Page 13 of Where the Roses Bloom (Gospels & Grimoires #1)

Willow

By the time we made it back to the library lawn, the fireflies had taken over and someone had brought out a guitar.

I half expected everyone to have cleared out by now, but the crowd had only thinned to the lingerers—the ones who never wanted summer nights to end.

Folding chairs had been pushed aside in favor of quilts and coolers, and the music had shifted to soft singalongs and lazy harmonies, voices rising with the sound of crickets.

Delilah caught sight of us first, a smirk on her face. Whit, sitting next to her, followed her gaze and grinned around the neck of his beer bottle.

“Well, well,” he drawled. “Look who wandered back.”

Rhett tugged me just a little closer as we stepped into the grass. “You always gotta narrate, Whit?”

Delilah snorted. “He can’t help it. Boy loves an audience.”

Whit tipped his bottle toward her, grinning. “Only when they’re pretty.”

Rhett shot him a look, all amusement, like he couldn’t resist. “You keep that up, someone’s gonna think you’re tryin’ to impress her.”

Whit’s grin twitched, but he covered it fast with another sip of his beer. “I ain’t tryin’. If I wanted to, she’d be impressed.”

Delilah laughed, rolling her eyes as she handed me a peach soda. “Sure, Whit. Keep tellin’ yourself that. Now come on, Willow—let’s show these boys how it’s done.”

And somehow, the night spun on.

We danced barefoot in the grass until the guitar player’s fingers gave out and the moon hung heavy and full over the trees.

Rhett didn’t leave my side once. Every time I glanced his way, I caught him looking at me like I was the last soft thing in the world he’d ever get to touch.

I didn’t know how to hold that kind of tenderness without crumbling.

So I leaned into it.

Let myself laugh when he twirled me, hum when he pulled me close, fold when he pressed his mouth to my hair like he couldn’t help it.

It was near midnight by the time we finally slipped away.

The others were still trading stories and swatting mosquitoes, the library lawn a haze of citronella and shared glances. But I was done pretending I didn’t want more. Done pretending the heat between us hadn’t settled low in my belly and taken root.

Rhett looked at me like a question. I answered it with a kiss to his jaw.

“Let’s go home,” I whispered.

His eyes darkened. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s.”

It was only a short drive back to the house from Main Street, but it felt like years. My fingertips tingled wanting to touch him…to kiss him, to let him undress me, to tangle my fingers in his hair and feel him inside me. Rhett’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, jaw tense .

“You good?” he asked.

I let out a breath laugh that sounded more like a moan than I intended. “Um…depends on your definition of ‘good’.”

“You don't…you nervous?”

I gaped at him. “No…no, not nervous at all. Just…turned on?”

Rhett chuckled low in his throat, his voice a low rasp when he spoke again. “Me too, rosebud. Me too.”

We pulled into the gravel drive slow. The porch light was still on—soft and gold. My little Bug sat beside Rhett’s truck like some kind of storybook punctuation mark. Two lives, parked side by side.

He cut the engine but didn’t move to get out.

Neither did I. We just…sat there. Staring straight ahead like the weight of what was about to happen needed a breath before it could settle.

The air between us buzzed, thick with all the things we hadn’t said out loud—how long we’d wanted this, how close we’d come to pretending we didn’t.

Rhett finally turned toward me, one hand still braced on the wheel, the other coming up to touch my cheek.

“You sure?”

I leaned into his hand. “Yeah,” I whispered. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He swallowed hard. Nodded once.

Then slid out of the truck, rounding it quick to open my door.

I opened my door and made to get out too, but Rhett was already there, catching me in his arms and swinging my legs up into a bridal carry.

We laughed together, tea leaves on his breath, lavender scones on mine.

He strode up the old porch steps and then we were through the door, climbing the stairs, my heart in my throat.

We stopped on the landing, Rhett putting me down so he could push me gently against the wall, lips trailing down my jaw. The bedroom was right there, but neither of us wanted to wait.

“Jesus…” he growled. “You know how bad I want you, Willow? I could take you right here and die a happy man.”

“Then do it,” I breathed. “I want?—”

He cut me off by pulling me off my feet again, that handsome face cracked into a wide smile. “No, ma'am…I'm fuckin’ you good and long and well tonight.”

He carried me the rest of the way with that promise still hanging in the air between us—hot, heavy, delicious.

The bedroom door swung open, and before I could take another breath, he was setting me down on the edge of the bed like I was the most precious thing he’d ever laid hands on.

I wanted to look around, take in his space…

but Rhett had other plans. His eyes swept over me, slow and hungry, his chest rising like he was trying to calm himself.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” he said hoarsely, brushing a finger along my jaw. “You. In this room. In my bed. Maybe even before I met you in the wakin’ world.”

“You don’t have to dream anymore,” I whispered, tugging the hem of his shirt.

He lifted it over his head in one smooth motion, and I swear I forgot how to breathe. Broad chest dusted in dark hair, all muscle and tension and desire drawn tight.

“Your turn,” he rasped. “If you want to.”

I nodded. My fingers shook a little, but not from nerves—just from the sheer pressure of want, of how badly I needed him to see me. I tugged my sundress up and over my head, letting it fall to the floor beside his shirt.

Rhett stared. His mouth parted. “Holy fuck.”

I was in nothing but my underwear, and the way he looked at me made me feel like I was made of stardust and sin. He moved in slow, sinking to his knees in front of me, hands sliding up my thighs, pushing them gently apart.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he murmured, pressing kisses to my belly, my hips, the tops of my thighs. “Could spend hours just lookin’ at you. Tastin’ you. Makin’ you shake.”

My breath hitched as he mouthed over the edge of my panties. “Rhett…”

He looked up, voice ragged. “You say the word and I’ll stop. You want slow, I’ll give you slow. You want soft, I’ll give you sweet. But baby, if you let me…I’ll make you mine tonight.”

I reached for him, hands threading through his hair. “I’m already yours,” I said. “I’ve been yours since the minute I got stranded in your driveway.”

Rhett growled something that might’ve been my name and then I was on my back, his lips between my legs, hands spreading me wide. My panties were still on, but he didn't care; he licked me through them, thumbs gliding over the sensitive skin of my inner thighs.

“Fuck, Willow…” Those big hands came over the tops of my thighs, up my hips, fingers hooking in the waistband of my underwear. And when he pulled them down…it was like he couldn't resist finding my clit right away, wrapping his lips around it.

I arched. “Rhett!”

“Fuck yes, baby,” he groaned, tongue moving up and down. “Keep singing’ for me.”

I was already shaking. Already gone.

His mouth was hot, focused, hungry. He licked and sucked and moaned against me like I was his last meal and his first blessing.

My fingers clenched in the sheets. “Don’t stop,” I gasped. “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he growled. “Not ‘til you come for me, Willow. Not ‘til I feel you fall apart on my fuckin’ tongue.”

It didn't take long. I shattered—right there with his mouth on me, his name on my lips, my thighs wrapped around his shoulders. He groaned like he could feel it in his bones, holding me through it, easing me down from the edge with slow kisses and reverent hands.

When I finally opened my eyes, he was braced over me—panting, flushed, eyes blazing with something more than lust. Something deeper.

“You okay?” he asked, brushing the hair back from my damp forehead.

I nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Better than okay.”

“Good,” he whispered, kissing my cheek, my jaw, the corner of my mouth. “Because I’m not done.”

He stood, scrambling to take off his jeans like it was physically painful not to be touching me. He slid down his pants and his boxers in one fluid motion, and my eyes fell to his hips.

His cock was thick, flushed, a bead of pre-cum at the tip…and he was huge. Bigger than my ex.

Bigger than any of my exes.

My mouth went dry just looking at him.

“You sure?” he asked again, just once, thumb brushing my cheek.

I pulled him down and kissed him, slow and sure and full of everything I didn’t have words for yet.

“Yes,” I whispered against his lips. “Yes.”

He groaned like it hurt to hold back and reached between us as he knelt between my legs, dragging the thick head of his cock through my slick folds. I gasped, hips rising, wanting more.

“Easy,” he rasped, one hand settling on my hip. “Gotta go slow, sweetheart. ”

And he did.

He pushed in inch by inch, watching my face the whole time, cursing under his breath when I clenched around him. He filled every corner of me, every place that had been insulted and neglected and used. For him…for him, this was worship. This was holy.

Before now, I'd never felt like my body was an altar.

With him, I did.

“Jesus…you feel like paradise, darlin’,” he groaned. “Can’t believe…can’t believe I waited this long…”

I whimpered, arching to meet him. “More.”

He buried himself to the hilt with a deep, trembling exhale. For a moment, we just stayed like that—connected, full, breathless.

Then the scent of roses washed over me…and my whole body seemed to curl around him, take him in. Rhett buried his face in the crook of my neck, peppering kisses down to my shoulder.

He pulled out. Pushed back in.

“Fuck… fuck ,” he growled. “Never…never felt like this.”