The silence stretches until Graham finally speaks again. “Then maybe we should stop making you feel like you’re drowning.”
He walks toward me—slow, deliberate—and then does something unexpected.
He pulls out the chair at the table and nods to it.
Not a command. Just a quiet gesture, the beginning of an apology. I blink at him, then sit. He kneels in front of me, slow and steady, his broad hands moving to unlace my shoe. He tugs it off gently, and my whole body tingles as his fingers brush the sole of my foot. It’s such a simple thing, but it sends heat curling low in my stomach.
Hunter drops into the seat to our left, his eyes sharp and unreadable as he watches, while Carson sits down next to me on my right.
Graham lifts his gaze to mine, and there’s fire burning in the depths of his eyes. His jaw flexes once, controlled and tight.
“Willow,” he says. “I don’t do soft things. I do demanding. I do bondage. I give commands—and I expect them to be followed.”
My breath catches. I scoff, trying to play it off, but the blush is already creeping across my cheeks. He’s not talking about protection. This isn’t about being my bodyguard. He’s talking about sex. About destroying whatever vanilla ideas I had left about it. It isn’t as if I’m inexperienced in that area, but I’m positive I’ve never been with anyone with histastes.
“Don’t let him fool you,” Carson pipes up, far too casual for the fire crackling under the surface. “He does great aftercare.”
Graham doesn’t move. He’s still on his knees in front of me, but nothing about his posture feels submissive. If anything, the air tightens with everything he’s not holding back anymore.
His fingers stay wrapped around my ankle, his grip firm but careful.
“Once I’ve been with someone,” he continues, “they’re mine.”
My pulse skips.
Graham’s gaze locks onto mine, unwavering. “If we take this step, Willow...I won’t let you go. You’ll be pack. Ours.”
Pack.
The word slams into me—equal parts desire and terror crashing in my chest.
Part of me wants that so badly it aches. I want a place to belong. People who look at me like I’m theirs. Without thinking I’m a problem to solve or a body to protect—but someone they need.
But another part of me?
A colder, smaller part?
That part remembers the way it feels to be claimed... and then abandoned.
My chest squeezes tight, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I won’t let you bite me.”
Graham’s eyes flick down to my throat, his eyes tracing where my old mark sits, faded but not forgotten. His jaw clenches.
“Not yet,” he says. “But eventually.”
And fuck—his words make my thighs press together.
He doesn’t ask for permission. He doesn’t plead. The wayhe says it sounds as though he is stating a future that just hasn’t caught up to us yet.
My breath catches. His fingers are still wrapped around my ankle, but now his other hand moves—up, slow, skimming over my calf, my knee. Not sexual. Not quite. Just…grounding.
Carson stays silent beside me, but I can feel his presence. He’s letting this happen. Maybe because he wants it too. Maybe because they’ve already talked about it.
Hunter’s still watching. I don’t dare meet his gaze.
I look back at Graham.
“I don’t want to belong to someone,” I whisper.
