“You want that?” he growls, one hand slipping between us, thumb circling tight over my clit. “Want me to fuck a baby into you? Mark you so deep there’s no doubt who you belong to?”
I choke out a gasp, legs locking around him. “Yes—yes,please, Daddy!”
“That’s right,” he grits. “Say it again.”
“I want it,” I cry out. “Want you to come inside me. Fill me up. Make me yours.”
He groans—deep, primal—and his mouth crushes against mine as we both unravel, my body tightening around him as he spills inside me with a desperate growl of my name.
When it’s over, he doesn’t move. He just holds me close, breath ragged, our bodies still tangled together.
And when he finally speaks again, it’s quiet.
“I meant every word.”
I do, too. Because whatever just happened between us? It’s not just heat. It’s the start of somethingreal.
We finally drag ourselves out of my bed.
My legs are jelly. My hair’s a mess. I ache in places I didn’t know couldache. But I can’t stop smiling. It's that lazy, post-wreckage kind of smile. The kind that comes from finally giving in to something you were afraid to want.
Will’s sitting shirtless on my couch, sprawled out like he owns the place. One arm slung over the back, a mug of coffee in the other, bare chest gleaming in the sunlight like he has no shame about the fact that we barely made it out of bed before noon.
Me?
I’m laying across the couch with my head in his lap, his fingers sliding through my hair in slow, absent-minded strokes that make my eyes flutter closed. It feelssafe, which is probably the scariest part.
Then he says it.
“We’re gonna have to talk to Sam, sugar.”
That yanks me right out of my bliss.
I sit up too fast, blinking. “What?”
He shrugs, casual as anything. “So we can tell him we’re a thing now.”
I blink again. “Are we… athing?”
Will smirks, one brow raised. “What do you think?”
I hesitate. The moment stretches. I don’t want to ruin the magic by rushing the words, but I also don’t want to pretend I don’t feel what I do.
“I think last night was everything I dreamed it could be,” I say honestly, watching his face for any shift.
“But?” he prompts, his voice gentler now.
I exhale, curling one leg under me. “But what if it doesn’t work out? What if we’re just good at sex and bad at everything else?”
Will sets his mug down, turning fully toward me. His eyes are soft but certain.
“What if itdoeswork out?” he counters. “What if we’re good at this too? The mornings. The hard stuff. The conversations that make you want to hide under the blanket.”
I bite my lip. “You’re making this sound real easy.”
“It’s not,” he says. “But I’ve never wanted something easy with you, Phern.”
He leans in, brushing his mouth over mine.
