Chapter 41
THATCHER
By the time we’re back on the mountain, I think we’ve both been cracked open.
The drive is quiet.
Not strained.
Not uncomfortable.
But heavy.
Weighted with everything we just lived through.
What we saw. What was said.
And everything she didn’t say—but I still heard.
I don’t have the full picture of what Willow went through.
Not yet.
But I’ve got enough of it to make my blood boil.
To make my hands clench on the steering wheel so hard I left finger dents.
Her mother.
That fucking ex piece of shit.
The way she stood there, trembling but strong, holding her ground while the two people who should’ve protected her instead tried to sell her off like she was nothing?
It gutted me.
And yeah, I hit the bastard.
I don’t regret that.
I’ll never regret that.
I’d do it again a thousand times if it meant she’d feel safer for even one breath.
Now we’re home.
Back in our bubble.
The house is warm. Quiet. Familiar.
But everything feels different.
I watch her move, still in those soft black pants and that faded shirt she pulled on when we left Jersey. Her face is blank, like she hasn’t decided how to feel yet.
Like she’s too full to process it all.
And me?
My chest feels too tight.
My lungs don’t want to work right.
I want to wrap her up in my arms and never let the world get close to her again.
I want to pull her into bed and hold her until that hollow look in her eyes disappears.
I want to tell her she never has to see those people again—not as long as I’m breathing.
But mostly?
I want to earn her.
Build her back up.
Be her foundation.
I want to deserve her.
To call her mine for always.
Not because I fucked her.
Not because she needs a place to stay.
Not because I saved her from some mess she didn’t create.
But because I see her.
All of her.
And I need her. I want her.
I love her.
The sweet, shy smiles. The quiet competence. The storm she hides behind her gentle voice.
She’s it for me.
She’s the whole damn reason the sun rises now.
And when she walks past me into the bedroom without saying a word, I don’t follow right away.
I give her a minute.
Because this time?
She needs to choose me.
And I’ll be right here.
Waiting.
Always.
I follow her inside and Willow turns around slowly.
She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to.
I step in after her and close the door with a soft click.
Then I start to undress.
First the flannel.
Then the shirt beneath it.
Her eyes follow every movement. Her lips part when I reach for my belt.
“You look like you see something you like,” I rumble, voice low and frayed with want.
Her breath catches, and it hits me like a damn freight train—how much I need her.
Not just the sex.
Not just the skin.
All of her.
I slide the belt free, eyes on her the whole time.
She doesn’t look away.
Doesn’t move.
She just stands there in that little T-shirt of mine she put on before we boarded the plane for the return flight, and her comfy leggings.
Her cheeks are flushed.
Her pupils are wide.
It’s like she’s been fighting her own storm inside.
My jeans hit the floor. And my cock’s already hard. Aching.
“Come here,” I say, rougher than I meant to.
She doesn’t hesitate. Crosses the space between us and stands in front of me, looking up like she wants to crawl inside my chest and stay there.
“I need to touch you,” I whisper. “Need to remind you, you’re safe. That you’re mine.”
“You don’t have to remind me,” she whispers back. “I haven’t forgotten. But I still want you to touch me, Thatcher.”
That’s all it takes.
I pull her to me like the world is ending, and she’s the only thing worth saving.
And maybe she is.
Willow’s breath catches as her body collides with mine—soft meeting hard, curves melting against muscle.
My arms go around her, one hand threading into the back of her hair while the other slides around her waist and holds her steady.
“I have to know something.”
“What?”
“How long has it been? Before me, I mean.”
It’s fucking barbaric of me to ask. But I have to know.
“You mean since Dan?” Her eyebrows go sky high.
“How long since that piece of shit touched you?”
“Thatcher,” she breathes. It’s barely a sound, but it shoots straight through me. “Dan hasn’t touched me in over a year. And no one—no one—has ever touched me like you. No one has ever made me feel the way you do. I need you, Thatcher. I want you.”
Fuck. Me.
I keep my hands on her arms and squeeze as I drag her clothed body flush against my naked one.
Then, I kiss her because I need to. I need to show her that I am the only man who can make her feel that way.
And more? I need her to believe it.
Like I’m trying to say everything I don’t know how to say with words with my body.
And she gets it.
She gets me.
Willow’s lips part for me, and I take advantage—deepen the kiss, taste her, claim her again.
She answers with a sound that undoes me.
A desperate little whimper that’s all need and trust.
My fingers slide beneath her shirt—my shirt—and I lift it slowly, savoring the reveal.
Her skin is warm.
Her body is so soft.
Plump. Smooth. Real.
When I pull the shirt over her head and drop it to the floor, she looks at me with flushed cheeks and wide eyes, like she can feel the worship in my gaze.
“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I murmur, and her lashes flutter like I’ve caught her off guard.
“I don’t know what to say when you talk like that.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Just let me show you.”
I kiss her throat, feel her pulse flutter under my mouth.
Then lower—to her collarbone, the curve of her shoulder.
I ease her back until her knees hit the bed.
She looks up at me, breath shaky, and I swear there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for this woman.
I’m staring at her naked breasts. They’re large and heavy.
And I want to fuck them. Want to paint her in my cum.
“I love your tits,” I growl, voice rough with restraint.
Then I lift them in my hands, and I squeeze the tips, plucking at them until she whimpers.
“This okay?” I ask when I twist and pull them harder.
Willow nods, her pupils completely blown.
Then, she whispers, “You can do anything you want to me, Thatcher. I’m yours.”
God help me.
It’s exactly what I need to hear.
I lower her down and follow, covering her body with mine, careful but not shy.
Her legs part for me, welcoming me in.
Her hands are already on my back, pulling me closer. Like she needs the weight of me. The heat.
She gasps as I press against her, skin to skin now, my mouth trailing over hers, down her throat, across the swell of her breasts. And finally, I suck on those dark pink berries at the tips.
I take my time.
I learn every inch of her, every sound she makes, every place she arches into me.
I press my face between her cleavage, and I turn, biting hard on the side of one of her tits.
She cries out and pulls on my hair.
I’m already licking the spot, as one hand moves between our bodies, parting her slick folds, and now she’s clinging to me, moaning as I find her hot, wet center.
When I finally shove my fingers inside her, it’s slow. Measured.
Like I’m trying to memorize the feeling of coming home.
“Goddamn, Baby Girl, you’re so tight. So wet for me.”
And she is. Hot, wet, tight, and so damn perfect I almost come just from the feel of her around my fingers.
Willow clutches at me, her legs tremble, fingers digging into my shoulders as I lick down her belly until I find my prize.
“Oh God!”
Her pussy clenches around my fingers, and she comes with my tongue barely touching her clit.
Her taste is so sweet, so perfect, I close my eyes and groan.
But I’m not done.
“Thatcher,” she pulls on my hair, but I shake my head against her lips.
“Gimme another. I need one more,” I tell her.
Her nails dig into my scalp, and I’s so fucking hot.
I trade my hand for my tongue, licking into her as I use my slippery fingers to play with her clit.
Willow is panting, her hips flexing, fucking my mouth with unpracticed moves that could’ve been taught to her by Aphrodite herself—like this woman was made just to drive me wild.
My cock is leaking all over the place, but I need her to come one more time before I take her hard and raw the way I want to. The way I plan to.
I take my other hand and push two fingers into her pussy along with my tongue. She moans, bucks against me, but I don’t let her go far.
Besides, I have other plans for those fingers. I pull them free and trail them lower, circling her tight little asshole with the smaller one.
The need to devour her is so damn great it’s my only motivator.
I pull away, and she whimpers, then I push back in all at the same time.
My pinky in her ass.
My tongue in her pussy.
My thumb on her clit.
And suddenly, just like I want her to, Baby Girl goes off like a rocket.
Next time, I’m going with her.
“You ready?” I growl as I move to my knees and spread her thighs.