28. Willow
28
WILLOW
Chapter 28 ():
After a couple of days, my mother is fully moved into the Chessmen’s penthouse, her room is in the east wing while my room is in the west. I refuse to talk to her when I see her and the resentment that I have for her and Damien only grows with every passing day.
Damien refuses to come back home no matter what I do or who talks to him. I don’t know whether or not Cast knows about the engagement, but he’s too busy with Valentina to confront me, or at least that’s what I think until he summons me to his bedroom.
It’s damn near two in the morning when he arrives, and I am laying across his bed with a book in my hand and wearing my pajamas. A baby pink satin dress that basically should be underwear with no bra or underwear, and when Cast walks in and sees me he pauses.
“Maybe I should make you move in here with me?” He chuckles, yanking down on the tie around his throat.
“Tell me when to pack my bags,” I tease while sitting up on his bed.
He unbuttons his shirt and scoffs. “Wouldn’t you have to ask your fiancé first?”
Fuck. “ You know?”
“Of course I fucking know.” He kicks off his shoes. His body moves with an easy, almost lazy confidence as he crawls onto the bed, his hands pressing into the mattress on either side of me, caging me in.
“You think I wouldn’t find out?” His voice is low, husky, edged with sinister resolve.“Vincent claimed you, by proposing to you behind our backs, like that would change anything.” He leans in, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him. “Like that would make you any less mine.”
I swallow hard, my body betraying me even as my mind screams at me to be careful. “I’m not—” I start, but he cuts me off with a dark chuckle.
“You’re not what, Willow?” His lips hover near my ear, his breath sending a shiver down my spine. “You’re not what?” His voice is low, a dangerous purr that makes my stomach tighten. “Not mine?”
I should say yes. I should push him away, remind him that I’m engaged to Vincent, that this—whatever this is—shouldn’t be happening. But the truth tangles in my throat, and all that comes out is a shaky exhale.
His fingers skim down my arm, slow and deliberate, sending tingles across my skin. “Say it,” he murmurs, his nose brushing against my jaw. “Say you don’t belong to me.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. The words are there, lodged somewhere deep, but they won’t come. They can’t . Not when the air between us feels like it’s on fire, not when his touch is already searing into me.
Cast hums, pleased, his lips quirking up in a smug and victorious regard. “That’s what I thought.”
Then he kisses me.
It’s not soft. It’s not tentative. It’s a claiming, a reminder, a punishment all at once. His lips crash against mine, and I feel it everywhere—hot, electric, dizzying. His hands slide into my hair, tugging just enough to make me gasp, and he takes advantage, deepening the kiss with a hunger that makes my head spin.
I should stop this. I should tell him no. But when my fingers curl into his open shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away, I know—I was never going to say no to Cast.
His hands are everywhere, rough and possessive, leaving trails of heat in their wake. My back hits the bed with a soft thud, and his body presses into mine, hard and unyielding. His lips leave mine to trail down my neck, biting and sucking in a way that makes my knees weak. I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel.
“Cast,” I whisper, my voice trembling. It’s meant to be a protest, a boundary, but it comes out sounding like a plea.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and burning with a dominant and possessive stare. “Say it,” he demands again, his voice rough. “Say you’re mine.”
I shake my head, but it’s weak, half-hearted. “I can’t.”
“You can,” he growls, his hands tightening on my hips, his fingers digging into my skin. “Say it.”
I open my mouth, but the words won’t come. Instead, I let out a whimper as his lips find my collarbone, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. My hands grip his shoulders, unsure whether I’m trying to push him away or pull him closer.
Cast doesn’t give me a choice. He lifts me onto his lap, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, as I straddle him.
“Say it,” he orders again, his voice low and dangerous.
I swallow hard, trying to find the words, trying to deny him, but all I can manage is a soft gasp as his hand slides up my thigh, pushing my dress higher. His touch is electric, sending shocks of pleasure through my body, and I can’t help but arch into him.
“Cast,” I breathe, my voice shaking. “I?—”
He cuts me off with another kiss, this one deeper, more demanding. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and I can’t help but moan, my hands tangling in his hair. He pulls away just long enough to yank off his shirt, and then he’s back, his bare skin pressed against mine, hot and hard and so, so intoxicating.
His lips find my ear again, his breath hot against my skin. “Tell me you’re mine, Willow,” he whispers, his voice rough with need. “Say it, or I’ll make you.”
My heart pounds in my chest as he lays me back down on his bed, the sheets cool against my overheated skin. He hovers above me, his eyes locked on mine, and I can see the hunger in them, the raw need that mirrors my own.
I shiver, my body trembling under his touch. “I—I’m yours,” I finally whisper, the words barely audible.
He growls, low and satisfied, and his lips crash against mine again, this time even more demanding. His hands continue their assault, exploring, claiming, leaving no part of me untouched. I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel.
God, I’m lost.
He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down my neck, his teeth grazing my skin in a way that makes me gasp. His hands slip under my dress, pushing it up and over my head, leaving me bare before him. His eyes rake over me, dark and hungry, and I feel exposed, vulnerable, but also wanted in a way I’ve never felt before.
“Cast,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he kisses me again, his hands exploring every inch of my body, setting me on fire. I’m drowning in him, in the way he touches me, the way he makes me feel. His lips leave mine to trail down my body, leaving a path of heat in their wake, and I can’t help but arch into him, my hands gripping the sheets.
“Say it again,” he demands, his voice thick with possession.
“I’m yours,” I whisper, breathless, my pulse thrumming beneath his touch.
A deep, satisfied growl rumbles from his chest before his mouth crashes against me—hot, demanding, even more possessive. My world narrows to the heat of his tongue, the scrape of his teeth, the way his hands anchor me in place as he drives me higher. Every nerve ignites, pleasure winding tight, and I can't hold back the moan that spills from my lips.
Cast doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. He devours me, his tongue flicking, stroking, teasing in a perfect, ruthless symphony against my core. His grip tightens, keeping me exactly where he wants me as he works me open, drawing shuddering gasps from my lips. My fingers tangle in his hair, nails biting into his scalp as I arch into him, desperate, breathless. “Cast—I?—”
His dark gaze flicks up, burning, commanding. “Yes, you can.”
The rough authority in his voice unravels me. A shuddering cry breaks from my lips as I fall apart, pleasure slamming through me in waves. He stays with me through it, drawing out every last tremor until I’m limp beneath him, my breath coming in shaky gasps.
But he’s not done. Not even close.
His lips trail a heated path up my body, tasting, claiming. By the time his mouth finds mine, I’m already arching into him, already needing more. His kiss is a collision of hunger and control, his hands branding me as he settles between my thighs.
“Say it again,” he murmurs, voice rough against my lips. “I don’t want to hear anything else.”
“I’m yours,” I breathe, my body still trembling.
A guttural sound escapes him, and then he’s inside me, stretching, filling, consuming. I gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders, but he doesn’t give me time to adjust. His hips snap forward, his rhythm merciless, and I can only cling to him as pleasure detonates me all over again.
His teeth scrape my jaw, his voice a dark promise. “You belong to me.”
His hands grip my hips, pulling me impossibly closer, his movements growing sharper, deeper. Each thrust steals my breath, sends electric heat racing through my veins. “Say it,” he orders, his voice raw.
“I belong to you, Cast.”
Satisfaction flickers in his gaze before his lips claim mine again—hot, bruising, unforgiving. My body tightens, need coiling deep, spiraling out of control. He knows. He feels it. And he pushes me harder, his hand sliding between us, coaxing, demanding, until I shatter beneath him again, a helpless cry on my lips.
He follows with a rough groan, his body tensing, his grip on me unyielding as he comes undone.
For a moment, the only sound between us is the ragged tangle of our breaths. Then his lips brush my temple, softer now, reverent. “Mine.”
I nod, still trembling, fingers threading through his hair. “Only yours.”
A slow, wicked smile curves his lips. “Good girl.”
His hands slide down my body, possessive, teasing as he pulls out of me, our cum mixing “Now, tell Vincent the engagement is off.”
My body stiffens against his, the post-bliss warmth instantly chilled. I push against his chest, forcing space between us, my heartbeat hammering for an entirely different reason now.
“No.”
The word hangs between us, sharp, defiant.
Cast’s expression darkens, that dangerous edge surfacing in his gaze. He pulls back, his grip tightening on my waist as if to keep me from slipping away. “What the fuck do you mean, ‘no’?”
I shake my head, untangling myself from him as I slide off the bed, reaching for my dress. My hands tremble slightly as I pull it over my head, but I force my voice to stay steady. “I mean, I’m not calling it off.”
His silence is thick with fury. I feel his gaze burning into my back as I smooth the fabric down, trying to regain even a shred of control.
Then, suddenly, he’s in front of me, fingers gripping my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “No one who is mine belongs to another man.”
I swallow hard, my pulse pounding, but I refuse to back down. “You don’t own me, Cast.”
His jaw ticks. “Like hell I don’t.”
I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “This?” I motion between us. “This wasn’t some grand declaration of ownership. It was sex.”
His eyes flash, his grip tightening just enough to remind me exactly who I’m dealing with. “Don’t fucking play with me, Willow.”
“I’m not,” I snap, yanking my chin free. “But I won’t let you dictate my life. Vincent and I?—”
Cast’s growl is pure menace as he steps closer, crowding me back against the door. “Don’t fucking say his name right now.”
“Why? Because it reminds you that I have a choice?” I shoot back, my breathing unsteady. “That you don’t control me?”
His eyes narrow, and for a second, I see something else beneath the anger—something raw and unhinged. “If you want to leave this room, Willow, then hear me loud and fucking clear.” He leans in, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “You walk out that door, and we’re done.”
The air between us crackles, the weight of his ultimatum bearing down on me.
I swallow, my throat tight. My hands clench at my sides, but I keep my chin high, my resolve unwavering. “Then I guess we’re done.”
I don’t wait for his reaction. I don’t give myself time to second-guess. I turn on my heel, my pulse hammering against my ribs, and walk out.
The second I step into the hallway, the air feels thinner, but the suffocating weight in my chest only grows. The echo of my footsteps is drowned out by the pounding rain against the windows. I barely register the blur of the penthouse lobby, my only focus on getting out.
By the time I push through the revolving doors, the storm is relentless. Rain slashes at my skin, soaking through my clothes in seconds, but I don’t stop. I hail the first taxi I see, slipping inside before my mind can betray me, before the weight of what I just did crushes me.
"Where to?" the driver asks, his voice scratchy, indifferent.
I hesitate for only a moment before rattling off Vincent's address.
The name tastes foreign on my tongue, but it’s the only place I can go. Vincent was kicked out of the penthouse by Damien the night he found out we were engaged with strict rules that he was not welcomed there any longer. I was only allowed to stay because Cast said so, but Damien hasn’t talked to me since.
The car pulls away from the curb, and I press my forehead to the cool glass, my breath fogging up the window. Cast’s voice still echoes in my head. You walk out that door, and we’re done.
A week ago, I wouldn’t have believed he could say those words. A week ago, I was still trying to pretend there was a version of us that could survive this.
But right now, I don’t know if I can.