Not yet. But it’s in everything. In the way he wraps my hair around his fingers when I fall asleep on his chest. In the way he pulls me into his lap during movie nights and doesn’t let me go, even when the credits roll. In the way he touches me like he means it every time.
I think he’s waiting for the right moment.
And me? I think I might already be his. And for the first time in what feels like forever… I’m not scared of that.
That night, after the bar closes, I hear his boots first, coming up the stairs.
The door opens, and I sit a bit straighter.
“Sugar,” Will calls, voice low and already a little rough.
I smile from where I’m waiting on the couch in one of his flannels, unbuttoned enough to tempt, bare legs stretched out, pretending I wasn’t checking the clock every five minutes since midnight.
He rounds the corner and stops dead in the doorway, eyes dragging over me.
“Jesus.”
I bite my lip, slow and deliberate. “Rough day?”
He kicks the door shut behind him, eyes locked on mine. “Long as hell. But this?” His voice drops as he stalks toward me. “This is one hell of a welcome home.”
He tosses his hat onto the table, shedding his jacket as he moves, and before I can blink, he’s on me, kneeling between my legs, dragging me closer, his hands firm on my thighs.
“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over my bare knee. “How you sound. How you taste. How damn good you feel when I’m buried inside you.”
My breath catches. My fingers tangle in his hair.
He lifts his gaze to mine. “You miss me?”
“Too much,” I whisper.
“Let me fix that.”
His mouth is on me then. Hot, hungry, and claiming.
He kisses up my thigh, pushing the flannel open wider until he sees what’s not underneath. He groans like it physically hurts.
“No panties?” he rasps. “You just sittin’ here, dripping for me?”
I literally am.
“Was hoping you’d come home and do something about it.”
“Oh, I will.”
He doesn’t waste time.
One hand hooks behind my knee, tossing it over his shoulder as he dives in. Tongue slow, then fast, teasing me until I’m gasping, grinding against his face, begging for more.
And he gives it.
He devours me like he’s starving. Like this is what he’s needed all day to breathe again.
When I come, it’s sharp and sudden, my back arching off the couch as I cry out his name, trembling. He doesn’t stop. Not until I’m limp and flushed.
Then he stands, licking his lips, eyes dark.
“You’re not done.”
