Chapter 10 #2
The first press of him against her entrance made them both freeze.
Willow's breath caught, her heart slamming against her ribs.
His forehead dropped to hers, their breath mingling, and for one suspended moment everything else fell away.
The pack politics, Iris, all the walls between them, none of it existed.
Just the two of them, here, in this moment.
"Willow." He spoke her name, sounding both wrecked and wondering.
She knew he would stop if she told him to. But if he stopped now, she was pretty sure she would die. "Please. Ryker--"
Saying his name triggered him, as a second later he pushed inside her in one slow, devastating thrust.
Willow's head fell back against the wall.
He was big and thick, stretching her perfectly, more and more as he—she gasped as increased pressure made her moan as he seated himself fully.
Because he was even thicker at the base.
Her nails dug into his shoulders as she adjusted.
He held absolutely still, giving her time, and she could feel the tremor running through his arms from the effort.
"You feel—" He broke off, jaw clenched, a sound in his throat that was more wolf than man. "Fuck. You feel incredible."
"Move," she breathed, bucking against him as best she could with her currently limited mobility. “More.” The sensations were already overwhelming her.
Thankfully, he did.
The rhythm started slow, each thrust deliberate and deep, but it didn't stay that way.
The desire that had been building since she'd arrived on this island burned through both of them, and within seconds he was fucking her hard against the wall, his hips snapping, her back sliding against the wood with every stroke.
The friction was perfect, the angle hitting nerves inside her that made her toes curl.
She wrapped her legs tighter around him and he went deeper, hitting a spot that made sparks burst behind her eyes.
"Goddess—yes, right there—"
"Perfect," he gritted out against her neck. "You couldn’t be more perfect for me if you tried."
His hand slid between them, finding her clit, and rubbing in tight circles that matched his rhythm.
The dual sensation of him inside her, his fingers working her, had Willow climbing fast. She was making sounds she'd be embarrassed about later, needy and wanton, but he seemed to want them.
Each moan made him thrust harder, grip her tighter.
He kissed her hard, swallowing her moans, and when she shattered around him she felt him follow, his whole body going rigid as he buried himself deep and came with a sound that was almost a howl.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. His forehead rested against hers, both of them breathing hard, still joined. Willow could feel his heart racing where their chests pressed together, and when he lifted his head to look at her, the openness in his expression made her throat tight.
"Hey," he said softly. Like he was seeing her for the first time.
"Hey."
He kissed her again, gentler now, as the urgency faded into something that felt almost like tenderness. Then he shifted, pulling out of her carefully, and she winced at the sudden emptiness. He noticed. Of course he noticed.
"Come on. Let’s get you to that bed you mentioned." She smiled as he gathered her against his chest and carried her down the narrow hallway, where she pointed him toward her door without lifting her head from his shoulder.
Her room was small, just a narrow bed pushed against the wall and a worn quilt in shades of blue. Ryker laid her down like she was something precious, settling beside her, one hand tracing lazy patterns on her stomach while his eyes roamed her face.
The second time was slower. He mapped her body with his hands and mouth, learning the places that made her shiver, the spots where her skin was sensitive.
He kissed the freckles scattered across her shoulders, murmuring something against her that sounded like counted these, wanted to do this for weeks.
He even found a ticklish spot on her ribs that made her squirm and laugh, and the sound surprised both of them.
"There it is," he said softly, gazing up at her with a raw, unguarded look in his eyes. "That laugh is precious. You don't do it enough."
She pulled him up to kiss her instead of answering, because if she tried to speak right now she'd cry.
This was the moment she’d been hoping for all this time…
She wanted to ask him what it meant, but they were both too raw to go there now, so instead she pushed him onto his back and climbed on top, watching his face as she sank down onto him.
His eyes were hooded as his hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, followed by a delicious growl that rumbled through her blood.
This she could have. His hands on her leaving marks.
No matter what happened next, they would prove to her tomorrow that this had been real.
"Fuck," he breathed, staring up at her. "You're so beautiful. And so much more than I deserve."
The words hit her somewhere deep. She started to move, rolling her hips in a rhythm that made his eyes glaze, and his hands slid up to cup her breasts as she rode him.
The control was hers now, and she used it—rising until he almost slipped out, then sinking back down in one slow slide that made them both groan.
"That's it." His voice had gone guttural, his fingers pinching her nipples. "Take what you want."
She braced her hands on his chest and rode him harder, chasing the angle that lit her up. His abs flexed beneath her palms, his hips rising to meet her, and she watched his face twist with the effort of holding back.
"Not yet," she told him, and the sound he made was almost pained.
She slowed down, grinding against him, feeling every inch. His hands tightened on her hips, pulling her down harder, and when she clenched around him his head fell back against the pillow.
"Willow." A warning. "I can't—"
He knifed forward without warning, wrapping his arms around her, changing the angle so he could thrust up into her while she ground down. The new position put his mouth at her breasts, and he sucked one nipple while his fingers pinched the other, and Willow came with a sob.
He followed seconds later, his forehead pressed between her breasts, her name a broken sound on his lips.
They stayed like that for a while, wrapped around each other, heartbeats slowing together.
When he eased her down onto the mattress, he stretched out beside her, propped on one elbow, his free hand still touching her like he couldn't stop.
Her collarbone. The curve of her waist. The soft skin of her inner arm.
"I’ve watched you," he said quietly. "Every day. Told myself I wasn't, but I was."
Willow turned her head to look at him. His face was open in a way she'd never seen, the walls down, nothing guarded. It made him look younger. Softer.
His fingers traced up to her face, brushing a strand of damp hair from her cheek. "I've been an asshole."
"Yes," she agreed. "You have."
He laughed, low and rough, and kissed her forehead. "Maybe I should stop."
Something gave way in Willow's chest. All the armor she'd built, all the defenses she'd constructed against this exact moment—gone. She reached up and pulled him down to her, and he went willingly, covering her body with his.
Afterward, they lay tangled together, sweaty and spent.
Willow's head rested on his chest, rising and falling with each breath. His heartbeat had settled, steady and strong beneath her ear, and his arm curled around her waist like he couldn't stand to let her go. The quilt was bunched at their feet, kicked aside during their last session.
She should be worried. If she was smart she’d be cataloging all the reasons this was a mistake and all the ways it could blow up in her face. But her body was loose and warm, thoroughly satisfied in a way she’d never quite felt before, and she couldn't make herself care about tomorrow.
His fingers traced lazy patterns on her hip. She felt him press a kiss to the top of her head, gentle, almost reverent, and her heart turned over in her chest.
They'd finally broken through. All those walls he'd built, all the suspicion and coldness and cutting remarks—gone.
He'd finally looked past her mother and seen her.
Willow. Not Iris's daughter, not a threat to be managed, but the woman he'd been watching through the bakery window.
The woman he thought was brave and brilliant and beautiful.
She'd been chosen. Not tolerated, not accepted grudgingly. Chosen.
Her eyes grew heavy. The warmth of him surrounded her, pine and whiskey and the salt of clean sweat, and she let herself sink into it. Safe. Wanted. Two things she hadn't felt in longer than she could remember.
When sleep pulled her under, she went willingly, dreaming of nothing at all.