Page 35

WILLOW

W ho knew I could easily follow instructions when it’s required of me? Because he didn’t have to tell me twice.

My legs feel like they're made of jelly as Blaise and I hurry through the streets of San Juan. When we get back to the hotel, I swear we are stumbling toward his room, but neither one of us is drunk. However, it feels like the only reason why I’m standing upright is because my hand is still clasped in Blaise's. I pray we don’t come across anyone that we might know, including our professors, because having to explain this to anyone would literally make me want the Earth to open up and swallow me whole.

We reach his door and Blaise fumbles with his key card because his hands are shaking.

Now whether he will admit that if I asked is an entirely different thing, but none of that matters.

I completely understand how he feels. The adrenaline from what just happened is still coursing through both of us, and I can barely think straight.

When the lock finally clicks open, he pulls me inside and immediately checks to make sure Tyler's bed is empty.

"He's still out," Blaise says, turning back to me. The relief in his voice is obvious and I feel the same way.

“Shouldn’t you put a sock on the doorknob? To make sure he knows…what’s going to be happening in here?”

The suggestion makes him pause, and for a second I think he might actually consider it. Then a small smile forms on his lips.

"I actually texted Tyler while we were walking back. I just wanted to make sure he actually didn’t come back," he says, but he still turns the deadbolt. The click echoes in the quiet room, and suddenly we're truly alone.

I’m not even shocked. This is Blaise and he’s always prepared. I watch as he puts his phone away and moves to sit on the edge of his bed. His eyes meet mine, and in that moment, the memory of our encounter in the alleyway rushes back, making me shiver.

“Come here,” he says and holds out his hand for me to grab.

I walk toward him slowly because my nerves are shot. When I reach him, he doesn't pull me down immediately. Instead, his hands settle on my hips, thumbs tracing gentle circles through the fabric of my dress.

"We don't have to—" he starts, but I cut him off.

"I want to. I want this. I want you."

His eyes search mine, looking for any hint of uncertainty. "You're sure?"

I nod, not trusting my voice. He stands slowly, his hands sliding up to frame my face. When he kisses me this time, it's different from the alleyway. Softer. More careful. Like he's handling something fragile.

My hands find the hem of his shirt, and I tug upward.

He breaks the kiss to let me pull it over his head, and I have to bite back a gasp.

I've never seen him shirtless before, and I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

His chest is broader than I imagined, defined but not overly muscular, but his six pack is well defined.

There's a thin scar above his left collarbone that I want to trace with my tongue.

My fingers hover just inches from his skin, suddenly unsure.

"You can touch me," he says softly, reading my hesitation.

I place my palms flat against his chest and immediately feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath my hands. His skin is warm and smooth, and when I drag my fingers downward, I swear he stops breathing for a second.

"Your turn," he whispers, gesturing for me to turn around.

I do as he wants and he quickly reaches for the zipper on the back of my dress.

He moves slowly, dragging it down inch by inch like he's unwrapping something sacred when I want him to act like he’s unwrapping a birthday present.

When the dress finally pools at my feet, I step out of it carefully and find myself standing in front of him in just my black bra and matching thong.

Suddenly, my confidence wavers. This is Blaise.

Knox's best friend. The guy who rejected me once before.

What if he changes his mind again?

"You're beautiful," he says as his fingertips trace along my collarbone. His touch is so light I barely feel it. "So fucking beautiful."

The compliment makes me smile, and suddenly the vulnerability I was feeling transforms into something bolder. Something that feels more like me. I step closer to him and I say, "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

I look up at him and move my hands, so my fingers trace the edge of his waistband. For a second I remember the way his entire body reacted to two simple words on the dance floor. "Did you like it when I called you a good boy earlier?"

The effect is immediate. His hands tighten on my waist like he's trying to pull me closer to him. I watch his throat move as he swallows hard.

"Why would you ask me that?" His voice comes out deeper than before.

"Because of the way you reacted." I let my fingers dip just beneath his waistband, not going far, just enough to make him tense. "Your whole body changed when I said it."

He's quiet for a moment, and I can see him wrestling with whether to answer honestly. Finally, he exhales slowly. "Yeah. I liked it."

The admission sends heat racing through my veins. "Why?"

"Because..." He pauses, his hands sliding down to grip my hips more firmly. "Because I guess I have a praise kink.”

This powerful, always in control man who commands respect on the ice and in the classroom just admitted he has a praise kink. To me.

"A praise kink," I repeat, letting the words roll off my tongue as I watch his reaction. His jaw tightens, and I can see the flush creeping up his neck. "So when I tell you you're being good..."

"Willow." My name comes out as a warning, but his body betrays him because I feel his grip tighten on my hips.

"What happens when I tell you you're my good boy?" I ask, my voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Does it make you want to please me even more?"

"Fuck yes."

The admission makes me want to be even more bold. I slide my hands up his chest and say, "I thought so. You were so good to me in that alley, Blaise. So thorough. So perfect."

A low groan leaves his lips, and suddenly his mouth is on mine again, hungrier this time. His hands roam my body with more urgency, and if his cock is any indication, my words are having the effect I want them to have on him.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he says in my ear, and I shiver as a result.

"Then show me," I challenge as my fingers play with his belt buckle. "Show me how fantastic you can be."

I undo his jeans and belt and both of them hit the floor with a soft thud. I immediately notice the tension in his body. There's something intoxicating about having this effect on someone who usually doesn’t lose control.

"You're going to be the death of me," he says against my lips, but his hands are already working at the clasp of my bra.

"Good," I say back. "I want to wreck you the way you wrecked me."

The bra falls away, and suddenly his hands are everywhere. He’s cupping and caressing my breasts and when his thumbs brush over my nipples, I arch into his touch, practically begging for more.

"I love how responsive and sensitive you are to my touch you are," he says it so low that I wonder if he’s actually talking to me. "So perfect."

"That's very romantic," I toss out because this is getting serious very fast. "Very un-fuckboy of you."

He laughs softly. "I was never a fuckboy, Willow. Just a coward."

"Well, you're being very brave now." I let my hands slide down his chest again. "Almost heroically brave, one might say."

"Are you mocking my emotional vulnerability?" But he's smiling as he says it.

"Maybe a little." I grin up at him. "It's cute how you get all sincere when you're about to get laid."

"Cute?" He raises an eyebrow, and suddenly his hands are on my thighs, lifting me effortlessly. “There’s nothing cute about me.”

My legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he carries me the few steps to his bed. "Yes there is; you’re very cute. Like a golden retriever who learned to sit."

He sets me down gently on the edge of the mattress. "You always do that."

"Do what?"

"Use sarcasm when things get too real." His fingers trace along my jaw. "You don't have to deflect with me."

The observation hits too close to home, making me want to retreat behind another joke. But the way he's looking at me stops the words before they form.

"This is terrifying," I admit quietly.

"I know." He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. "It's terrifying for me too."

"Good," I whisper. "I'd hate to be the only one freaking out."

He moves back slightly, his eyes drinking me in like I'm something he's been waiting his whole life to see. His hands hover just above my skin, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his palms.

"I want to take my time with you. Is that okay?"

I nod because finding words is difficult. His fingers find the thin straps of my thong, but instead of pulling it down immediately, he traces the elastic along my hip bones.

"You're shaking," he observes softly.

"So are you," I point out, because his hands are trembling slightly against my skin.

He pauses, looking down at his own hands like he's surprised by their betrayal. "I am." He meets my eyes again. "I've thought about this moment for so long, and now that it's here..."

"Now that it's here?" I chime in.

"I want to remember everything." His thumbs continue their gentle exploration. "The way you look right now. How your skin feels. The sound you make when I touch you here." He presses a gentle kiss to the curve where my neck meets my shoulder. I make a soft gasp that makes him grin.

His fingers finally hook under the thin fabric at my hips. He pulls the thong down slowly, and I lift slightly to help him. When he’s done, he tosses it aside without looking and I don’t care where it landed.

"Wills, fuck," he starts to say as his gaze travels down my body. "You're..."

"Breathe, Blaise," I whisper, because his chest is rising and falling as if he’s having a hard time catching his breath.

He lets out a shaky laugh. "Right. Breathing. That's...that's a good idea."

But instead of touching me, he just stares. His eyes trace every inch of my skin like he's committing it to memory. But I’ve had enough of this waiting game. It’s time to put up or shut up.

I sit up to yank his boxers down. "Your turn."

He catches my wrists gently but firmly, stopping my movement. The sudden shift in his demeanor makes me pause, but not from fear. I feel as if the intensity has been kicked up a notch and where I normally would have tried to argue with him, I wait for his next instruction.

Happily.

"Not yet. Tell me what you want first."

"You know what I—" I start, but he cuts me off.

"No. I don’t. And be specific." His grip on my wrists tightens slightly. "Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you."

The command in his voice sends a jolt straight to my pussy. "I want you to touch me," I manage to say.

"Where?" His eyes stare into mine. "Say it."

I can feel my cheeks reddening. "Blaise..."

"Say it, Willow. Tell me where you want my hands."

The words stick in my throat. I'm not used to this. I’m not the person who has to ask or voice what I want so explicitly in the bedroom. But the way he's looking at me, waiting for me to comply, pushes away any awkwardness I feel about it.

"I want you to touch my breasts," I whisper.

"Good girl." The praise makes me shiver. Looks like he’s not the only one with a praise kink. "What else?"

"I want..." I swallow hard. "I want you inside me."

"How?" He leans closer. "With my fingers? My mouth? My cock?"

The crude words from his lips make me gasp. "All of it. Everything."

"That's not specific enough." His hands trail down my arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "Pick one. Tell me exactly what you want right now."

"Your fingers. I want your fingers inside me again."

"Where?" he presses, even though we both know the answer.

"In my..." I can't finish the sentence.

"Say it." His voice is firm but polite. "I need to hear you say it."

"In my pussy," I finally say. “I want your fingers in my pussy."

The satisfaction in his expression makes the butterflies in my stomach go into ultra drive. "There we go. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Before I can respond, his hand is between my thighs, and before I can blink, his fingers are sliding into my pussy. I arch into his touch as a soft moan escapes my lips.

"Still so wet for me," he murmurs approvingly. "Tell me how it feels."

"Good," I gasp as he circles my clit with his thumb. "So good."

"More specific," he demands, sliding one finger inside me. "Tell me exactly how good."

"I can't—" My words dissolve into a moan as he curls his finger.

"You can." He adds a second finger, stretching me. "Tell me, or I'll stop."

The threat makes panic flutter in my chest. "No, don't stop. Please."

"Then tell me."

"It feels incredible," I rush out. "Your fingers feel so good inside me. I love how you stretch me, how you know exactly where to touch me."

"Better." He rewards me by increasing his pace. "What else do you want?"

"I want to touch you too," I admit in between taking deep breaths. "I want to feel you."

"Feel me where?"

My face burns, but I force the words out. "I want to touch your cock. I want to know how hard you are for me."

He groans low in his throat. "Fuck, Willow. The things you do to me, but you know what would make this even better? I want you to beg for me."