“This doesn’t feel like the agreement we made, peaches.”
Her body stiffens.
Slowly, we pull apart. Not fast or guilty.
Carson stands beside us, calm as anything, towel slung loose over one shoulder, damp curls pushed back from his face. He doesn’t look mad.
He looks steady.
Still.
But his eyes—those crystal blue ocean-deep eyes—are locked on Willow.
Her voice is soft. Almost careful. “Carson?—”
“Relax,” he says, a slow smile tugging at his lips. “I’m not mad. But you are making a puddle at your feet, and the bartender looks a little pissy.” His gaze slides between us. “Maybe take this somewhere more private? With supervision, of course.”
It takes a second for it to click. What he’s saying. What he means.
He’s really okay with this.
My fingers tighten on Willow’s arms. My cock throbs against my jeans. But I don’t move. I wait. For her.
Willow’s eyes flick to mine. Then Carson’s. Then back to mine.
I don’t move.
I don’t breathe.
She shifts her weight—just the slightest lean into me—and I nearly come undone.
“Is that really okay?” she asks Carson, her voice quieter now, but not uncertain. There’s something dangerous in it. A challenge.
Carson’s smile turns lazy. “We said you could explore, peaches. No one’s backing out.”
Her lips part, and something wild flickers behind her eyes.
She’s going to say yes.
I know it. I feel it.
She glances down at my hand still resting on her arm. I lift it slowly, giving her space. Letting her choose.
“Not too far,” she says. “And not too long.”
My breath leaves me in a rush.
I don’t even realize I’ve stepped back until Carson shifts beside me, falling into step, acting like this isn’t the single most important moment of my life. As though he hasn’t just handed me a key to the kingdom I’ve been clawing at from the outside.
We follow her through the bar, her towel swaying, still damp. Her bare feet slap gently against the marble as she leads us to the elevator. It feels normal.
But it’s not.
It’s monumental.
Carson’s too quiet beside me, but I don’t question it. He’s watching her, too, the same way I am—only different. He knows her scent, her breath patterns, the language of her skin. I’ve studied her from a distance, painted her in private, chased the echo of her laugh across cities.
He’s lived her.
