She thinks she has control.
But she has no idea that I’m the one pulling the strings.
Carson lifts his head, his mouth glistening, his shoulders rising and falling with deep, hungry breaths. His hands slide up her body, pinning her wrists above her head as he buries himself inside her, rolling his hips, pushing deeper.
I squeeze my cock, dragging my palm over the tip, fucking lost in the sight of them.
This isn’t just fucking.
This is more.
It’s primal. It’s possessive.
And it should make me angry.
It should make me jealous.
But it doesn’t.
Because all I can think about is how good he’d look above me. How good he’d sound groaning my name. How much I need to feel her skin under my hands. How much I need to watch her fall apart for me.
They don’t know it yet. But soon, they will.
With a slow, shuddering exhale, I come, my release splattering hot against my fingers, my forehead pressing against the glass as I watch Carson bury himself deep, as I watch Willow tighten around him, as they shatter together.
I drag my tongue over my lips, breath evening out, a new kind of hunger settling in.
Now that they’ve crossed this line—now is the time.
For me to make my move.
CHAPTER 33
Willow
The first thingI register is warmth. Not my blankets or the cocoon of my bed, but him. A heavy arm draped over my waist, the steady rise and fall of his chest behind me, the solid heat of his body pressed along my back.
And then the second thing hits me, an ache between my thighs. A slow, pulsing reminder of exactly what we did last night. My stomach clenches.
I blink my eyes open, staring at the faint glow of morning filtering through my curtains. I can feel him before I even have to look. Carson. Still here. Still in my bed.
I stay frozen for a moment, my brain short-circuiting between what the fuck did I do and I should do it again.
But then the panic kicks in. This was a mistake. A huge mistake. I don’t do this. I don’t wake up tangled with someone. I don’t stay for slow mornings and pillow talk. I fuck, I leave, I move on.
This is dangerous. The last guy I did a morning with shattered me. And I don’t think I’m healed yet.
I carefully peel back the blanket, trying to shift his arm without waking him. He lets out a soft grunt but doesn’tmove. Good. I slide one leg free, then the other, sitting up slowly, reaching for my clothes on the floor.
“Are you seriously sneaking out of your own bedroom?” he asks—too amused for this early in the morning.
I freeze, my fingers curling around my tank top.
Shit.
Slowly, I glance over my shoulder, and sure enough—he’s awake, cracked-open hazel eyes gleaming with amusement as he props himself up on an elbow, his smirk way too smug for my sanity.
“I—” I snap my mouth shut, heat creeping up my neck. That’s exactly what I was doing.
