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So that’s on the list of shit we need to take care of too. Sometimes it seems like as soon as we cross one thing off, another thing gets added, but that’s just how it is. We handle shit as it comes to us and try to get ahead of it when we can.
I toss my rag into the pile in the corner, making a mental note to get those washed before Vic comes down and has a fucking conniption about the mess.
I head out of the garage and into the part of the warehouse we live in, smiling a little as I think about how I started this day.
Willow was so warm and pliable this morning in bed, and then so open and soft in that bath we took. She felt so damn perfect in my arms, and if she hadn’t been so sore, I would have fucked her right there in the bathtub.
Now that I’ve been inside her, I want to fuck her over and over again. I can tell I’m getting addicted already, but I don’t think anyone could blame me for that. Not even Malice and Vic could, considering they’re as deep in this as I am. I wasn’t lying when I told her that my brothers and I have already been wrecked by her.
When I walk into the kitchen, Willow is there, sitting at the table peeling an orange. I just spent a good bit of the morning soaking with her in the bath, but I smile at her like I haven’t seen her in weeks, then lean down to kiss the top of her head, lingering for a bit.
It’s a possessive gesture, kissing her like this because I can. Because I want to, and I know she likes it.
“Hey.” She looks up at me with those radiant brown eyes when I pull back.
“Hey, yourself.”
She offers me a segment of her orange, and I take it, biting into the sweet citrus with a grin. Then I lean in and kiss her on the lips, tasting the orange on her mouth.
“Mm, tastes better like that,” I tease. “Oranges are alright, butyou’remy favorite flavor.”
Her cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink, and she fumbles with the next segment of the orange, popping it into her mouth and looking away from me.
I chuckle, finding her shyness fucking adorable—especially after everything we did last night. She was shy then too, although it was definitely a lot more than a kiss and some teasing then. But that’s one of the appealing things about Willow. Even after all that, and every other thing that’s happened to her, she hasn’t lost her sweet innocence. Maybe she never will.
Heavy footfalls announce Malice’s arrival before he strides into the kitchen, and he stops short when he sees Willow. She glances up at him, their gazes locking, and I swear I almost expect a bolt of lightning to crack through the kitchen. Clearly fucking her last night didn’t get her out of his system, and I’d guess the same is true for Willow.
Hell, I can relate to that.
“How do you feel?” he asks gruffly.
“I’m okay,” she murmurs, the flush on her cheeks that was beginning to fade deepening instead. “Just, you know, sore.”
He nods, his eyes narrowing a little as he sweeps his gaze over her, as if searching for any signs that she’s lying to him. I watch them in silence, a little amused to see the hint of concern in his gaze. I doubt he ever asked any of the dozens of women he’s brought home over the years if they were okay afterward—probably didn’t even speak more than two words to them once he finished fucking them.
But none of them were Willow.
“It’ll wear off,” he tells her, that same gruff tone in his voice. Clearly satisfied that she’s alright, he crosses the kitchen to open the fridge, pulling out stuff to start making a sandwich.
“You must be used to pain.” Willow chews on her full bottom lip, her eyes flicking over him. “With all the tattoos you have and everything.”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah. If you spend your life being afraid of pain, you’ll never do shit.”
Willow hesitates, and it looks like there’s something else she wants to ask him. When she speaks again, the next words come out in a rush. “When you got your cock tattooed, did it hurt?”
I smirk, both at the question and the fact that she rushed out the word ‘cock’ like that. Last night, she was begging for it, but that was a very different vibe than right now in the kitchen.
“Yeah, it did,” Malice answers. “It was one of the most painful things I’ve ever been through. And that’s saying something.”
“Then why did you get it?” Willow furrows her brows. “If it hurt so bad?”
He turns to look at her, the butter knife he was using to spread mustard on his bread in his hand. “To prove I could.”
She blinks. “That’s it? You just… wanted to prove something?”
“I wanted to know how much pain I could handle,” he grunts. “Plus, it sends a message.”
“What kind of message?”
