh, I get it now.
Those two little words do something to me.
And his few words of instruction?
Oh, this could work for me.
I press closer, kissing him harder, grinding against him through the barrier of my jeans. The sensation is new, overwhelming, but the steady rhythm of his hands guides me.
“That’s it,” he whispers, lips brushing mine. “Take what you want. You’re in control.”
Oh, yeah. This works for me. It really does.
I kiss him again, deeper, until I’m dizzy. My hands explore his shoulders, his chest, the hard lines of muscle under skin. Every touch sparks something wild in me, something I legitimately thought was dead.
I’ve never felt like this. Not free, not turned on, not safe. All at once.
But I have to walk before I run. When I finally pull back, gasping, I press my forehead to his. “Holy shit.”
He chuckles, thumb brushing my jaw. “Yeah. That’s kind of my review, too.”
I laugh, shaky and giddy, my pulse racing. For once, it doesn’t feel like fear. It feels like possibility. Like we’ve cracked something open.
Like this is just the beginning.
Suddenly, Lucky’s phone buzzes from the island. It’s loud, deep enough that it rattles a plate sitting on the marble. He groans into my neck like the world personally hates him.
“No,” he mutters, muffled against my skin. “I won’t answer it. We’re busy.”
I laugh, breathless, brushing my fingers through his hair. “We were making out over eggs, not saving the world.”
He lifts his head, green eyes blazing. “Correction: you are my whole fucking world, so technically I was saving it.”
Those few words hit me in the chest like a freight train.
My whole fucking world.
He just said them like it’s a simple statement, an easy fact. But after everything that’s happened between us, all the truths we’ve revealed, it feels world-shifting.
But instead of crashing out over it, I just shove his shoulder, choking on a laugh. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yours,” he teases yet again, like this has become his favorite line.
The phone buzzes again, insistent. Finally, he stands, his hands on my hips as I climb off him. He drags himself to the kitchen and snatches it off the counter. “What?” he barks.
I catch muffled words on the other end—something about rehearsal, timing, stage cues. Lucky’s jaw tightens. “I’ll be there when I’m there.”
“Go,” I say, nudging him as he holds the phone to his ear.
He turns on me, scandalized. “Excuse me?”
“You have a show. A whole career. It’s not like Saint Shade will happen without you. You can’t blow it off because you got a girlfriend this morning.”
His expression goes feral, like the word girlfriend just detonated in his chest. “Say that again.”
I blink. “You got a girlfriend this morning?”
His grin is wicked, teeth flashing. He doesn’t care that there’s still someone on the other line. He’s shameless. “Yeah. I did. Say it one more time before I combust.”
I roll my eyes, smirking. “I’m your girlfriend, Saint Shade.”
He growls, sets his phone back on the island (the line is still live), grabs me by the waist, and kisses me like he’s trying to brand it into my soul. When he finally pulls back, he’s breathing hard, forehead pressed to mine. “I’m yours now. Official. World can wait.”
“World can’t wait,” I correct, though my voice is a little shaky with how damn happy I feel right now. “And neither can your crew. Go. I’ve got work, too.”
He groans again, mutters curses under his breath, but finally releases me. “Fine. But you’re not getting rid of me. You’re obligated to see me later. I’ll be there in twenty,” he yells at his phone before he finally hangs up on whoever is on the other end.
I grin, kissing the corner of his mouth. “No obligations required. I want to see my boyfriend.”
It’s his favorite thing ever, the title. I can see it in the way his whole body lights up, like I just handed him the sun. He cups my face, kisses me once more, softer this time, almost reverent.
And then, finally, he tears himself away, stepping back toward his bedroom to get changed.
“See you later,” I say as I bite my lower lip and take one step back toward his door.
“You’re not walking out like that,” he barks, shaking his head.
I look down at myself and remember I’m only wearing a bra.
Lucky disappears into his room for five seconds and reemerges with a white t-shirt.
I tug it down over my head, grinning at the way it drowns me.
I tuck it into the front of my pants, and it actually kind of works.
“Better,” Lucky says.
“Thanks,” I say with a grin as I look up at him. He hands me the keys to my truck and presses a kiss to my lips.
“See you later, girlfriend,” he says with a stupidly happy smile.
“Later, boyfriend,” I reply with a tease as I wink at him. He just about melts into the floor.
I step out of his door, and feel my entire body blush as I walk into the elevator.
My first reading of the day is already waiting outside my shop by the time I get there.
I apologize profusely, and thankfully, she’s a regular who knows this isn’t normal for me.
I let her in, flip on the lights, find a few candles to light, and very, very quickly, throw the velvet tablecloth over my oak table, covering the bloodstains before she can notice them.
I slip right into the rhythm—shuffling cards, laying spreads, letting strangers bleed tears and questions all over my table.
But something feels different.