Chapter 49
THATCHER
Ishould say something.
Anything.
But I’m not thinking anymore—I’m running on pure, animal instinct.
After I hung up with Kelly, I nearly wore a groove into the office floor with my pacing.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Every minute stretched thin, taut as wire.
The sky darkened.
The cold settled deeper.
And my chest stayed locked tight, like it knew something my brain didn’t yet.
Then I hear it.
The sound of a truck on gravel.
That engine note hits me straight in the spine.
I’m moving before I realize it—out the door, across the lot, heart hammering so hard it’s painful.
And then she’s there. Alive. Standing. Breathing.
I don’t wait. I open the driver’s side door.
And suddenly she’s in my arms.
I don’t remember crossing the distance. I don’t remember reaching for her.
I just know she’s against me—warm, solid, real—and everything inside me snaps.
“Dammit, Baby Girl,” I grunt, the words torn out of me like a growl.
That’s all I get out before I’m kissing her.
Hard. Deep. Desperate.
I don’t give her time to question it, don’t give myself time to overthink. Her hands clutch at my jacket, her mouth opens under mine, and that’s it—I’m gone.
Completely fucking gone.
She melts into me, and when her legs part instinctively, when the heat of her presses against the aching hardness trapped in my jeans, I groan low in my throat.
Christ.
She feels so good it borders on pain.
Warm. Soft. Alive. Here.
I need her—need her in a way that scares the hell out of me.
A way that isn’t just lust, isn’t just hunger.
I don’t think she understands how close I came to losing my mind waiting for her.
How the idea of her walking away—thinking I wasn’t worth the trouble, that I was like him—nearly broke something in me I didn’t know could break.
But she’s kissing me back now, breath hitching, body pliant, and if I don’t get inside her right now, I’m going to lose control completely.
I slide her back onto the counter, spin her so her hands brace against it, my body crowding hers in close.
“Thatcher—” she moans.
“Shh,” I murmur against her neck, teeth grazing her skin. “Not everyone’s gone yet. Need you quiet for me.”
My hands fumble at my jeans, urgency making me clumsy.
I shove them down just enough, then hook my fingers into the waistband of her leggings and tug them down her thighs.
I reach between her legs and—fuck.
She’s wet. Soaked. Ready.
My breath leaves me in a rough exhale as my fingers find her heat, proof of what she wants, what she feels for me.
She’s hot and slick and aching for me, and the realization slams into my chest like a vow.
She didn’t leave.
She came back.
And I’m not letting her go.
“Ready?” I growl.
She nods.
And I push inside her.
“Fuck,” I groan.
“Thatcher,” she whimpers.
I close my hand over her mouth, she opens, and I slip two fingers inside.
Her mouth is hot and wet, and my entire body fucking tingles and tightens at the rhythmic pulling as Willow moans, sucking my fingers inside.
I swear my dick gets even harder.
She’s so fucking perfect.
The faint scent of bubblegum surrounds me. And it’s so her.
I need this woman. I want to fill her up until I’m the only thing she sees, feels, smells, is. The same way she fills all my senses.
I want to be to her what she is to me.
“Willow,” I groan and thrust my hips, slamming my hips forward and filling her in one hard push.
She moans around my fingers. Her hands on the counter are flat—keeping balance, and I fucking love the picture she makes like this.
Sexy. Powerful. Submissive.
And all at the same time.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Baby. So fucking perfect. I never wanted anyone the way I want you.”
I don’t even know what the hell I’m saying, but every word is true.
“It’s always been you. Only you, Willow. My sweet Willow,” I tell her.
I groan and push deeper, harder, faster.
The hand squeezing her hips is gonna leave a bruise, but I can’t let go.
“You take me so good. This pussy was made for me. Fuck, it’s so fucking good.”
I keep talking. It’s like I can’t shut up even if I tried.
She moans, I pull my fingers out of her mouth.
“Thatcher! You feel so big. So good,” she tells me.
“That’s right. Cause I was made for you too,” I growl and push my fingers back into her mouth in time with my dick.
She mewls, and I praise her some more.
I tell her how she makes me feel.
Tell her how much I love being with her.
How gorgeous her luscious body is.
How well she fits me.
How much I love fucking her.
How I’m never gonna stop.
And my girl loves it. Her pussy squeezes me.
She sucks harder on my fingers.
And my balls get too tight.
“Need you to come for me, Baby. You ready to come?”
She nods, moaning around my fingers.
I pull them out, then I reach for her slippery little clit with those same fingers, and I rub.
Circle, circle, tap, tap—I withdraw almost all the way—circle, circle, and then as I shove my hips forward, I tap tap tap on her clit one more time.
And Baby Girl comes.
Hard.
Her pussy clamps down, sucking the cum from my cock.
And nothing has ever felt so real, or so good, or so right in all my life.