Page 141 of Before You Fell

I looked at her mouth too many times. Every time, my head went straight back to that storage room. My hand around her throat. Her body taking every hard inch of me. Her mouth open against my ear while I fucked her hard enough to forget there was a world outside that door.

The memory still makes my cock remember before the rest of me has the sense to shut it down.

Willow’s apartment building comes into view and my grip tightens on the steering wheel.

I pull up out front and shut off the engine.

For a moment, neither of us moves.

She looks at the building, then at me. “Home sweet home.”

“Wills.” Her name comes out rough, which is impressive, considering it’s one fucking syllable.

She turns toward me.

I have the words. They are right there, jammed behind my teeth.

“It’s just…” I run a hand over my jaw. “Back there, when I said that thing about the bullshit.”

Christ. I can make a stadium full of people scream with three chords and a smirk. Put Willow beside me in a parked car and suddenly language becomes a fucking hostage situation.

Her eyes stay locked on mine as I try again.

“I just…” I scrub a hand over my face and open my mouth to say the rest.

“Let’s go inside,” she says, opening the door before I can get the words out.

And just like that, the moment is gone.

Story of my fucking life.

I pull the key free, open my door, and grab her suitcase, my bag, and my guitar from the back seat.

I slip my guitar strap over my head so it rests against my back. Then I take both bags.

She glances at me as I walk around the car.

“I can carry my own suitcase.”

“I’ve got it, Wills,” I say, not putting it down.

We step into the building and the elevator doors close us in a box lined with mirrors.

Willow stands close enough that I catch the faint scent of her shampoo. Familiar enough to fuck with my head.

I stare at her reflection.

Her eyes hold mine in the glass and every filthy thought I have been trying to keep on a leash starts chewing through the rope. Her hair falls around her face in a way that makes me want to fist my hand in it and find out if she still makes that sound when I pull.

Beautiful doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Willow is the kind of beauty that gets under my skin and stays. Her curves I remember too well and have no business imagining under my hands again. She looks like every version of home I have spent years pretending I didn’t need.

The elevator climbs and the silence between us grows heavier with every floor. Full of everything I want to say and everything I still don’t have the balls to drag up from my throat.

The elevator jolts to a stop.

Willow looks away first.