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I raise Willow’s face to mine, the green of her eyes dyed blue with starlight, glimmering like gemstones. I speak low and solemn.
“What do you want to do? I’ll have him arrested, taken, tossed into a hole somewhere. I’ll bring him to you and throw him at your feet, if that’s what you want. Just say the word.”
Willow looks into my eyes. Words tremble on her lips. I see the debate raging inside her; I see her confusion at herself, like her own reaction is a betrayal against herself.
When she speaks finally, her voice is small and hard.
“I want to go home.”
“Then let’s go home.”
Willow says nothing onthe drive back to the house, and I don’t press her. When we get home, a little after midnight, the dogs surround her like she’s walked in wounded. She pets their heads and walks off with them.
I leave her to it and send orders to Woodrow to find out everything he can about Richard Thornton. Who he came to the gala with, where he’s staying, and anything that can be dredged up about his life.
I shower, but no matter how hot I run the water, I can’t scrub my skin free of the sensation of witnessing Willow coming apart. It’s as if the sight of Willow, shaken and distraught, has left an indelible smear of blood across my skin. Nothing could wash it away.
Sleep evades me that night. Willow is in her room with Cerberus, which brings me only the smallest of comfort. I toss and turn in my bed, uncomfortable with the pricking of a hundred questions. Every time I close my eyes, I see Willow’s eyes, poison-green turned to starry blue in the darkness of the balcony.
I must have drifted into a restless sleep after a few hours—I wake up with a start when something pulls at the corner of my blanket. My room is almost completely dark, but I don’t need to see Willow to know it’s her. I smell her, the rich, contradictory scent of her, the heat of her skin.
She pulls at my blanket and crawls into my bed. I murmur her name, but she covers my mouth with hers. She kisses me, needy and wet. I half-wonder if I can taste tears on her mouth. I try to sit up against her, to take her in my arms, to hold her right into my heart where I might keep her like a queen in a fortress while I slay all her enemies for her.
But she pushes me back, pins me down to the bed with a hand on my shoulder. She tugs on my waistband, and my cock, so easily persuaded by her, lifts free, stiffens under her hand.Willow’s naked body is a warm silken thing against mine, her mouth is unusually silent, unusually tender.
When she pulls away, I murmur in the darkness, “What do you need? Tell me, Lynch.”
Her body writhes against mine, and she tries to cover my mouth with her hand, but I half-roll her under me, brushing hair from her forehead with my fingers as I breathe words into the darkness.
“I know you’ve been trying to get into my office. I saw your revenge list, that time I took your notebook. You’ll never break into my office, but you couldaskme for what you want, Lynch.” I kiss her mouth, I kiss the warm skin over her pulse, whispering into her neck, “Do you know how much I’d like that? If you justaskedme for what you want? I could be so fucking generous to you.”
With a throaty grunt of annoyance, Willow plasters her hand over my mouth and rolls me onto my back once more. She straddles my body and takes my hard cock in her hand. I feel the wet heat of her settle against me.
I catch my breath in a hiss, brush my hands up Willow’s thighs, under her ass, supporting her hips as she sinks down.
There’s a sweet, soft moan, and then Willow’s hips settle against mine, my cock buried in the wet heat of her.
“Give me the code to your office door,” she says at last, soft, almost pleading.
“Why?”
“Who cares?”
She rests her palms on my chest, bracing herself against me as she lifts her hips, bouncing herself with torturous slowness up and down the length of my cock. She fucks me slowly, with needy moans, like it’ll distract me, but it doesn’t.
“Willow. Tell me what you want.”
She lowers herself onto my cock once more, grinds herself against my hips like she’s craving more contact. She takes my hand off her thigh and places my fingers in her mouth, sucking on my index and middle finger until they’re slick with her saliva.
“The journalist offered me a payout if I give him the evidence he needs for his expose,” she breathes, lowering my wet fingers to her pussy.
I wince, but I touch her clit anyway, because she wills it, because I can’t seem to stop myself from giving Willow what she wants. “Pawning my watches isn’t enough money, Lynch? You need more? You need the pin to my black card?”
“Wouldn’t you give me anything I asked for?” she asks, and her voice hitches because my fingers are working her clit deftly, knowing exactly how gentle she likes, knowing exactly the rhythm that’ll have her crashing headlong into pleasure.
“Anything you asked,” I whisper. “Soask.”
“I—” Her words are cut off by her orgasm, which makes her entire body stiffen, then twitch. She comes with a broken cry, grinding helplessly against me, cunt spasming around my cock.
