“Fuck.” I’m surrounded by absolute heaven—tight, wet, hot bliss.
Her nails dig into my chest for purchase, and I arch into them, wanting that sharp bite of her mark on my skin. I use her hips, pushing and pulling her faster and harder.
This is not gentle lovemaking. And though it’s rough and primal, it’s not fucking, either. This is claiming, me of her and her of me. Though we’ll be apart for a few days, she’s mine and I’m hers. This trip doesn’t change that. Hell, nothing would change that.
“Take it, sweetheart. Take my cock and take my cum. Tell me you want it,” I demand.
She gasps at my dirty talk, still shocked every time, but I can feel what it does to her. The filthier I talk, the wetter she gets. She comes near-instantly when I make her say things my sweet girl would never say on her own.
“I want it.” She’s holding back, and I give her a punishing stroke. Her head falls back, exposing her neck as her mouth falls open. “I want . . . your cum. God, I want to feel it, Bobby.”
I grunt, her words sending me over the edge. My whole body tenses, and an electric jolt shoots from my spine through my cock as I spill inside her. Bare for the first time. The thought of painting her with my cum is powerfully heady and so fucking sexy. But I need her to come too.
Staying inside, I swipe a thumb across her clit, fast and soft like she loves it and tell her, “You feel so good, Willow. Let me feel you come.”
She explodes, losing the rhythm, but I keep pounding at her and rubbing her as she comes and comes.
She has never looked so stunning as she does right now—glistening with sweat, hair plastered to her forehead, naked and bare physically and emotionally, sitting astride me, with our combined cum making an utter mess of us both.
Fuck, I love her.
She collapses over me, panting erratically.
“That was . . . that . . . wow.” She gives up on sentences, making me smile.
We lie like that for several long minutes, luxuriating in each other’s body and presence. Eventually, I slide out of her, and she squeals, rolling off me as if I give a shit about having our combined cum on me.
“I’ll get you a towel. Hang on.” I climb out of the bed and head to her bathroom. I wet a washcloth and wring it out, but by the time I get back, Willow is snoring softly. Guess this long week is catching up to her.
Probably wore her out, my ego chimes in like a cocky bastard.
I decide to let her sleep while I get cleaned up to head to the airport, but I can’t help picking up her phone from the nightstand. I take a close-up of her face, fully relaxed in sleep, then one of her whole body, half-covered by the nest of sheets we left. I send the pictures to myself then leave them for her to find when she does her next blog posting.
Beautiful girl.
My girl.
Airports suck. Planes suck. Hotels suck. The city sucks. People suck. Everything sucks.
Or maybe I’m just nervous.
That’s a distinct possibility.
I’ve traveled a time or two, but it was for family trips when I was a kid, mostly. Traveling alone to what might be my new destiny is a pressure I hadn’t anticipated. And though my shoulders are broad and strong, this responsibility is something Brody usually handles. Not me. I’m the backup to the backup. Brody, Brutal, then me. Hell, Shay fits in there somewhere too, so maybe I’m her backup too.
“Mr. Tannen? Mr. Marshall will see you now,” the receptionist says behind a fringe of long, dark lashes, dyed blonde curly hair, and deep red lips. She gestures with one hand toward the hallway and I follow her.
To my destiny.
To my doom.
Both? Fuck if I know.
But at the wooden door, I take a steadying breath. Whatever it is, you’re good, Tannen.
Know myself, who I am, and where I came from. Take it or leave it.
Great in theory, but I’m really hoping they take it and want me and my music. My dream is so close I can taste it. All I have to do is not fuck this up.
“Bobby!” Jeremy’s voice is louder, his presence larger in this room than it had seemed at Hank’s last weekend. “Come in. Glad you got out so quickly. Big city treating you okay?”