Chapter 16 #2
Cast shakes his head, anger cracking at the edges. “He almost got you killed, Willow. You want me to just stand here and—”
“So what?” she cuts him off, her voice steadier than either of ours.
“My life is in danger being your wife too, Cast. Don’t forget that.
” He stumbles back almost like he was hit, and then she turns to me, eyes glassy but resolute.
“And you—stop trying to carry the world by yourself. You can’t.
You’ll drown, and you’ll take both of us with you if you keep trying. ”
My throat tightens. “I know,” I manage.
“Then start showing it,” she says. “Start trusting each other. Or what we’ve built doesn’t survive this.”
The fight drains out of Cast first. He exhales through his nose, hands falling open at his sides. “She’s right,” he mutters.
I nod, voice rough. “Yeah. She always is.”
“I’m so tired of arguing with you, Vince,” Cast says, rubbing the back of his neck. His voice shakes, not from anger now, but exhaustion.
“Same,” I whisper. The word feels heavier than it should.
Willow’s tone softens. “Look at me.”
I turn toward her. Her eyes search my face, reading every line of regret I’ve tried to hide. I let her see it—the wreckage, the relief, the love. I don’t have the strength left to pretend.
“I need both of you close,” she says quietly. “Not fighting. Not running. Just here.”
I lean in first, careful, and kiss her forehead.
Her skin is warm. She exhales and lifts her chin a fraction, inviting without urgency.
Cast slides his hand over her hip, and then pauses, checking her face.
She nods at him. He leans in and kisses the inside of her wrist just above the bandage, lips barely there. She closes her eyes for a second.
“I love you,” I tell her. It slips out on a breath, unvarnished.
“I know,” she whispers, and her hand finds my jaw. “I love you too.”
Cast’s voice lowers near her ear. “I love you. I’ve got you.” His thumb strokes once along her hairline, careful of the bruise.
I swallow. The apology is pressing up behind my teeth, the one I kept choking down in the living room. It belongs here, in the space where I ask to be held and forgiven at the same time.
“Willow,” I say, and my voice scrapes. “I kept things from you. I-”
Her eyes open. “I don’t care.”
“He used my name to justify everything he did to you,” I push on, pulse pounding hard in my throat. “He used the company’s decisions as a map. And if I had looped Cast in, if I had looped you in, we would have gotten him sooner, and I-.”
“Tell me again,” she murmurs, eyes half-closed.
“That I’m sorry?” I ask.
“That you love me.”
“I love you,” I say, my mouth close enough to her ear that my breath warms the little hairs at her temple. “I love you, and I will not shut you out again.”
“Good,” she says, and a shaky smile touches her lips. “That’s all I need.”
I can’t help myself, despite the fact that I don’t deserve it.
I pull her into me, my lips immediately finding hers, and like the gracious, beautiful girl she is she opens her mouth softly, a low moan escaping her lips.
The sound she makes goes straight through me.
My hand skims under her t-shirt and rests at her ribs, stopping when I feel the hitch in her breath. “Here?” I ask.
“Here,” she says, and guides me.
Cast watches us with a look that’s not jealousy and not distance—present, focused, reverent in his own way. He lowers his mouth to the bruise at her jaw and stops just shy of it, lips brushing the unmarked skin beside it.
“This okay?” he asks, voice a low heat.
“Yes,” she breathes. “Don’t press.”
“I won’t,” he promises, and he nuzzles along the safe edge, peppering light, and patient kisses down to the corner of her mouth.
She turns toward him, and the three of us meet in a slow exchange—her mouth tasting both of us by turns, my breath mixing with Cast’s as we hover and trade places with care.
I slide my palm lower, flattening it over her abdomen. She covers my hand with hers and presses down a fraction. Her breath steadies.
Cast’s hand finds the curve of her hip. He squeezes once and loosens, a wordless you’re safe.
His mouth returns to her cheek, her jaw, the hollow in front of her ear.
“You’re here,” he says, kissing each word into her skin.
“You’re safe. You’re mine.” He pauses and corrects himself quietly. “You’re ours.”
Her eyes shine. “Say it again.”
“You’re ours,” he repeats, softer now, and his forehead rests against hers.
I stroke my thumb in a slow arc where our hands meet low.
Her body answers in small ways—a deeper inhale, the relaxing of her shoulder into me, a heat that’s not frantic, shy but certain.
My own body is loud with desire, but I keep it leashed behind the part of me that needs to show her I’ve learned something tonight—that listening can be touch, that touch can be listening.
Cast’s hand slides from her hip to the small of her back, pulling her more firmly into the space between our bodies. It’s a reclamation. A rewriting of a terrible moment.
“We can make it all better, Will,” Cast murmurs, his voice a rough vibration against her neck.
“Please, make it better, Cast,” Willow whispers, her eyes fluttering closed as my lips find the delicate skin of her throat. It’s an offering, a granting of permission that makes my chest ache.
My hands find the hem of her shirt. I glance at Cast, a silent question passing between us.
Are we doing this? His answering look is pure, unadulterated heat.
Yes. I lift the soft cotton up and over her head, letting it fall silently to the polished floor.
The sight of her in just a simple lace bra steals the air from my lungs.
She is all smooth, pale skin and gentle curves, the faint shadow of the bruise on her jaw the only imperfection.
Cast’s fingers are at the clasp of her bra. “Vincent?” he asks, a formality, a check-in.
“Please,” is all she says, her voice husky.
The clasp gives way. He doesn’t pull it off, just lets it hang loose for a moment, the straps slipping down her shoulders.
My mouth goes dry. I lean in, brushing my lips over the newly exposed slope of her shoulder, tasting salt and the faint, clean scent of her skin.
I kiss a trail inward, toward the swell of her breast, and feel her shudder against me.
Cast’s hands are on her waist, turning her just slightly, so her back is to his chest. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the nape of her neck, and she lets her head fall back against his shoulder with a soft sigh.
The movement makes her bra slip further, and this time I’m the one who gently pulls it away, letting it join her shirt on the floor.
God, she’s beautiful. The thought is a prayer. I’m hard, aching, every nerve ending firing, but this is slow. This is for her.
Cast’s hands slide up her torso, palms flat against her stomach, her ribs, until he’s cupping her breasts. She gasps, her eyes flying open to meet mine. I see no fear there, only a dazed, overwhelming want. “Is this…” he starts, his voice thick.
“Yes,” she cuts him off, breathless. “Your hands… they’re so warm.”
He strokes his thumbs over her nipples, and a sharp, needy sound escapes her.
I can’t stand it anymore. I lean in and replace his thumb with my mouth, my tongue swirling around the taut peak.
She cries out, her hands flying up to grip my shoulders, her nails digging into the fabric of my shirt.
The dual sensation—my mouth on her front, Cast’s solid, warm presence at her back—seems to unravel her. Her knees buckle slightly.
Cast holds her up easily, his arms wrapping around her, supporting her weight. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs into her hair. “We’ve got you.”
I move to her other breast, lavishing it with the same attention, and her moans become a continuous, low melody. My hands go to the button of her jeans, my fingers fumbling in my haste. I look up at her, a question in my eyes.
She bites her lip, her gaze flicking from my face to Cast’s and back again. Her chest is heaving. She gives one sharp, almost imperceptible nod.
The sound of the zipper coming down is obscenely loud in the quiet hall.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of her jeans and her simple cotton panties, and slowly, so slowly, push them down over her hips.
They catch at her thighs, and Cast helps, his own hands joining mine to ease the fabric down her legs until she’s stepping out of them, left in nothing but the low light and our reverent attention.
She stands between us, gloriously bare, her skin flushed. Cast’s hands roam her back, her sides, cupping her rear and squeezing gently. I just stare, drinking her in. My hand finds the inside of her thigh, my thumb stroking the sensitive skin there, inching higher.
Her breath hitches. She’s watching me, her eyes dark with a mix of trust and desperate anticipation. My thumb strokes higher, just brushing the very edge of her core. She’s so warm, so ready. A shudder wracks her whole body.
Cast makes a low, approving sound against her neck. “Look at you,” he whispers, his own voice strained. “So perfect for us.”
My fingers trace her wetness, a slow, teasing circle that makes her whimper and push her hips forward, seeking more pressure.
I give it to her, just a little, my own control fraying at the edges.
This is the edge. This is as far as we go tonight, right here in the hallway.
The promise of more, of everything, hangs thick in the air between us, a debt of pleasure yet to be paid.
Her head is thrown back on Cast’s shoulder, her lips parted, her entire body taut like a bowstring under our hands. “Vincent…” she breathes, and it sounds like both a plea and a prayer.