27. Chapter 27
Willow
My music plays through the AirPods in my ears as my feet pound on the gravel below me.
I keep replaying the conversations I’ve had with Weston, unable to shake the fire it has stirred in me.
He’s made it well known that he's going to win my heart back, and the longer I’m around him, the more I want to let him.
I’ve gotten a taste of what we’ve been missing, and I think I want more.
I come up around the curve and see Weston‘s cabin come into view. It’s exactly the home I would have wanted.
I wonder if he thought of me while he was fixing it up.
The tulips in the front add a nice splash of color.
His place has the perfect bones for a forever home.
It’s a perfect mix between rustic and modern, and I really love it.
The interior just needs some warmth. Nice rugs, throw pillows, you know, the things men don’t think matter but make all the difference in the way a room feels.
I give the last little bit of this run all I’ve got, trying to burn off all this anxious and slightly pissed off energy. As I walk up the steps to the front door, sweat pours into my eyes. I’m definitely going to need a shower.
Walking into the house, I immediately head for the kitchen.
I need a tall glass of ice-cold water. After a few chugs, I feel a little bit less like I just spent the summer in the Sahara.
Humming along to my favorite song that is bumping in my headphones, I walk up to the bathroom.
I should probably grab my clothes, but Weston’s at work, so it doesn’t matter anyway, plus catching me covered in a towel is probably inevitable while we live together.
I pull my phone out and press pause as I push through the door and hear my name being called.
Through the frosted glass of the shower door, I can see the side of Weston’s naked, wet frame.
Time has been kind to him because, good Lord, does that man look amazing.
He was a relatively scrawny eighteen-year-old boy last time I saw him naked.
Even then, he got me hot and bothered, but now with his filled-out frame, wide shoulders, and muscles that definitely were not there last time.
Holy shit.
It’s clear he hasn’t noticed me come in, or if he has, he has no shame. He strokes his hand up and down his hard length, and I feel a fire bloom within me.
“Fuck, Willow, just like that,” he growls as he works his length. Water drips from his hand as it flexes around the head of his cock.
Heat blasts through me.
He said my name.
My name.
I should leave. I need to leave before he sees me, but it’s like I’m frozen in place. My body feels like an inferno. My legs rub together to ease some of the throbbing in my core. If I can just build up enough pressure, it might relieve some of the ache I’ve had building up.
Closing my eyes, I take in the way his grunts and low moans sound. My back is plastered to the door, and I really need to get out of here before I get caught. There’s no way in hell I can explain this.
“Fuck me, Willow. Just like that.” The hand propping against the wall squeezes into a fist. How I wish that hand was on me. In my hair, rubbing down my body.
Maybe I can slide my hand down and relieve some tension. Clearly, he thinks of me when he does it, so this can’t be wrong.
I go to slide my phone in my pocket and music starts blaring through the speaker.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I fumble with my phone and end up dropping it. Son of a bitch. You have got to be kidding me. I try to pick it up, but it’s harder than you’d think with shaky hands.
“Uhm, not that I mind your company, but what are you doing in here?” Weston asks as I snatch my phone off the ground.
I stand ramrod straight, Diva by Beyoncé still blaring on my phone. Fuck that song. I am never listening to it again.
“Well, I.. I, uhm. I went for a run and I needed a shower.”
“And you thought that watching me shower would make you feel cleaner?” He stands with his hands over his crotch; they’re doing a terrible job of covering it up. So I turn around and face the wall. It’s less embarrassing this way.
I watched him do a lot more than shower, but that’s a need-to-know situation, and he does not need to know that I watched him jerk off to the thought of me.
“You’re never in here. You’re usually in your own shower.”
“Correct, but I just recalked the shower so it needs a few hours to dry.”
“Well, that would have been good to know,” I seethe.
“But then you wouldn’t have got to see me naked? Did you like the sound of your name coming off my lips?” His voice has an edge to it, brought on by his desire.
My cheeks flood with heat from the embarrassment. I am never going to live this down. The only solution is to change my name and flee the country. “I have no clue what you are talking about.”
“You think I didn’t see you come in? I heard the door open and figured you would leave when you saw it was occupied.”
“Well, I’m going to go ahead and do that now.” I should have done it three minutes ago when I thought about it.
"I think you wanted to watch, to see what you do to me," he taunts as he turns half toward me, giving me the perfect view of his cock as he continues to stroke it unabashedly. I can see pieces of ink wrapping around his ribs; that’s new.
"It was an accid--" I blurt out, but he cuts me off before I can finish.
"Maybe it was an accident," he says, water dripping down his abs in the most distracting way. "But if that was the case, you would have left, and you have yet to do so. Therefore, I think you want to watch, and baby, I'd love nothing more than to give you a show."
I stand there, jaw slack and completely at a loss for words.
“Unless of course, you want to join me?” He proposes with a cocky grin. “There’s plenty of room. Although I’d much prefer dirtying you up with my cum than cleaning you up.”
“Fuck.” The mouth on this man. My thighs rub together of their own accord. My clit pulsing beneath my panties.
“The things I’d do to you, Willow. I’ve had twelve long years to imagine all the ways I could ruin your perfect body. All the ways I could make you come with my tongue, my cock,” he says, shuddering, “and my fingers.”
His hand starts to work his length again as he speaks out his fantasy, “Every time I see you in one of those pencil skirts, I have to fight the urge of pulling it up to your waist and fucking you over the desk.”
My hands slip down the front of my shorts, unable to stand the ache between my thighs. I want to come more than I want to breathe right now. I close my eyes, imagining the scene he’s painting.
“Would you like that baby? To be fucked raw over your desk? Just my hard cock stretching that tight little pussy out. I want you to drench my cock as I fuck you.” My eyes open, and I look over to see him looking straight at me. The hunger there makes me pick up my pace on my clit.
Weston's eyes are locked on the movement beneath my shorts, his pace quickening. I watch him, the room filled with the sounds of the water running and our parallel play. I feel the crest of my orgasm come, and I lean against the wall as my legs get shaky.
“Are you going to be a good girl and come for me? Be sure to moan extra loud for me. I want to see you come undone.”
That does it for me; my eyes flutter shut. “Oh fuck, Weston. I’m coming.”
When my eyes open, I see him coming against the shower wall. “Yes, Willow.”
He braces himself against the wall, catching his breath, when he turns his head, the water runs perfectly over his hair, dripping down his face.
“I hope you enjoyed this, baby. But the next time you come thinking of me, it’s going to be on my cock.”
I bite my lip, the mental image of that stirring up another round of desire, before I do something stupid, like join him, I slip out of the bathroom. My back lands against the door as I close it. After that debacle, there’s going to be no denying that I want him, too.