Too late. She finishes it off with a few more moans, each one enough to make me want to either drop to one knee and propose or drop to both knees and worship her.
She licks her fingers, slowly, unaware we’re all watching. Statues. Every last one of us.
Then she glances up, catching us mid-stare. Her cheeks flush pink as she blinks at us. “What? You asked for that.”
Hunter breaks the spell first, grabbing a taco as if it personally offended him. “I’m not sitting here while you two eye-fuck over carnitas.” He takes an aggressively large bite of his taco, and I almost laugh.
“You say that,” I mutter, “but you’re still chewing. Which means you like it.”
“I enjoy food, Carson. Not your domestic mating dance.”
“Looks like you now have something to be jealous of,” I reply.
Willow snorts into her plate.
Graham raises a brow at me, reaching for a taco of his own. “When did you learn how to cook something other than grilled cheese?”
“I didn’t. I YouTubed this. For her.” I glance at Willow. “And if she makes that sound again, I’m learning crème brûlée next.”
Willow sets her taco down slowly, eyes dancing. “So…my moans are your incentive?”
“Absolutely,” I say. “They’re spiritual. Motivational. Arguably therapeutic.”
“You’re a menace,” she says, but her cheeks are pink again, and she doesn’t stop smiling.
The laughter fades slowly into the comfortable clatter of plates and forks. For a minute, it’s just that—normal. Easy. Familiar.
Then Willow looks up. Her voice is quieter. Slower.
“What if…” She pauses. Clears her throat. “What if I really do want Finn and Landon in the pack?”
Silence falls.
I set my taco down gently, glancing at the guys. We talked about this possibility. Guess the elephant is finally in the room with us.
Hunter’s jaw ticks. Graham doesn’t blink.
But none of us speak. Not at first.
Willow looks between us, her expression careful. Guarded. “Would that change things?”
CHAPTER 71
Willow
Silence.
Not cold—just dense. As though the air itself has paused to hear what I just said.
I’m still perched on the kitchen counter, legs swinging slightly. My taco is forgotten beside me. All three of them are staring.
Hunter moves first. He steps closer, placing his hand on the counter just beside my thigh. “You mean that?”
I nod, heart pounding. “I’m not saying I’m ready. Or that I even know how this would work. But…I needed to say it.”
Hunter’s eyes flicker down to my legs—his hand brushes just beneath my knee, grounding me. “Then we needed to hear it out loud. And if they’re what you want…” He shrugs. “This house is big. My arms are bigger. And my patience is decent—as long as they don’t hurt you.”
There’s an edge to his voice now, that protectiveness rearing up behind his calm.
