Page 59 of Before You Fell

Worse, for one stupid second, I let myself believe he finally wants me.

Chapter Ten

Phoenix

The second my hands close around Willow’s hips, I know I’m fucked. Not because I shouldn’t be touching her.

Fuck that. I’ve wanted my hands on her since I was seventeen and dumb enough to think a hard cock wasn’t a warning sign.

No, I’m fucked because as soon as some other asshole gets too close to her, something ugly wakes up inside of me. It’s not jealousy. Jealousy is for men who don’t spend their lives getting exactly what they want. This is irritation.

Habit. Possession. Protection. Boredom. Pick your favorite fucking lie.

Apparently, the sight of Willow laughing at another man makes me stupid enough to cross rooms, ruin conversations, and drag her body against mine in the middle of a fucking nightclub.

Which is ridiculous.

So why the fuck does the idea of some other guy getting too close feel like someone putting fingerprints on my favorite guitar?

Which is exactly why every ugly thought in my head ends with her.

She moves again, and my breath catches in a way that pisses me off.

She has no fucking idea what she’s doing to me. Or perhaps she does.

Maybe that’s why her spine arches a little. Why the back of her head brushes my shoulder as if she can sense exactly how close I am to losing the last shred of common sense God forgot to take away from me years ago.

I lower my mouth to her ear because honesty terrifies the shit out of me and filth has always come easily.

“Jesus Christ, Wills,” I murmur against her. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

She shivers, and my cock gets harder.

I almost laugh at how completely fucked I am.

I’ve had women on their knees. I’ve had women in dressing rooms, hotel rooms, and bathrooms with broken locks and lighting so bad it qualified as a crime scene. None of them ever had the power to make me feel this fucking stupid.

My hand tightens on her hip.

“Fucking look at you,” I whisper close to her ear. “Walking out here dressed like this, moving those hips, making every asshole in the room stare.”

I brush my mouth against the side of her neck. “Let me fuck you, Wills.” The words come out low and filthy, dragged straight from somewhere ugly enough to sound true. “Let me have what we both want.”

She freezes for half a second.

That should be my chance to step back. It should be the moment when I prove there is one decent bone buried somewhere beneath the ego, the applause, the women, the fame, and twenty-three years of making terrible fucking choices.

The second she turns in my arms, I know there isn’t.

Her eyes lock onto mine, wide and bright beneath the strobes. Her mouth is parted. Her cheeks are flushed as hair falls around her face in soft, messy waves, and fuck me, she’s beautiful.

She always has been. She walked into this club in that fucking dress and I forgot half the room existed. Forgot the women throwing themselves at me. Forgot my own goddamn name for a second.

Every asshole in here noticed her and I fucking hated every one of them for having eyes.

Christ, she’s hot. Enough to make smart men do stupid shit. And here I am, my hands on her hips and my common sense left somewhere back at the fucking booth.

I know I should stop this. I should step back. Smile. Make a joke. Ruin the moment before it ruins me.