Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Cal
She’s been through it.
It doesn’t take a psychologist to see that Willow’s had a tough time, and that more than likely, most of that roughness came courtesy of men who treated her like she was only worth what they could get from her.
I never should have kissed her. I know that.
But that didn’t stop me when I kissed her—twice now—and then backed off, wanting her badly enough that it was becoming a serious fucking problem while also knowing every mixed signal only confused her more.
Willow understood men wanting things from her and taking them. What she didn’t understand was me wanting her while at the same time refusing to take advantage of the situation she was in.
Yet I’d still let myself give in to the pull that had been tugging on me from the very first time I saw her.
No. Not when I saw her. Not quite.
It was when she opened her mouth and stood up to that piece of shit, Ronnie Hatch. When I heard the fire in her voice when she stood up to him. One second, I was sitting at the bar minding my own business, and the next, I was ready to put that asshole through a wall for looking at her sideways.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget the rejection and confusion on her face when I broke that kiss.
But, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I’d become like every man in her life who took what they could from her.
And the next time I kissed her, because there would be a next time, she’d know exactly what it meant. Hell, she’d be the one to ask for it.
Even so, my stance on morality hasn’t made the last three days with her any easier. It’s only gotten worse.
She’s insisted on helping out or earning her keep, or whatever it is that’ll make her feel better about staying at my cabin, so I’ve given her a few tasks to do out in the garage with me. Stupid shit, like tidying up my work bench.
A chore that should be simple, but has somehow turned into an entire reorganization of all my toolboxes, cupboards, and drawers.
At first, I’m pissed when I go to work on my old truck and can’t find anything. The wrenches aren't where they’re supposed to be. Where the hell are the screwdrivers?
Maybe she considers it a mess, but my system of not having any system at all has always worked for me.
But when she walks over in those tiny cutoffs and a sway in her hips to show me exactly where she put everything and why it made sense, I find myself agreeing with her pretty quickly.
Sure, maybe it has something to do with the sassy smile on her face when she points out her reasoning, and maybe it has something to do with how delicious her tits looked in that tight tank top when she bends down to open a newly tidied drawer.
Either way, it doesn’t take me long to adjust to the new, cleaner space.
And to having her here.
I tighten the bolt beneath the hood of the truck and try not to look toward the open bay door where Willow is currently arguing with Murph over a tennis ball.
“You have to let it go,” she tries to tell the dog, who happily trots away from her with the ball still in his mouth. “That’s not how fetch works,” she yells after him, and I can’t help but laugh as she runs after him.
Murph, naturally, looks pleased with the outcome of his new game.
“It looks like he’s got you trained up pretty well,” I say with a smirk as I join her in the yard, wiping my hands on a rag.
She shoots me a glare, and I laugh. “Fetch was never his strong suit,” I tell her. “I think he prefers keep away.”
“Maybe he should have had better training,” she shoots back as she tries to wrestle the ball from his mouth. “I blame his owner.” Triumphant, she holds the ball up overhead and Murph obediently sits at her feet, his tail wagging wildly with the turn of events.
I shrug, and keep my gaze focused on the dog as Willow runs through a series of commands. To my surprise, Murph proceeds to shake a paw, roll over, and sit once more before she tosses the ball, sending him racing across the yard to retrieve it.
“I’m impressed,” I say honestly while we wait for the dog to come back.
“He’s a good boy.” Her voice softens, and I make the mistake of risking a glance in her direction.
She’s wearing an old pair of my sweats, cut off into tiny shorts, and rolled up at the waist to make them fit a bit better, along with one of my black t-shirts tied in a knot above her hip. The sleeve slips down, leaving her shoulder bare.
She makes the oversized clothes look sinfully sexy.
Her long, red hair is piled into a messy knot on the top of her head, and there’s dirt smudged across one cheek, no doubt left there by Murph. The irrational wave of jealousy I feel for my dog and how close he’s been able to get to Willow hits me hard.
She looks entirely too comfortable here.
And the problem is, I’m getting pretty comfortable having her here, too.
Behind me, music plays from the radio Willow dug out of a cupboard because she claimed it was too quiet to think, and working in silence was like something out of a serial killer documentary.
I still don’t understand what that means, but I’ve grown used to the music, the same way I’ve grown used to everything else when it comes to her.
I have to remind myself that this is all temporary.
The second Hatch gets the rest of his money, Willow won’t have a reason to stay here anymore.
I should probably be relieved by the thought. But instead, something low and sharp twists in my gut every time I let the thought cross my mind.
“You’re staring,” Willow says.
I blink and realize she’s standing a lot closer now. Murph has once more taken off with the ball.
“I was thinking.”
“About me?”
There’s no point in lying. “Yes.”
She doesn’t bother trying to hide the surprise on her face. “Are you going to tell me what exactly you’re thinking about me?”
It’s a dangerous question. I should lie.
My gaze drifts lazily over her before I can stop it.
“Just that those shorts are a problem?”
“The shorts?” She cocks an eyebrow. “They’re yours.”
“Not anymore, darling. They are most definitely yours.” And I’m never going to be able to look at a pair of old sweats without thinking of her long, lean legs.
Her breath catches.
Good. Maybe I’m not the only one struggling here.
A small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth before she bites it back, and dammit if that doesn’t send a shot of fire through me, straight to my cock.
The tension between us has been building for days. Every glance. Every accidental touch. Every moment in the kitchen late at night when she pads in barefoot wearing one of my shirts that barely covers her ass and asks if I ever sleep.
Truthfully, I haven’t slept a damn since she arrived. And not only because of Hatch, but because I’m very, very aware of her in my bed only a few feet away, with little more than a locked door separating us.
Every time I close my eyes, I see her: that sexy body splayed out on my sheets, red hair spread over my pillows, her scent soaked into every inch of a quilt I’ll never lie under again without picturing exactly how those soft curves would feel under my hands as I drive my cock into her heat.
Fuck. Me.
Judging by the way she’s looking at me right now, she knows exactly what I’m thinking. What I’m always thinking about when it comes to her.
Surprising us both, Murph chooses that moment to drop the tennis ball at our feet and sits expectantly, glancing between us, completely oblivious to the fact that the air around us suddenly feels thick enough to choke on.
“I’ll have the rest of Hatch’s money in a few days,” I say, changing the subject before I say something I shouldn’t. Or worse, do something I won’t be able to come back from.
Truthfully, Luke’s already making the run to the city for me to grab the cash. Once he’s back, this whole thing with Hatch is finished.
Years ago, Luke had shown a natural talent for investing and money management, so I, along with the rest of our brothers we’d served with, had trusted him with our finances. He’d never steered us wrong. And over the years, we’d all experienced massive gains.
“What happens then?” She asks, with only the slightest trace of concern on her face. “Will he…will I…”
“I’ll settle the debt.” I don’t meet her eyes. I bend down and pick up the ball, tossing it across the yard harder than necessary.
“And then?”
When I look up, she’s standing closer. Much closer.
Her eyes are locked on mine, flaring with challenge.
I probably should, but I don’t back down.
“And then,” I say, keeping my voice soft as I close what’s left of the space between us. “You can go home.”
Even speaking the words doesn’t feel right. I don’t want her to go home. I want to keep her right here.
“And then…” She reaches out and traces a finger down the front of my t-shirt until it’s resting lightly on the top of my belt buckle. “Will you fuck me then?”
Her words spark something deep and primal low in my gut. Something I’ve been trying to shove far enough down that I can pretend it doesn’t exist at all. But a man can only be pushed so far.
And just like that, I stop pretending.
Willow
He moves so suddenly, I take an automatic step backwards out of reflex. But then his hands are on me. One behind my head, the other on my waist, holding me in place as if I’m going to go anywhere. Not now that he’s finally giving in to whatever this is between us.
Because there is no way I’ve been imagining this heat between us. I see the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. The way he clenches his jaw like he’s trying to hold back out of some kind of…well, I don’t know why he’s been holding back.
For days now, I’ve wanted this man who wouldn’t let himself want me.
Until now.
Three days of me reliving our kisses in my head. Over and over, until every cell in my body felt it. Until my dreams were full of what it would feel like to have his hands sliding over my hot, bare skin.
But now I don’t need to imagine it at all.
It’s happening.
Finally.
A moan slips from my throat, and he slides his fingers through my hair, tugging my head to the side to give him access to my neck.
All logical thought flies out of my brain as his mouth starts moving lower, nipping at my jaw before landing on the sensitive spot below my ear that makes my knees go weak.
“I need you to understand something, Willow.” His voice is rough in my ear, only barely constrained. “This isn’t about what you think you owe me. Because you don’t owe me anything.”
I murmur an acknowledgment, but it’s not enough. Cal lifts his head and looks me in the eyes. “I mean it,” he says. “Not the debt. Not any of it. This is just you and me.”
“Okay.”
Still, he doesn’t resume his kisses. He cups my face in both hands instead, and stares at me intently.
“I need to be sure you understand, darling. Because as much as it’ll kill me, I will walk away right now if you don’t want this the way I do.
” I open my mouth, but he stops me. "And let me be clear, Willow, I want you.” His pupils darken.
His expression is one of pure hunger. “It’s been killing me to watch you walk around here in these ridiculous shorts that show off every inch of your legs, wearing my old shirts that do nothing to hide your gorgeous fucking tits.
” His eyes rake up and down my body, and without even touching me, I feel every sensation of his gaze.
But he’s not done yet. “I lay awake at night imagining just how sweet you’ll taste when I spread you out in front of me and bury my face between your legs.
” A flood of moisture soaks my panties, and a sigh slips from my lips.
“Do you want that, too, Willow? Do you want me to fuck you with my mouth until you’re screaming my name, soaking my beard with your sweet juices?”
I nod, rendered momentarily speechless.
“I need to hear it, Willow,” he says. “I need to hear you say that you want me to drive my cock into your pussy until you can’t think straight. Tell me you’ve been thinking about me the same way I’ve been thinking about you every damn night since you got here.”
“I want you.” The words are little more than a breath.
He’s painted such a picture with his words that I already can’t think straight.
But I know he needs to hear it, so I take a breath and try again.
“I’ve never wanted a man the way I want you, Cal.
Every night, I lie in your bed, under your blankets, and think about what it would be like to have your hands touching me instead of my own.
I fall asleep thinking about having you between my legs, about—”
He lets out a rough breath against my mouth. “Darling, if I finally get you underneath me, I’m not wasting a second of it sleeping.”