Page 32

He drops into the worn leather chair, his long legs sprawled out in front of him. The chair's massive—one of those old-fashioned ones with the wide arms and deep seat that could easily fit two people.

Or one person straddling another.

A dangerous smile unfurls across his face, but I don't give him time to enjoy the moment. I stalk toward him, each step deliberate, keeping my eyes locked on his. I'm in control now. I reach back and tug the elastic from my hair, letting it tumble loose around my shoulders.

Rhett's eyes darken, tracking the movement like a predator. "What are you doing, Wills?"

"Whatever the hell I want." I plant one knee on the chair between his legs, leaning in until my mouth hovers just above his. "And right now, I want you to shut up."

His breath hitches. "Make me."

I grab his jaw, fingers digging into the stubble rough enough to leave marks. "You're not in charge here."

"Never said I was." His voice comes out rougher, deeper. "But you're gonna have to work for it.”

"Then I'll enjoy making you work for it, too," I say, my voice a low warning.

I straddle him fully now, my knees sinking into the worn leather on either side of his thighs. His hands move to grip my hips, but I catch his wrists, pinning them to the armrests.

"Did I say you could touch me?" I ask, my voice sharp as a blade.

His eyes darken, pupils dilating until there's just a thin ring of gray around the black. "No, ma'am."

"That's right." I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of his ear. "You don't move unless I tell you to. Understand?"

He swallows hard, the muscles in his forearms tensing beneath my grip. "Crystal clear."

"Good boy," I whisper, knowing the words will both infuriate and turn him on.

As expected, his jaw clenches at the condescension, but his eyes flash with heat. I've hit the sweet spot—right where his pride battles with his desire.

I release one of his wrists to trace my fingers down his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath my palm. "You think you can handle that, Calloway? Not touching until I say so?"

"Try me," he challenges, but there's a rasp in his voice that betrays him.

I smile, slow and deliberate, before leaning in to press my mouth against his neck. His pulse jumps beneath my lips as I work my way up to the sensitive spot just below his ear. When I bite down—not gentle, never gentle with Rhett—he makes a sound that's half-groan, half-curse.

"Fuck, Willow," he breathes, his free hand twitching with the effort of staying still. His hips shift restlessly beneath me, seeking friction.

I pull back immediately, my hand pressing flat against his chest to hold him in place. "Did I say you could move?"

His eyes narrow, but he stills. "No."

"No, what?" I demand, curling my fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

"No, ma'am," he grits out, the words sounding like they're being dragged from him.

"Better." I reward him with a slow roll of my hips, watching his pupils blow wide at the friction. "Keep those hands where I put them, or we stop. Got it?"

He nods once, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping.

I smile against his skin as I drag my teeth along his jawline, savoring the rasp of stubble against my lips. His restraint is beautiful to watch, the cords in his neck standing out as he fights against his own instincts. I reach between us, tugging his shirt up to expose the taut muscles of his abdomen. My fingernails scrape lightly across his skin, tracing the defined ridges.

"I could make you beg," I tell him, my voice low and dangerous. "Would you like that, Rhett? Begging for me to let you touch me?"

His eyes flash with defiance, but there's something else there too—a hunger that matches my own. "You first, Hayes."

I laugh, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "Always so cocky."

I grind down against him again, feeling him hard beneath me. The friction sends a jolt of pleasure through me, and I can't help the small sound that escapes my lips. His hands twitch on the chair and I smirk.

Slowly, I remove my shirt and toss it to the bed. His eyes darken as he takes me in, wearing nothing but my black sports bra. The hunger in his gaze is almost tangible, a physical thing that wraps around me like a caress.

His eyes track every inch of newly exposed skin, hungry and desperate, but his hands stay locked to the armrests like I've bound them there with invisible rope. The power of it rushes through me like a drug.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he rasps, voice strained with the effort of restraint.

I arch an eyebrow. "I know."

My fingers trail down to the button of his jeans, popping it open with deliberate slowness. The zipper makes a satisfying sound as I drag it down one tooth at a time, watching his face contort with the sweet agony of anticipation.

"You want to touch me so bad, don't you?" I whisper, leaning forward until my breasts brush against his chest. "I can see it in your eyes. It's killing you."

"You have no idea," he grits out, his knuckles white as he grips the armrests. "I want to put my hands all over you."

I run my palm over his erection through his open jeans, feeling his hips jerk involuntarily. "But you won't. Not until I say so."

His head falls back against the chair, eyes half-lidded. "You're a fucking tease, Hayes."

"Not a tease if I deliver," I counter, hooking my fingers into his boxers and jeans. "Lift."

He obeys instantly, raising his hips so I can tug his jeans and underwear down to his thighs. His cock springs free, hard and ready, and I wrap my hand around him, squeezing just tight enough to make his breath catch.

"Christ," he hisses, his hips bucking into my grip.

I release him immediately, placing my palm flat against his chest as his muscles tense beneath my touch. "I didn't say you could move."

"Fuck," he growls, frustration and desire warring on his face. "This is torture."

"Good." I smile, all teeth and dark promise. I stand up just long enough to shed my jeans, watching his eyes track every movement like a starving man at a feast. The cool air of the room raises goosebumps across my skin as I stand before him in nothing but my black underwear.

His jaw clenches so tight I'm surprised his teeth don't crack. "Willow..."

There's a warning in his voice, a dangerous edge that tells me his control is wearing thin. Good. I want him desperate, want him wild with need before I give him what we both want.

I straddle him again, the leather of the chair cool against my bare thighs as I settle against him, my core pressed against his hardness with just the thin fabric of my underwear between us. His cock throbs against me, and I can't help but rock my hips, seeking friction.

"Please," he breathes, the word barely audible. "Let me touch you, Willow. I need to feel you."

The desperation in his voice sends a thrill through me. I've reduced Rhett Calloway—arrogant, cocksure Rhett—to begging with a single word. Power surges through my veins like lightning.

"Not yet," I whisper, reaching behind to unhook my sports bra. I let it drop off slowly, watching his eyes darken as my breasts are revealed. "When I decide you've earned it."

"Fuck," he groans, his arms trembling with the effort of keeping still. "You're killing me, baby.”

I lean in, my lips brushing against his ear as I whisper, "That's the point."

I roll my hips again, feeling him hard and hot against me, separated only by the thin fabric of my underwear. His breathing is ragged, chest rising and falling rapidly beneath my palm.

"Tell me what you want," I demand, my fingers threading through his hair before tightening into a fist. I pull his head back, exposing the column of his throat. "Say it out loud."

"You," he rasps, eyes blazing with heat. "I want you, Willow. All of you."

I bite down on his lower lip, not hard enough to break skin but enough to sting. "Be specific."

His nostrils flare, and I can see the struggle for control written across his face. "I want to be inside you. Want to feel you come apart around me. Feel you claw at my back like you’re trying to brand your name into me. I want to fuck you slow—so slow it hurts—until you're crying my name like a prayer and cursing me like a sin. Until there's nothing left of you that doesn't belong to me.”

His words ignite something primal inside me. My control slips, just for a heartbeat, and he sees it—that flash of raw need I can't quite hide.

"Fuck it," I whisper, reaching between us to push my underwear aside. "Touch me."

The permission barely leaves my lips before his hands are on me, greedy and desperate, like a man who's been starving for years. He grips my hips hard enough to bruise, fingers digging into my flesh as he positions me over him.

"Look at me," he demands, and it's my turn to obey. Our eyes lock as I sink down onto him, taking him inside me in one smooth motion that steals the breath from both our lungs.

"God, yes," I gasp, my head falling back as he fills me completely. The stretch and burn is delicious, perfect, everything I've been craving.

"Fuck, Willow," Rhett groans, his hands roaming everywhere at once—cupping my breasts, sliding down my back, gripping my ass. It's like he can't decide where to touch first now that he's finally allowed to. "You feel so goddamn good."

I roll my hips, setting a torturous pace that has us both gasping. His hands brand my skin with heat, leaving invisible marks everywhere they touch. I can feel myself getting wetter, tighter around him as he fills me completely.

"That's it," he encourages, voice rough as gravel. "Take what you need, baby."

I brace my hands on his shoulders, nails digging in as I ride him harder, faster. The leather chair creaks beneath us, the sound mixing with our ragged breathing and half-swallowed moans. Sweat beads along my collarbones and slides down between my breasts as I arch my back, chasing the building pleasure.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Rhett growls, one hand tangling in my hair to pull me down for a bruising kiss. His tongue plunges into my mouth, claiming me with the same intensity as his cock claims my body.

I bite his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, tasting copper as I pull away. "Harder," I demand, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears.

Something feral flashes in his eyes. In one swift movement, he stands, lifting me with him without breaking our connection. My legs wrap instinctively around his waist as he carries me a few steps to the wall, slamming my back against it with enough force to knock a painting askew.

"This what you want?" he asks, his voice a dangerous rumble against my throat as he pins me against the wall, his hips snapping up with bruising force. Each thrust drives me higher up the wall until he has to hitch me up, readjusting his grip on my thighs.

"Yes," I gasp, head falling back against the wall with a thud. "Just like that."

He buries his face in my neck, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin as he pounds into me. The angle is perfect, hitting that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.

"Look at me," he demands again, one hand sliding up to grip my jaw. "I want to see your face when you come apart."

I force my eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. The raw emotion I see there nearly undoes me—desire, yes, but something deeper, something that terrifies and thrills me in equal measure.

"That's it," he murmurs.

His thumb presses against my bottom lip, his eyes locked on mine as he drives into me with relentless precision. Each thrust sends me higher, closer to the edge I'm desperately chasing. My nails rake down his back, leaving angry red trails in their wake, marking him as mine.

"Come for me," he demands, his voice a rough command that vibrates through my entire body. "Let go, Willow."

The sound of my name on his lips—raw and desperate—is what finally sends me over. The orgasm rips through me like a lightning strike, every muscle clenching as waves of pleasure crash over me. I cry out, not caring who might hear, my body arching against his as I shatter completely.

"Fuck, yes," Rhett groans, his rhythm faltering as my inner walls clamp down around him. "That's it, baby."

He follows me over the edge, his body shuddering against mine as he comes with a guttural groan that sounds suspiciously like my name. His forehead drops to rest against mine, our ragged breathing mingling in the scant space between our lips.

For a moment, we stay like that—pinned against the wall, limbs tangled, bodies still joined. The aftershocks of pleasure ripple through me, making me tremble in his arms. His hands soften their grip, thumbs stroking gentle circles on my thighs in stark contrast to the bruising force of moments before.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, his voice wrecked. "You're going to be the death of me, Hayes."

I laugh softly, the sound almost foreign to my ears. "What a way to go, though."

He presses a surprisingly tender kiss to my temple before carefully lowering me to the ground.

My legs feel like jelly as I try to stand, and Rhett steadies me with a hand at my waist. The smug satisfaction on his face should irritate me, but I'm too blissed out to care.

"Don't look so pleased with yourself," I mutter, pushing my tangled hair away from my face.

"Can't help it." He traces a finger along my collarbone, his touch feather-light against skin still hypersensitive from my release. "You're fucking magnificent when you let go."

I roll my eyes but can't stop the flush that creeps up my neck. "Shut up and help me find my clothes."

We move around the room in comfortable silence, gathering scattered clothing from the floor. My shirt somehow ended up hanging from the bedpost, and I have to search under the bed for one of my socks.

I pull my clothes on, watching Rhett from the corner of my eye as he buttons his jeans. His back is a canvas of scratches I left behind, red lines mapping my desperation. My fingerprints are blooming into bruises on his shoulders, marking him as mine in a way that makes something possessive unfurl in my chest.

The realization hits me like a bull straight to the sternum.

I freeze, t-shirt clutched in my hands, as the truth crashes over me in waves that threaten to drown me where I stand. The room suddenly feels too small, the air too thin, everything too much.

I never stopped loving him.

All this time—the anger, the fighting, the walls I built around myself—none of it mattered. I've been lying to myself since the moment he walked back into my life, pretending the pull between us was just physical, just habit, just unfinished business.

I needed that control because without it, I'd have to face what I've been running from for two years. When he walked away, he took part of me with him. That no matter how many times I told myself I was over him, my body and heart remembered what my mind wanted to forget.

I am in love with Rhett Calloway. Still. Always.

The realization leaves me breathless, like I've been thrown from a bull and slammed hard into packed dirt. My hands start to shake, and I drop my shirt to the floor.

"Willow?" Rhett's voice cuts through the roaring in my ears. He's looking at me with concern, already moving toward me. "You okay?"

No. I'm not fucking okay. I'm standing here having an existential crisis while he casually puts his clothes back on like we didn't just break something in this damn AirBnB with our fuck fest.

"Willow?" Rhett repeats, stepping closer, his brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"

The words build inside me like a pressure cooker about to blow. I try to swallow them back, to lock them away where they've been hidden for two years, but they claw their way up my throat like they've got minds of their own.

"I fucking love you," I blurt out, the words exploding from me with such force that Rhett actually takes a step back. "I love you, and it's terrifying and infuriating and I hate it so much because you left me." My voice breaks on the last word, but I'm too far gone to care.

"Willow—" he starts, but I'm not done. Not even close.

"No, you don't get to talk right now," I cut him off, jabbing a finger at his chest, right over one of the bruises I gave him. "You don’t get to flash that cocky smirk or say something clever to distract me. You left, Rhett. You left, and it gutted me."

My voice is shaking, but I keep going, steamrolling through the lump in my throat.

"I have wanted to strangle you every damn day since you came back. You drive me absolutely batshit crazy. You make me furious and reckless and stupid. But I never stopped wanting you. I never stopped needing you. And God help me, I never fucking stopped loving you."

His eyes widen, like he doesn’t know whether to kiss me or fall to his knees. I push on, because it’s all pouring out now, and I can’t stop even if I wanted to.

"You’re the wildfire I was born to burn in. You’re in my blood, Rhett. You always have been. And I hate that you’re it for me—because I don’t want anyone else. I can’t live in a world where you’re not mine. I won’t."

My chest heaves, fists clenched like I’m ready to throw a punch or fall apart—probably both.

"So yeah, you piss me off. You make me feel insane. But you're mine, Rhett Calloway. Always were. Always fucking will be. And I'm yours. Whether you like it or not."

I pause just long enough to suck in a breath, my chest rising like I’ve just been pulled out of deep water—but it’s not enough. I’m still drowning. Still raging.

"You think you can just come back and act like nothing happened? Like we didn’t blow each other to pieces and try to survive the fallout alone? You think you can just waltz in with that damn jaw and those eyes and fuck me like you're still the only man who's ever known how?"

I step into him, chest to chest, daring him to flinch.

"Newsflash, cowboy—I never stopped being yours. Even when I wanted to hate you. Even when I told myself I did. My heart still beats for you like a goddamn war drum. It’s not fair, but it’s true."

His breath catches, and I see it—all of it—the way he’s unraveling under the weight of every word I just threw at him. But before he can say a thing, there’s a loud knock on the door followed by Logan’s obnoxiously amused voice.

"Y’all done fightin’ and fuckin’? Or should we come back in another hour?"

I snap my head toward the door like I might murder someone.

"We’re having a goddamn moment, Blaze!" I shout.

"Sounded like multiple moments," he fires back. "At one point, I thought you were exorcising a demon."

I groan and bury my face in Rhett’s bare chest, mortified and furious and still high off the adrenaline of everything I just confessed.

Rhett just laughs—low and rough—and wraps his arms around me like he’s never letting go. His arms tighten around me, like he’s trying to fuse our bones together. Like if he holds me hard enough, he can stitch up every place we’ve ever bled for each other.

“You don’t get it,” he murmurs against my hair. “You were never something I wanted to leave. You were the only thing that ever felt like home.”

I breathe him in—salt and sex and heat and a hint of whiskey—and it cracks something wide open inside me.

He tips my chin up, and those storm-colored eyes of his lock on mine like I’m the only goddamn thing in the world that matters.

“You’re mine too, Willow Hayes,” he says, voice low and wrecked.

“Always have been. I just didn’t know how to come back without ruining you all over again.”

I press my forehead to his, everything inside me trembling like a struck match.

“Too late,” I whisper. “I’m already ruined. But I’d rather burn with you than survive without you.”

He kisses me then—slow and deep, like he’s memorizing me cell by cell.

We’re still wrapped around each other when Blaze knocks again.

“Seriously. Food’s getting cold, and Knox is threatening to eat your share, Rhett. Come down or starve, lovers.”

Rhett sighs against my lips. “You think if I shoot him in the leg, anyone will notice?”

“Only if you miss,” I smirk.

He grins, that wild glint back in his eyes, and grabs my hand. “C’mon, darlin’. Let’s go face the wolves.”

I lace my fingers through his and hold on tight.

Because for the first time in a long damn time—I’m not afraid of the fire.