13. Willow
13
WILLOW
B eing back at the penthouse feels like home, but this time Cast won’t let me sleep alone, and there is no such thing as my room anymore. Everything is ours, as if Cast is afraid I will run away again.
I open my eyes to the soft glow of morning light filtering through the windows. Cast's arm draped possessively over my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck. Being trapped like this should feel suffocating, but there's something oddly comforting about it too. A twisted sense of safety I never thought I'd find with him.
I try to move, but Cast's grip tightens instinctively. Even in sleep, he won't let me go. His curls brush against my shoulder as he pulls me closer, murmuring something unintelligible into my skin. The scent of his expensive cologne mingles with the faint traces of whiskey from last night.
"Where do you think you're going, Carina?" His voice is rough with sleep. Those green eyes flutter open, watching me with an intensity that makes my stomach flip .
"Nowhere," I whisper.
Cast's lips curve into that signature smile – the one that's gotten him out of trouble and into everyone's good graces his entire life. Everyone except me. I know what lurks beneath that charming exterior. I've seen the darkness that flashes in those eyes when things don't go his way, witnessed the calculated cruelty he's capable of when crossed. I like that side of him way more than the charismatic mask he has for everyone else.
"Good," he says, tracing a finger along my jawline. "Because you belong right here with me." There's something possessive in his tone that should frighten me, but doesn't. Not anymore.
He sits up suddenly, running a hand through his disheveled curls. The morning light catches the various scars that crisscross his tanned skin..
"You know," he says thoughtfully, those green eyes suddenly distant, "I used to hate sleeping with someone else in the room." He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Paranoia's a bitch when you've got as many enemies as I do."
I remain silent, knowing he's not finished.
"But with you..." He looks down at me, and for a second, I see something genuine break through that carefully constructed facade. "With you, Carina, I actually sleep for what feels like the first time."
I grab his jaw, pulling his face to mine, and in an instant, our lips collide. It's fierce, a rush of need and desire, as though the world outside this room doesn't exist. His mouth is warm, slightly demanding, but still holding that edge of control that makes me want to test it. My fingers dig into the skin of his jaw as I guide him closer, deepening the kiss. His breath is hot against my lips, each exhale mixing with mine in a desperate rhythm.
"Now," he says, that mischievous glint returning to his eyes as he pulls me against his chest once more, "how about we make use of this bed before the day really starts? After all," his lips ghost against my ear, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine, "what's the point of having a pawn if you don't play with her?"
I shiver, my body reacting to him before my mind can catch up. He gently lowers himself toward me, his hands sliding up my thighs as he hovers over me, his green eyes scanning my face like he’s trying to memorize every detail. I can feel the heat of his body, the way his muscles tense and relax as he moves. My heart is racing, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps as I watch him. Is this still a game? I wonder. Or is this something more?
Cast’s fingers trail up my side, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He leans down, his lips brushing against my neck in a kiss that’s almost too soft, too gentle for the storm raging inside me. I arch into him, my hands tangling in his hair as I pull him closer, needing more. His teeth graze my skin, and I gasp, my nails digging into his scalp. He chuckles, the sound low and dark, and then his mouth is on mine again, his kiss deeper, more insistent.
His hands are everywhere—on my hips, my waist, my thighs—and I can’t think, can’t breathe. Every touch feels like it’s lighting me up from the inside, like he’s unraveling me piece by piece. His fingers slide under the hem of my nightie, and I moan into his mouth as they brush against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with desire, and I can see the faintest hint of something else—something that makes my chest ache in a way I can’t explain.
"Tell me what you want," he murmurs, his voice rough, his fingers teasing the edge of my panties. I bite my lip, my heart pounding in my chest as his fingers dip lower, brushing against the sensitive skin between my legs, and I can’t hold back the moan that escapes my lips.
"Cast," I breathe, my voice trembling. His name feels like a plea, a prayer, and I can see the way it affects him, the way his jaw tightens and his eyes darken. He kisses me again, his mouth hungry, demanding, and then his fingers are sliding under the fabric of my panties, his touch deliberate, teasing. I gasp, my hips lifting off the bed as he brushes against me, his fingers exploring me with a slow, torturous rhythm.
"You’re so wet," he murmurs against my lips, his voice thick with desire. His fingers dip lower, circling my clit in a way that makes my entire body tense. I moan, my hands clutching at his shoulders as he pushes me closer and closer to the edge. His touch is expert, knowing exactly where to press, how to move, and I can feel myself unraveling under his hands.
"Look at me," he commands, his voice low and rough, and I do, my eyes meeting his as he watches me fall apart. There’s something in his gaze, something that feels like it’s reaching into the very core of me, and I can’t look away. His fingers move faster, harder, and I can feel the tension building inside me, coiling tighter and tighter until I feel like I might break.
"Cast," I gasp, my voice breaking as the first wave of pleasure crashes over me. My body trembles, my nails digging into his skin as I ride out the waves, his fingers never stopping, never slowing. He watches me with an intensity that feels almost too much, his eyes never leaving mine as I come undone under his touch.
When the tremors finally subside, he pulls his hand away, his fingers glistening, and I can see the smug satisfaction in his eyes. I bite my lip looking at his fingers shining with me.
He clicks his tongue, “You dirtied me up, Carina.”
“I’m so sorry sir,” I whisper, my eyes trained on the way I shine on his fingers and lips.
His fingers drag over my bottom lip, “Are you going to clean me up, pretty girl?”
I lean forward, my heart pounding as I bring my lips closer to his fingers. Slowly, I trace my tongue over the pads of his fingers, feeling the coolness of his skin mixed with the lingering warmth of me. The taste of him and me mixes on my tongue, the saltiness from his skin and the sweet slick honey of my release. I can't help but savor it, my eyes flickering up to meet his darkened stare as I clean him off, each pass of my tongue slow, deliberate.
His fingers tremble slightly as I move down to the next one, flicking my tongue across the tips, the soft pressure of my lips wrapping around each digit, sucking gently. The flavor of me coats my tongue, each taste making the desire burn hotter, my body moving closer without even realizing it, as if I'm being pulled toward him, helpless to the way he makes me feel.
"Don’t stop on my account."
The words hit me like a bucket of ice water, pulling me out of the haze. I freeze, my lips still on his fingers as my head snaps up in shock. Standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the wall, is Damien looking at me with the heat of a thousand suns, and a smile so smug I feel an urge to crawl to him for worship.
“Why the fuck are you here Damien?” Cast groans into the curve of my neck obviously annoyed that we were interrupted.
"I thought I’d take our girl out on a date," Damien says with a lazy shrug, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, his smirk just shy of wicked.
I shoot up so fast I nearly get whiplash, my grin stretching so wide it makes my cheeks ache—but I can't help it. "Really?"
"Yeah, Trouble," he drawls, amusement lacing his voice. "And I’ll pick up where Cast left off."
Before Cast can launch himself at him, Damien chuckles and ducks behind the door just as a pillow flies across the room. "Pendejo," Cast grumbles, still sprawled out on the bed, frustration written all over his face.
Giggling, I slide out of Cast’s arms, darting toward his private bathroom, already buzzing with excitement.
"Carina," Cast growls, voice dark with warning, "I’ll punish you later if you leave me here with blue balls."
I pause at the doorway, turning just enough to flash him a dazzling, teasing smile. "You’ll have to catch me first."
I feel the gentle breeze against my skin as Damien leads me along the winding path through Thornhaven Park. His hand is warm in mine, a wicker basket swinging from his other arm .
“Are we there yet?” I ask, my eyes darting across the empty park, filled with flowers just coming into bloom, the sight is magical and I want to stay here forever.
“Has no one taught you patience, Trouble?” He teases, pulling me closer to his body, a dimpled smile on his face.
“Nope,” I say. “I think you’ll have to teach me.”
“Or I can just punish you.” He shrugs.
I pinch his side. “Don’t tell me you’re a sadist.”
“No, that’s Cast,” he scoffs, moving his head down to my ear as he whispers. “But I would love to see you squirm.”
I swallow roughly, well because what the hell can I say to that other than yes, please. Damien leads me deeper into Thornhaven Park, where a massive willow tree sways gently in the breeze. Its long branches drape around us like a curtain, shielding us from the rest of the world. The spot is perfect—secluded, quiet, untouched.
He sets the wicker basket down and spreads a soft blanket beneath the tree, motioning for me to sit.
"You really went all out," I say, glancing at the already set up blanket, pillows and crystal glasses .
“Anything for you, Trouble.” He winks as he unpacks the basket with that methodical precision that characterizes everything he does—artisanal cheeses, fresh berries, warm bread, and pastries from that French bakery I mentioned once in passing. Of course he remembered. The Knight forgets nothing.
"Wine?" He's already pouring me a glass, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Trying to get me tipsy, Damien?" I tease, accepting the glass from him. "I'm starting to think you have ulterior motives."
Damien's laugh is a rare sound, deep and genuine. "If I had ulterior motives, you'd know it." His fingers brush against mine as he hands me the glass, lingering just a moment too long. "I prefer you completely aware of what's happening between us."
“And what’s happening between us?” I tease, taking a small sip of the crisp sweet wine.
“I am wining and dining you, in hope that I can make up for being a complete dick to the love of my life.” He says so matter of factly, it catches me off guard.
I clear my throat, heat exploding off the tips of my ears. “I forgave you a long time ago.”
“Really?” He questions, sitting down and pulling me onto his lap. The wine splashes a little onto the blanket and I giggle as I hit his chest. He murmurs into my hair. “Why?”
“I had no choice.” I shrug, staring into his stormy eyes. “I knew I loved you, and there was nothing I could do about it.”
He catches my wrist right after I put my wine glass down and presses a slow kiss to my pulse point. My breath hitches, but before I can say anything, he releases me, reaching for the wine and pouring himself a glass as he says, “I don’t deserve you, Trouble. I don’t fucking deserve you.”
We eat and talk, and I find myself relaxing in a way I rarely do, and never have around him. There's something about being here, hidden away under this willow tree with him, that makes me feel seen, safe and loved. The sun casts golden light through the branches as it begins to set.
Damien leans back on his elbows, his gaze on me, thoughtful. “Do you ever think about painting again?”
I pause, my fingers tracing the edge of the blanket as I try to find the right words.
“I used to paint because everything felt too big—too loud. I couldn’t make sense of my emotions unless I put them on a canvas,” I admit.
Damien tilts his head, his grey eyes locked onto mine, as realization crosses his face. “So, what? You only paint when you’re spiraling?”
I shift, suddenly self-conscious under the weight of his gaze. “That’s not what I mean.”
“Then explain it to me.”
I let out a slow breath. “Painting was how I survived. It was the only way I knew how to process everything. I would pour myself into my art because if I didn’t, I felt like I’d drown in it all.” I bite my lip. “But I don’t feel like that anymore.”
“What changed?” He questions, his eyebrows scrunching in a cute way that makes him look innocent.
“You. Cast. Vincent.” I bite my lip, but quickly release it when Damien growls. “Since being with you three. I don’t feel that out of control anymore. You guys ground me. I feel stable.”
He exhales, shaking his head. “That’s a damn shame.”
My brows pull together. “What?”
“I love your art.” He sighs leaning back with his arms tucked behind his head.
I toss a pillow over his face. “You’ve never seen my art.”
He pulls the pillow behind his head and wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Wrong!”
“When did you see it?”
“I would sneak into Miss Robinson’s room.” He says nonchalantly and my eyes bug out of my head.
I gape at him, completely floored. “You snuck into Miss Robinson’s classroom?”
He grins, dimples on full display. “Technically, I walked in.”
“You broke in ?” I clarify, sitting up straighter.
Damien snorts. “It wasn’t exactly Fort Knox, Trouble. The door was open half the time.”
I groan, dropping my head into my hands. “Oh my God.”
He nudges my thigh with his knee. “Relax. It’s not like I stole anything. I just wanted to see what you were working on.”
I peek at him through my fingers. “And you didn’t think to—I don’t know— ask me?”
“Would you have shown me?”
I open my mouth, ready to say yes … but the truth sticks in my throat. Because he’s right. I wouldn’t have .
I used to guard my art like a secret, terrified of what people would see in it—what they’d see in me .
Damien’s expression softens like he can read every thought flickering across my face. “Didn’t think so,” he murmurs.
I blow out a breath, flopping back onto the blanket. “I can’t believe you were creeping on my paintings this whole time.”
“Not creeping ,” he corrects, shifting onto his side to face me. “Admiring. There’s a difference.”
I roll my eyes, but the warmth in my chest betrays me.
“You’re insanely good, Willow,” he says, his voice quieter now. “You should never stop.”
I turn my head, meeting his gaze. There’s no teasing there, no smirk, just quiet certainty. “And what about you?”
“What about me?” He shrugs.
“You haven’t gotten back on the ice since your concussion.”
Damien exhales, his gaze flickering to the horizon for a moment before he meets my eyes again. "I had to recover and then you had surgery."
I raise an eyebrow, not backing down. “And obviously, I’m fine.” I point at my body, shaking my head with a small laugh. “What gives?”
He shifts, sitting up a little straighter, a quiet tension settling around him. “It’s not about the surgery, Willow.”
I frown, studying him. “Then what is it?”
“It’s the concussion. I’m cleared, yeah, but every time I get on the ice now, I’m in my own head. I don’t know if I can trust my body the way I used to.” He looks away for a moment, his jaw tightening. “It messes with you more than you think. And I don’t want to go back out there until I’m sure I can play like I did before.”
I scoot closer, my fingers grazing his knee.“You need to clear your mind before you get back on the ice.”
Damien gives a short, humorless laugh. “You think so?”
I lean in, my lips curling into a teasing smile. “Yup, and I know just how to do it.”
He raises an eyebrow. “How?”
I push one strap of my sundress down and Damien follows the fabric with heated eyes.
“Willow, what are you doing?” he murmurs, his voice rough, strained.
I roll my eyes, feigning nonchalance as I push the other strap down, the dress pooling around my waist. “Clearing your mind, obviously.” My smirk widens, and I can see the way his jaw tightens, the way his hands flex like he’s fighting the urge to grab me.
He doesn’t say anything, just watches me with those dark, intense eyes. I can feel the heat of his gaze like a physical touch, and it only makes me bolder. I shift, straddling his lap, the blanket beneath us soft against my knees. The park is quiet, the willow tree above us casting dappled shadows over his face. It’s just us here, hidden from the world.
“You’re overthinking,” I whisper, leaning in until my lips brush his ear. “Stop fighting it.”
His breath hitches, and I feel his hands finally settle on my hips, fingers digging into my skin. “You’re a distraction,” he growls, but there’s no real anger in his voice. Just hunger .
“Good,” I say, nipping at his earlobe. “That’s the point.”
I pull back slightly, enough to see the way his chest rises and falls, the way his eyes are already clouded with desire. I press my hands against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palms.
I lean in again, my lips brushing against his as I whisper, “You’re not gonna break me, Damien. I can take it.”
With a low growl, he flips us, his body pressing mine into the blanket. The weight of him is intoxicating, and I can’t help the soft moan that escapes my lips as his mouth crashes into mine. His kiss is hungry, desperate, and I match him every step of the way, my fingers running across the nape of his neck into the prickle of his buzz cut.
When he pulls back, his lips are swollen, his eyes wild. “You’re gonna regret this,” he warns.
“Doubt it,” I breathe, arching into him.
He doesn’t waste any more time. His hands are everywhere, pulling the rest of my dress off, leaving me bare beneath him. The cool air brushes against my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his body. His mouth finds my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, and I gasp, my fingers tightening in his hair.
“You’re such a little tease,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice rough. “Always pushing, always testing me.”
“And you love it,” I manage to say, my voice trembling as his lips trail lower.
He doesn’t deny it. Instead, I hear the click of his belt and the zip of his jeans as his mouth moves lower, closing over one nipple, and I cry out, my back arching off the blanket. He’s ruthless, his tongue swirling and teasing until I’m writhing beneath him.
“Damien,” I gasp, my hands clutching at his shoulders.
He pulls back, his eyes meeting mine as he shifts, sliding his cock from his jeans and positioning himself between my legs. “You wanted this,” he says, his voice low, dangerous. “So take it.”
And then he’s inside me, and I’m gasping, my nails digging into his back. He’s big, always has been, and the stretch is almost too much, but god, it’s exactly what I need. He moves slowly at first, giving me time to adjust, but I don’t want slow. I want him to lose control, to forget everything but this.
“Faster,” I demand, my voice shaking.
He growls, low and deep in his chest, and obliges, his hips snapping against mine. The sound of skin against skin fills the air, and I can’t help the noises that escape my lips. He’s relentless, his thrusts hard and deep, and I can feel the coil of pleasure tightening in my stomach.
But then he leans down, his lips brushing against my ear, and the words he whispers send a whole new wave of heat through me.
“You like this, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice dark, husky. “Being fucked like a little slut in the middle of a park.”
My breath catches, and I feel my face flush, but instead of shame, all I feel is need. I love it. I love the way his words make me feel, the way they make me burn.
“Yes,” I gasp, my hands clutching at his back.
He growls, his hips snapping harder against mine. “Say it,” he demands, his breath hot against my ear .
“I love it,” I moan, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “I love being your little slut.”
He groans, his thrusts even harder, even deeper. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and the praise makes my toes curl.
I can feel the orgasm building, threatening to overwhelm me, but I’m not ready yet. Not until he’s there with me. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and he grunts, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to leave bruises.
“Cum for me,” he growls, his voice ragged. “Be a my naughty fucking slut and cum for me.”
And that’s all it takes. My climax crashes over me, and I cry out, my body tightening around his. He groans, his pace faltering as he follows me over the edge, his fingers digging into my skin.
Then he pulls back, his eyes meeting mine, and there’s something in his gaze that makes my stomach flip. “You’re mine,” he says, his voice low, possessive.
“Always,” I whisper, my heart racing.
And then his lips are on mine again, and I lose myself in him all over again.