He rises smoothly to his full height, towering over me as moonlight spills through the window, casting a soft glow around us.
“Get on the bed.”
My eyes wander to the bed behind him, wide and solid, dressed in deep grey and smoky blue sheets, a tall headboard with thick posts framing each corner. It looks so inviting.
I want to climb in it with him more than anything.
But a thought hits me that I really don't want to picture.
He cups my face. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
I press my tongue to the inside of my cheek, feeling a little foolish for even thinking it. “I just… I don't think I can have sex with you in this bed.”
Understanding washes over his expression instantly.
“Willow, the bed is new.”
I wasn't expecting that.
“Wait, it is? But you don't even know what I was thinking.”
He brushes his thumb gently along my cheek, a knowing look in his eyes. “I’m not an idiot. And I don't think you know this, but you're an open book when something's bothering you. Do you really think I would take you on a bed where I—” he trails off, jaw tightening.
I look away, heat prickling behind my eyes.
Ugh, I hate that she had him first. I hate how much that fact bothers me.
“Hey, look at me.”
I don't want to, but I do.
“I need you to listen to me. I want you more than I've ever wanted anything in my entire life. If I could rewrite the past, I would do it in a heartbeat. But I can't. All that matters is us. You and me. Right now.”
I know he's right. We all have a past.
“And for the record, I got rid of the old bed after I found her with someone else.”
Once again, I question how Rose could ever do that to him.
Some people probably wouldn't care or would just get rid of the bedding, buthe got rid of the whole thing, and I fucking love that.
I can't help but let out a relieved giggle, and he chuckles along with me before capturing my lips in a quick kiss that I eagerly return.
“Now get on the bed, baby, so I can eat.”
Chapter 29
Elijah
My dreams are unfolding right in front of me.
She gives me that smile—soft, nervous, beautiful—and then she starts to crawl onto the bed. Slowly and unhurried, like she understands exactly what it’s doing to me and chooses to make me suffer through every second of it.
Each movement is deliberate—torture dressed up as beauty and grace.
I'm surprised I have this much restraint because this has been a long time coming.
The curve of her hips draws me in first, her fuckable, rounded ass that's begging to be spanked, then the smooth line of her back, and I have to clench my hands just to stop myself from reaching for her. The emerald green of her underwear against her skin is almost cruel in how perfectly it suits her, like she picked it knowing I wouldn't be able to look away.
