Page 62 of Before You Fell

I take her mouth hard and walk her backward through the cramped little room, bumping into a stack of boxes.

Willow makes a sharp little sound against my lips.

I keep my mouth on hers, catch her hips, and lift her onto the narrow counter. I shove myself between her thighs as if I have been starving for that space.

Her dress rides up and my hand follows. Up the inside of her thighs, slow enough to make her breath catch.

My fingers glide higher over warm skin until I reach the edge of her panties and feel the damp heat waiting there.

Fuck.

I drag my mouth from hers to gaze at her because I need to see it on her face. Need to know I’m not the only one losing my fucking mind in this room.

I hook my fingers around the edge of her panties and pull them aside. And there it is.

Bare, wet, and glistening. And for me to fucking take.

Willow lets out a broken little sound when I slide two fingers through her wetness and the groan that rips out of me is worse. It’s rough. Filthy. Not even close to controlled.

“Fuck.”

I glance down at my hand between her thighs, then back at her face.

“Jesus, Wills,” I say, my voice low and shot to hell. “All this for me?”

I rip her lace panties off and toss them to the floor because patience is for better men and softer cocks.

Willow’s breath catches.

I push her back on the counter and drag her hips to the edge, spreading her open until her pussy is right there in front of me, wet and waiting.

“Fuck,” I say, because apparently that is the full extent of my vocabulary now.

I stare at her, greedy and shameless, as my hands lock on her thighs.

My cock throbs so hard it’s practically yelling at me to stop fucking around and get inside her

“Look at you,” I say, voice rough as hell. “All wet and spread out for me. Do you have any fucking idea how long I’ve wanted you like this?”

I unbutton my jeans with hands that shake just enough to piss me off. My cock springs free, hard and leaking, because apparently all the years I spent not touching Willow has decided to show up all at once and make a fucking scene.

Her eyes drop to my cock.

Good. Let her look. This part I know. This part I’m good at.

The want, heat, hands, mouths, a condom torn open with my teeth and a woman looking at me as if I am about to ruin her in the best possible way. That is familiar territory. Clean, in its own filthy little way. No feelings.

Just lust. Just a fuck.

I catch her staring at my cock and smirk, because arrogance is easier than whatever the hell is trying to crawl up my throat.

“Careful, Wills,” I say, rolling on the condom. “You look at it like that and it’ll start thinking you’re impressed.”

There it is. Easy. Cocky. A line I use for the pretty girls backstage and for the ones in hotel rooms who laugh because they want to believe I am charming rather than empty.

I can do this. I can make it dirty and simple. I can fuck Willow and pretend it doesn’t mean a damn thing.

I step back between her thighs, grip my cock, and drag the tip through her wetness.