Summary: To say that Adrian Chase despised Willow Redding would be a lie.
Well... not a complete lie.
Her attitude was terrible, sarcasm was a weapon to her, and she had an infuriating habit of calling him out on every reckless decision he made. She challenged him. Pushed him. Rolled her eyes at him—somehow making him want to try harder.
He told himself she was trouble.
He told himself he couldn't stand her.
The truth? It was much worse than that.
He was utterly—hopelessly infatuated with Willow Redding.
Warnings: sexual tension you'd need a chainway to cut, OC, threatening comments, eventual smut, very nasty thoughts, undercover mission, forced proximity, fake marriage, SMUT, oral (m and f receiving), biting, marking, knife play, choking, sub Adrian Chase, unprotected sex
When the door clicked closed behind them, Adrian gently set her down. Willow wobbled slightly and let out a dramatic sigh. “These damn heels,” she groaned, sinking backward onto the edge of the bed. “I swear, whoever invented these deserves a medal… for torture.”
She kicked her feet up just enough to emphasize her plight, eyelashes fluttering as she looked at him with mock exasperation. Adrian crouched before her, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of her ankles as he deftly worked to loosen the straps of her heels. Every brush of his skin against hers sent a shiver up her spine. His gaze lingered, dark and smoldering, along the line of her calves, drinking in the subtle sweep of muscle beneath flawless skin.
“Not so fast,” he murmured, low and teasing, the huskiness in his voice making her pulse quicken. “You’re lucky I like you in distress.”
She exhaled, caught between a laugh and a gasp, the words both a tease and a promise, her toes curling as he brushed the strap against her skin once more, deliberate, intimate, impossible to ignore.
“Fine, fine,” she muttered, attempting to pull away, though her fingers lingered on his shoulder longer than necessary. “But you’re… not completely insufferable, you know. Don’t get used to it.”
Adrian smirked, sliding the other strap free, letting his fingers brush against the soft arch of her foot as he did. “Noted,” he murmured, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I’ll take what I can get.”
His fingers lingered just a second too long on her ankle, and he felt it—a flicker of heat that shouldn’t be there, a pulse that quickened against his control. Every subtle curve, every shiver from her brush against him, pulled at him like gravity. He knew he should step back. He should give her space. But the temptation to lean closer, to let the moment carry him forward, throbbed in his chest.
Nope. Not here. Not now. She’s off-limits, she’s… God, just look at her. Damn it. She’s letting you touch her. She wants this… no, no, that’s her teasing.
His mind scrambled for rules, for reminders: she was technically his “frenemie” first, mission partner second. But the sight of her sprawled on the bed, flushed, hair loose, scent mingling with the room, made his brain betray him at every turn. His knees ached to step closer; his hand itched to brush the stray hair from her face. Instead, he clenched his fists loosely at his sides, forcing his body back just a fraction, taking a measured breath as if it could reset his pulse. The slightest smile tugged at the corner of his lips—he was losing the battle, and he knew it.
She shifted slightly, giving him a better angle, brushing her fingers teasingly against his wrist. God, he’s so close. I can feel the heat from him, and the way he’s been holding back only makes it worse. Every inch he let himself linger near her felt like it was burning straight through her veins.
Willow’s fingers twitched, almost as if sensing his restraint, brushing lightly over his hand. There it is. That little flicker, the tightness in his jaw… he wants this. I can see it. I can make him break if I just… push a little. She shifted closer, letting the edge of her thigh graze his side. She’s not just teasing him. She’s testing him. Seeing how long he can hold out.
Don’t you dare… He forced his eyes away, scanning the room, counting imaginary points to distract himself, though the warmth radiating from her, the soft hum she let out, made him acutely aware of every inch between them.
Willow’s eyes sparkled, catching his, a teasing curve to her lips. “You’re really mean when you hold back,” she murmured, letting her hand trail up to his wrist, just enough to make him flinch. There. There it is. He’s so tense. I could have him right now if I wanted.
She’s… she’s doing this on purpose. She’s dangerous. She’s irresistible. Don’t…
But the soft sigh she let out as she leaned back, hair falling against the pillow, the quiet way she rested her hand near his… it was a challenge he couldn’t refuse. I’ve lost. She’s got me.
Willow caught the subtle shift in his posture, the barely controlled heat radiating from him, and she leaned closer, almost brushing her lips against his ear. “I don’t think you can resist me,” she whispered, letting the words hang between them like a dare. Come on, Adrian. Just one move. Just one. But then her fingers tightened on his wrist, something unpolished sliding into her voice.
“And for what it’s worth…” she swallowed, eyes flicking to his mouth, “I stopped pretending a long time ago.”
His gaze locked on hers as every shred of control slipped through his fingers. God, she’s right. I can’t resist. I don’t even want to. He finally let his hands roam, lifting her gently so that she shifted slightly on the bed, and for the first time that night, he let himself lean in. Just a little closer…
Willow smiled, a mix of triumph and desire, as she felt his heat pressing near her. Finally. Took you long enough.
Their lips hovered — one breath, two — and then collided, heat exploding between them like a snapped wire pressing together in a feverish kiss. All the restraint he had been gripping to like a lifeline was stripped away by the taste of her against him. Her fingers threaded into his hair, tangling around the curls, tugging him closer. The thought of regret flashed through him, almost pulling his tongue away from her mouth, but he replayed what she had said to him moments before. She had stopped pretending; it wasn’t just him. Letting the realization sink in, he pulled away to trail kisses down her neck, leaving smudges of her lipstick on her pale skin.
Her pulse fluttered wild beneath his mouth — anticipation, fear, relief — all tangled in one dizzying heartbeat. Her fingers trembled against his scalp, a stutter she hoped he didn’t feel — but God, she wanted him to.
Teeth nipped at her chest, her hands guiding his head lower, lightly grazing over the bodice of her dress. His hands had already skipped ahead, dragging the hem of her dress up to pool around her hips, leaving a deep red garter belt now in his line of sight.
The garter wasn’t meant for him. It was armor — red lace confidence she wore like a dare. But the way he looked at it made her feel bare.
His fingers skimmed the lace, and heat shot through his chest. Beneath red lace, his touch found cold metal. The contrast nearly undid him.
Heart hammering, he curled his fingers around the hilt, pulling the knife free as if tugging on something tethered inside him. “Planning to stab someone?”
Willow’s smirk curled slowly. “Only if they get too close.”
Adrian slid the knife out, skin brushing her thigh in the process. “You should hold onto it,” he said, voice low. “Just in case.”
Willow’s lips parted. “In case of what?”
He let his hand glide away from hers, slow enough to feel every inch lighten.
“In case,” he said, eyes crawling up her body with deliberate hunger.
“You decide you want to cut me loose.”
His smirk flickered — brief, reverent, and entirely undone.
The garter strap still tingled where he’d touched.
And neither of them looked away.
The cool metal of the hilt pressed into her palm that was lying upturned on the bed, no longer tangled in his hair. She curled her fingers around it, leaning forward enough to press the blade against the pulse of his throat. Adrian’s breath hitches. His muscles go still, focusing, following the way she drags the blade down his skin, careful to trace under his Adam's apple.
He’s gone quiet.
Not with fear, but with attention — the same way he looks at a finely balanced blade on assignment.
He respects this. He respects me.
That realization blooms warm and wicked in her chest.
Of course, he likes this. He likes me more when I’m dangerous.
His stillness and silence was rare. He didn’t speak, didn’t joke, didn’t move. The sudden absence of noise from him sounded louder than any smart remark he’d ever tossed her way. She noticed the way he watched the blade, pupils dilating, eyelids growing heavy, his fingers pressing harder into the skin of her thighs, threatening to leave bruises. Perfection lived in his stillness. Not submission—control. The kind that said he could shatter the moment if he wanted… and chose not to.
“Is there something you want?”
“What do you want?” He asked, trying a failing to keep his eyes trained on her. Every muscle in him coiled tight, a storm contained behind carefully trained restraint. But her hand, the blade, the way she held it—it was impossible not to look where he desired her most. He wanted to remain composed, to meet her challenge with calm. Instead, he found himself leaning closer, his restraint cracking under the weight of her gaze. They traveled between her thighs.
A slow smile tugged at her lips—not cruel, not mocking, but satisfied. The power she held in that moment was undeniable.
It was a delicate negotiation without words. She could sense him calculating, weighing whether to reveal the truth of his attention or yield silently. And she, in turn, measured every flicker of tension, every heartbeat, knowing she held the power to tilt the balance in her favor.
She tilted the blade just enough to break the touch against his throat, the cold edge sliding away as it clambered to the floor, her pulse racing, eyes locked on his. A slow, deliberate exhale left her lips.
“Take what you want,” she whispered, letting the weight of the words—the unspoken challenge—settle between them. Her gaze dared him, her body offered the slightest surrender, but the tension still crackled, sharp and electric.
Adrian’s fingers relinquished their grip, slipping underneath the hem of her dress, finding the lace of her underwear, and tugging them down. He stopped, vibrant green eyes catching hers—deep, molten brown— the color of the coffee she drank. At that moment, all the teasing, the walls they had built between each other felt thin and brittle, like they could shatter irreparably.
He didn’t speak. She couldn’t. It was the first time he had felt her like this, unguarded, dangerous, achingly alive with a spark he craved to set alight. There was no playing, no snark comments—it was raw, and it left him dizzy, chest tight, every fleeting thought screaming that this was something new—something he had never even felt in his escapades with Peacemaker.
It was then he realized he wanted everything she could ever offer him—not just now, not just today, but every day for the rest of their fucking lives. Adrian Chase had finally met his match. The woman he would move mountains for. The woman he would give up everything for just to live in this moment—silence, longing, and lust.
The touch of her fingers against his cheek had him swimming back, eyes trailing down her still clothed body. He would take care of that after. First, he had to taste her. It was a craving he wouldn’t ever be able to satiate, not even if he had it once a day.
He parted her thighs, pulling her right to the edge of the bed, perfectly on display for him. She was a god damn three-course meal he was ready to devour. There was no regard for the way his muscles pulled at the seams of his tux, threatening to stretch and break them if he restrained himself any longer. But he held out, hovering his parted mouth over her core, feeling the way she tensed under his touch. He watched her clench in anticipation, his breath drawing out more of her arousal.
Dipping his head down his tongue flicked out for the first lick. She let out a shaky breath, one she didn’t know she was holding.
Heaven. This woman was utter heaven. She tasted like the ambrosia of the gods, well, what he imagined it tasted like.
Slowly, his tongue jutted back out, flattening against her core, groaning as her thighs tightened in his hold, threatening to close in around his head. It was too early for that yet; he needed to lay her out below him, perfectly on display, so he could learn every twitch she makes, the most drawn-out way to pull her right to the edge and hang her over. He wanted to wait for the moment to let her plunge into an ocean of pleasure. That’s exactly what he did, bracketing her legs with his arms, grabbing her hips with his hands, not giving her a moment to break away before he was diving in. He was unrelenting with his movements, repeating things when she would press her hips into the mattress, chasing the breathy moans she would try and hide. Within minutes, he was playing her like an instrument he had mastered. Heavy breaths became soft whines, presses into the mattress turned into grinding against his mouth, which he welcomed with a moan of appreciation.
Letting his hold up, he brought one hand down between them, focusing his lips and tongue on her clit. His fingers collected the mixture of his saliva and her arousal, slowly pressing into her—as gently as possible. As brutal as he was in a fight, he was the opposite—tender and delicate—afraid of giving too much at once.
Everything changed the moment she tugged on his hair, driving his nose against her mound with a high-pitched whine. The pulls from her fingers guided him along, pressing him right where she needed him to be.
“Oh, god,” she breathed. “More.”
The fingers within her pressed deeper, bumping against the spot that made her convulse. Her words only spurred him on, working to pull the most delicious sounds from her lips. She tightened around his fingers, and the grip on his hair became impossibly stronger, making him whine against her core. There was no denying he loved the way she guided him, blissfully dancing him on the edge of pain and pleasure. Suddenly, she was fluttering around him; everything fell away in seconds, her body going limp, legs twitching as he pulled his fingers out. He hadn’t realized until then that he had been grinding himself against the side of the bed, his cock hard and leaking within his pants, painfully ignored.
Willow’s fingers threaded through the top of his hair, tracing the curve of his skull with slow, deliberate pressure. She scratched gently, the quiet tension in him unraveling strand by strand. Every small movement sent a subtle shiver through him, and she lingered, savoring the connection in the simplest, most controlled gesture. His head fell limp against the bed—panting—remaining still as the tension in his shoulders eased. This small touch of intimacy felt new—a door she had opened in him he hadn’t known existed. Each brush of her fingers sent a low electric pull through him. He wanted to speak, to shift, to respond—but he didn’t want to break what was between them. It was too new, too fragile; it could slip right through his fingers without him knowing, floating away before he could even get it back.
Her hands pressed lightly against his sides, fingers teasing, coaxing. “Come,” she murmured, low and certain. He hesitated, and she leaned in, her chest brushing his, the heat between them undeniable.
With a gentle tug, she guided him forward, and he followed, knees hitting the mattress as she drew him beside her. Her fingers lingered along his sides, soft but deliberate, holding just enough control to make every heartbeat electric.
Red manicured fingers brushed the lapels of his jacket, fingertips lingering along the fabric as she leaned closer. Her touch was deliberate, teasing—enough to make him still, but not so much as to break the tension. She traced the line of his shoulders, feeling the subtle stiffness beneath the cloth, then slipped her hands beneath the jacket, guiding it from his arms with slow, deliberate care.
When she reached the bow tie, she paused just long enough to meet his gaze, letting her fingers hover over the knot. “May I?” she whispered, voice low, edged with challenge. Without waiting for more than a flicker of permission in his eyes, she eased the tie loose, her thumbs brushing the sensitive skin at his neck as she worked. Every movement was measured, intimate—pulling him closer not just physically, but in a silent acknowledgment of desire.
Adrian moved to return the favor; his hands brushed her shoulders, waiting for the slightest nod. When she gave it, he eased the straps down slowly, deliberately, and carefully. The fabric pooled around her waist, his thumbs lingering along her skin, a touch that pulled the tension taut between them.
He met her eyes, slow and deliberate, letting the silent electricity pass before guiding the dress the rest of the way down.
Adrian’s fingers lingered near hers, brushing softly along her skin. “Look at me,” he murmured, low and deliberate, his eyes holding hers like a tether. “I’ve never wanted someone like this before.”
Willow’s breath hitched, heat pooling in her chest. She met his gaze, slow and deliberate, letting the moment stretch. “Is that… a problem?” she whispered, voice teasing, but her pulse betrayed her.
“No,” he admitted, the corner of his mouth tugging into something like a smile. “It’s… dangerous.”
She let her hand slide against his, tracing a slow line along his arm. “I like dangerous,” she murmured, inching closer.
His eyes darkened, pupils dilating, and he leaned forward just enough for the space between them to vanish. “Then we’ll just have to be very careful,” he said, voice low, edged with both warning and promise.
The air between them thrummed with quiet electricity. Adrian’s gaze flicked from her eyes to her lips and back again, deliberate, teasing, a silent question. He didn’t ask; he just leaned in slightly, letting the pull of gravity and desire do the rest. She mirrored him, tilting her head, closing the small distance he’d left. His hand cupped the side of her face, thumb brushing her cheek with deliberate slowness, as if drawing her in with every measured second. On his lips was the faint taste of her. It was rich, just slightly bitter, with an edge that lingered, demanding she lean closer, taste again, crave it. Every brush of his mouth left a trail, a pull she couldn’t resist, like a slow-burning fire she wanted to follow until it consumed her entirely.
Willow pulled back just enough to catch her breath, lips brushing his one last time before she let herself move. Her eyes never left his, a quiet challenge in their depths, drawing him in even as she created space. Every inch of her movement was controlled, teasing, a careful dance of invitation and restraint that left the air between them humming with anticipation. Fingers hooked into the waist of his slacks, leaning her head down to capture his white button-up between her teeth, pulling it free.
Adrian’s breath stalls mid-inhale. God, she’s beautiful. Like—painfully beautiful. I might have to file a complaint.
He goes perfectly still. Oh. Yep. Definitely dying. This is how I die.
Somehow, she had already undone the buckle of his belt, fingers reaching for the cotton and fly of his slacks. Willow tilts her head. “You’re stiff as a board, Chase. Relax. I’m not going to stab you.”
He squeaks, “Not… right now, anyway.”
She raises a brow. “Keep talking and we’ll revisit.”
Adrian snaps his mouth shut so fast his teeth click.
Her fingers slip into the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down with his slacks. Her mouth was instantly on him, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses against his hips, careful to avoid his throbbing length. “Wow,” he blurts softly, “you’re like—professionally good at this. Is that on your résumé or—”
There, her thumb brushes the soft spot under his ear, and something twitches in his expression— a spark behind the pupils. His inhale stutters.
Then— “Oh—oh wow, okay, that’s—did you know spiders do this little vibrating dance when they— uh— when they’re, you know, into someone?”
Willow freezes. There it is. The quiet cracks, and Adrian’s voice spills out like a flood that’s been held back too long.
She cuts him a look that could slice steel. He swallows.
“Adrian,” she says softly.
Willow leans down to kiss him again, slow and claiming. Adrian chases it instantly, a breathless laugh warming her mouth.
“Oh my god,” he whispers. “That’s addictive. Seriously. If you bottle that taste? I’d sell everything I own.”
Willow smirks against his lips. “Joke’s on you—you don’t own anything worth more than three dollars.”
“And I own you,” she murmurs, palms sliding up his chest.
Adrian’s brain short-circuits. She said that. She actually said that. Holy— Her hands press firmer; he shivers. “You’re enjoying this,” she says, tone knowing.
“Is it obvious?” he breathes.
She glances at his blown pupils and the way his fingers are digging into the bedsheets. “Subtle as a neon sign.”
He laughs, breathless, a little desperate. “Just— just tell me what you want. I’ll do it. You have no idea how down I am for instructions right now.”
Willow’s grin turns wicked. That smile should come with a warning label. Or a training manual. “Oh, I have an idea.”
Adrian drops his head back to the pillow, helpless.
“Oh no. Not that face. That’s— That’s illegal. You should need a permit for that.”
She leans in, whispering against his pulse, “Good thing I don’t follow rules.”
His voice goes reverent and wrecked:
“…please—don’t stop.” Her head dipped down, tongue sticking out and licking up the precum that had started to pool on his abdomen, humming at the salty taste. She’s looking at me like an owl looks at a mouse. Hunter. I am the mouse. Here lies Adrian. Eaten romantically.
When did I start trusting her? When did I start wanting her like this? He asked himself, trying to keep his focus on her. She brushed her thumb along his jaw, and that's when he realized it was always. There hadn’t been a day he knew her when he didn’t want her like this. When he first met her and she practically bit his head off, she reminded him of those praying mantises. He was totally willing to let her bite off his head if she would even consider having sex with him.
Is this what dying feels like? He asks himself as her hand lifts his cock, guiding it into her mouth. Spiders liquefy the inside of their prey. She liquefied my brain. It’s soup now. Delicious soup. Her eyes stared up at him through her lashes, her head bobbing up and down slowly, teasingly. “You’re doing that owl-to-mouse stare again. The one where I should run but I really, really don’t want to.” She pulled off of him, spit dripping down her lips. Damn it. He really needs to learn how to keep his mouth shut.
He snaps his mouth shut, eyes blinking at her like a startled owl.
“Yo don’t have to talk,” she murmurs. For a heartbeat, he's quiet—eyes wide, caught, vulnerable. His fingers curl into the sheets beside her thighs; he’s trying to physically anchor himself, and her eyes flicker down for a moment, catching his movement.
His voice is shaky, small. “I know,” he whispers. “That's the problem.”
“Contrary to belief, I like you quiet. And loud. And Weird. All of it, I want it.”
He sucks in a sharp breath; he feels like he’s outside in the winter again, searching for a steady breath in the freezing air. “That is—dangerous information to give me,” he mumbled, still trying to grab hold of his reality, the one she was slowly ripping away from him, touch by touch.
“Don’t worry,” she started, already leaning back down to press another line of kisses along his length, ending right below the head of his cock. “I can handle the consequences.”
Pinching his eyes closed, he lets the next word fall from his lips, a small sign of surrender.
His outbursts and quiet spells had come to blend, a perfect mixture of partially coherent babbles as her mouth worked, undoing the composure he had tried to lock over himself.
“Oh, god, uh, if you keep going, I’m going to finish, and like if I do, I’m totally gonna regret it—” She pulled off him again, hand coming up to undo the buttons on his shirt. Lips trailed up his stomach as his shirt opened, biting and nipping at the soft skin. Making her way up, she undid his bow tie, meticulously unraveling it, much like she had done to him.
Adrian’s fingers unclenched from the sheets, muscles tense with restrained need. He leans up slightly, brushing his forehead against her, eyes dark and fixated. Every instinct he had listened to in situations like this screamed for him to take back the control, ground the unknown and new feelings. So he did the only way he knew how: a kiss. He dips closer, lips brushing against hers, hands sliding up to her shoulders as if he's trying to steer her through the moment. His jaw tightens: body humming with focus once again.
Willow tilts her head, letting him pull her down against him, but he can still feel her resisting—just out of reach. He tries to deepen the kiss, pull her into his rhythm.
She laughs softly against his mouth, not cold, but warm. “You think you’re in charge?” she risks, breath tickling his lips, eyes sparkling with that dangerous spark. He faulteres—just for a second—but it's all that she needs. Willow slides a hand up his chest, grabbing his jaw with her fingers, tilting his head slightly. Her lips brush his, slower now—teasing—drawing him instead of letting him pull. He groans softly, a hand sliding down to linger at her hip, finding the little bits of purchase he can to ground himself as she’s pressing against him harder. Every move she makes drags him further into her orbit, tangled in her subtle tricks, losing and finding himself in a world completely unexplored.
He’s the first to break the kiss, forehead resting against hers. “You’re impossible,” he breathed, his voice soft and low.
She smirks, brushing the thumb that is still gripping his jaw over his cheek. “Yet, “ she started, capturing his eyes in hers, mesmerizing and warm. “You love it.”
“What I would love is for you to rise my dick,” Adrian smirked, eyes dark.
Willow blinked at him, lips tugging into a slow, deliberate smile. “Careful, Chase,” she said, her voice soft but sharp, each word deliberate. “That mouth could get you in trouble.”
Her finger grazed his chest, tracing the line of his sternum with a teasing lightness, and she leaned in just enough that the tip of her nose brushed his. The warmth of her touch made the edge of his comment hit differently — sharper, but also more playful than he expected.
“I’m serious,” she whispered, though the smile never left her lips. “Keep talking like that, and you might find out exactly what ‘trouble’ feels like.”
Adrian’s grin faltered for a fraction of a second — just enough for her to notice — before he recovered, leaning closer in that dangerous, magnetic way he always did. “What kind of trouble are we talking about here?”
Her lips curved into a wicked grin. “Depends on how badly you want to find out,” she whispered, tracing a line from his collarbone to his jaw.
“I’m not scared of you,” he mumbled, his pulse spreading up as if to try and snitch on his lie. “Just—intrigued,” he added, eyes flickering over her face.
Willow leaned in, pressing her nose lightly against his, voice low and teasing. “I like it when you’re arrogant,” she said. “But don’t think that gives you the right to be careless.”
His eyes darkened, pupils blown wide, a low laugh rumbling from his chest. “Careless? Me? I’m always in control,” he said, leaning to capture her lips in a heated kiss.
Willow melted into him for a heartbeat, letting the kiss deepen, but then she pulled back just slightly, slipping her hand under his jaw to tilt his head. “Not tonight, Chase,” she whispered, a sly edge in her voice. “I’m the one deciding what happens next.”
He faltered, just a flicker, then recovered, brushing his lips against hers again, trying to reclaim some control. “Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be,” he muttered, a grin tugging at his lips despite himself. “I like a challenge.”
Willow smirked against him. “Good. You will need it,” she said, letting her fingers wander
The air between them hummed with tension, playful and charged, each subtle movement a negotiation of control. And somewhere deep in her chest, a wicked thrill bloomed: she could see him testing boundaries, and she liked it — because she knew she could push back just as well.
Willow’s fingers traced the contours of his chest, her touch light and deliberate, and surprisingly not terrible. Adrian’s breath hitched as they moved lower, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He tried to keep his composure—maintain some semblance of control—but it was slipping away with each touch and whisper.
“Willow.” His voice was hoarse with desire. “You’re driving me insane.”
She looked up at him, eyes gleaming with mischief and something deeper that made his heart race. “That’s the idea,” she purred. “I want you completely at my mercy.”
Adrian’s hands gripped her hips, grounding himself. That was a mistake. She pushed her hips down, grinding her soaked core against his length. The balance of control was teetering on the edge. As she leaned in, her breath hot against his ear, he realized he didn’t want this to stop; he didn’t want to reclaim the control he was searching for moments before.
“Tell me what you want, Adrian.” Oh, god. He could come from her voice alone. “Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”
“I want you,” he started, pressing his hips up against hers. “I want every part of you.”
“With pleasure.” Willow’s smile was slow and wicket, a promise to give him everything he was craving—pleasure, pain, surrender. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes. He was her, utterly and completely.
Lifting her hips she took his cock in one hand, running the tip through her folds. “You’re—God, you’re unreal,” he groaned, feeling her start to sink onto him, agonizingly slow. Don’t joke. Don’t ruin this. Just breathe. Then she bottomed out, her hips flush against his, and he whimpered. His head fell back against the mattress, and her hand pressed against his chest, sparks of warmth spreading through him again as she started to lift herself up and down.
Look who finally cracked.
“Holy fuck—I didn’t think this was what it felt like,” he babbled. She’s driving me crazy. Every shift, every touch. The warmth of her envelops him, the movement of her hips sending a surge of pleasure through him. He can feel the muscles in his abdomen clench and release. His breathing becomes ragged, gasping as he tries to keep his mind in place, refusing to let it float away.
That’s when Willow feels it, the deep throbbing pleasure with each movement, her body following the rhythm she had set. The friction and heat between them create a delicious sensation, coursing through her veins, making her skin tingle and her heart race. She can feel every inch of him inside her, filling and stretching. It's delectable. Keeping a close eye on him, she notes the way the tension begins to fade, his jaw relaxing and eyes fluttering closed. His features soften—another whimper falling from his lips, this time it was her name. So soft. So perfect. Completely and utterly hers.
“Look at me.” The command was so soft that Adrian didn’t register it.
The hand that was on his chest reached over and grabbed his jaw, his eyes flying open at the startling touch. “I said,” she started, leaning over to stare directly in his eyes. “Look at me.” He was gone. Pupils blown, mouth open. Utterly at her mercy. “So pretty for me, Ade.” The way she said his name almost sent him over the edge. Nothing had ever sounded prettier coming from her mouth. For the first time he could remember, the little voice always narrating something had gone quiet; he was gone, following each rise of her hips by raising his own. Each movement was a chase of pleasure.
“You’re doing so perfectly.” She thinks I’m perfect.
Focus. He thought, feeling the coil within his stomach start to tighten. He didn't want to hold back, but he did, afraid that if he did, everything would end. Afraid he would never get to feel like this ever again. This could be a dream for all he knew. That's when Afrian feels it, the way her walls clenched tighter, fluttering around him. Her hand that was holding his jaw slid around his throat, fingers delicately pressing against his pulse point. Her head was thrown back, mouth open. He could barely hear the sounds she was making, completely drowned out by the feeling of the blood rushing away from his head, straight to his dick.
“I need you.” It was a whisper that pulled her back from the sea of pleasure that she had fallen straight into.
Her breath caught in her throat. She smiled—not the teasing kind—something gentle that curved her lips, something she never gave anyone. On instinct, her fingers around his throat tightened, and she dipped her head down to rest on his shoulder.
“Don’t hold back,” her voice was low, steady.
His breath shuddered, the lack of oxygen making his thoughts disappear again. He was left floating; the only thing tethering him was the pull of her core, aching for him to finish. She felt the tension bleed out of his shoulders, muscles tensing one last time before they released under her touch.
Willow’s voice curled, ensuring she milked every last drop he could from him. “So good, so, so good for me.” His moans became louder, deeper. “I’ve got you,” she whispered, feeling his hips come to a halt. He was in a whole new world. Nothing had ever felt this good. Is this what people have been raving about? He felt like he had just stepped off a rooftop, and she caught him right before his brains were to explode on the pavement. It was terrifying. No. Addicting.
