Whatever It Takes (Bad Reputation Duet #1)(69)

“I really want to,” she says and then stops unzipping me. “Don’t you?” Fear springs in her eyes. Like maybe I wouldn’t want to touch her.

Like maybe I’ve grown less interested.

Never. Impossible.

“No question. Of course I do.” I kiss her again, fully and deeply. Reminding Willow that she’s all I want. Her limbs seem to slacken in relief.

And I back my girlfriend up to my mattress. She plops on the edge just as she tugs my pants down, also slowly. I can practically hear her thoughts: is this the right thing to do right now? Should I be taking off my shirt first or…

I help her tug down my pants, showing that there’s not a right or wrong way. There’s just our way.

Willow smiles up at me, but as soon as my jeans bunch to my knees, her breath catches in shock.

She gawks at my thigh, then reaches out to trace the new ink. “When did you get this?” she asks softly.

I step out of my jeans. “Two months ago.” I couldn’t muster the nerve to tell Willow about it, so I figured she’d see the tattoo in person. It’d be better that way.

Willow seems to hold her breath. Unblinking, her gaze bears on the tattoo. An inked skeleton hand brushes fingers with a smaller hand like they’re trying to hold on. Hang on. I didn’t really plan on getting a tattoo, but I walked into a shop and sat down and came out with this.

“You don’t like it,” I assume.

She shakes her head. “It’s beautiful but…also really sad.” Her brown eyes rise to mine. “You’re not dead yet, you know that, right?”

Do I?

How many skeletons will I tattoo on my body before I agree with her? Don’t know.

I hold my wrist out to her, palm up. We’ve done this enough that she gets it. She places two fingers to my pulse.

Our eyes don’t break. “Garrison Abbey, you are definitely alive.”

Only around you.

“It’s a miracle,” I say into a bigger smile. “Fire off the cannons. Light the torches. Let’s celebrate.” I lean close to kiss Willow.

Her mouth soft against mine.

I hold her face and gently urge apart her lips, my tongue slowly meeting hers while we both crawl onto the bed. Carefully, I rest my knee between her legs, and I grip the hem of her shirt, pulling the fabric off her head.

Her light brown hair messy around her face. Flush staining her cheeks.

After I shed my hoodie and tee, I dip my head back down. Returning to her lips. Willow hangs onto my shoulders, and I feel her heart quickening against my chest.

I know the more assertive I am, the more she sinks into the moment, and I easily take charge and unbutton her jeans, snap off her bra—desire and craving coats her eyes.

I yank her pants off her ankles and toss the clothes to the floor. Gray sheets beneath our bodies, our legs thread again. My waist aligned with her hips as I hover over her frame.

“Garrison,” she whispers, wanting. Her fingers skate down my biceps like they skim the surface of a lake. Light touch that annihilates my senses and fists my dick.

Fuck. I knead her small breast, nipples hard beneath my thumb.

Her hips instinctively rise into me.

A guttural noise rumbles in my lungs. Holy fuck. My knees push apart her legs so I fit between them, and I suck the nape of her neck, finding a sensitive spot that shakes her limbs.

She quakes and lets out an aroused cry.

Blood pumps in my veins. I want inside her. Closer. We both claw at each other for closer. Her fingertips gripping my ribs, and my hand descending to her panties.

I cup her warm heat, the fabric already soaked.

She trembles. “Garrison.”

My dick throbs.

Her palm travels down. She lightly touches the outline of my erection that presses against my black boxer-briefs.

I groan against her lips, “Fuck.”

She smiles, and with a heavy breath, I smile back. We stare at one another for a second, and very gently, I slip off her fogged glasses.

Willow breathes in, watching me reach over and place them on the nightstand. She holds onto me, and I lean back and whisper what I feel balled up in me. “I love you, Willow.”

Tears well up in her eyes. “I love you too.”

I brush the wet corners of her eyes, and then I pull off my boxer-briefs. Her hand goes back to my erection, and I slip aside the cotton fabric of her panties. Not removing them, just pushing them out of the way.

While we look at one another, I slide two fingers into her tight warmth.

Her smile vanishes to make room for a pleasured O. She half-gasps, half-moans, like she can’t figure out how to inhale.

I soak up her arousal, my muscles tightening. Sweat already building. Her hand is still on my length. Not moving.

It brings me back to the past. To us together—how her hands always freeze in place—it’s still the same. It hasn’t changed. She focuses more on where my hands roam, the pleasure that wraps around her, and she forgets to move altogether.

It’s the cutest thing, but I know it’s also what makes her nervous. Thinking she’s not getting me off, but whenever she remembers to shift her hands, she moves her palms in tiny increments. So light and teasing—the start-stop-start-stop drives my body to a fucking edge.

The best kind.

I pulse my fingers in Willow and rub her clit. My other hand gliding down her leg to her ass. Soft noises eject between her parted lips, sweat glistening on her bare body. She drinks in my naked form, the way my muscles flex above her—I’m not grinding my dick into Willow.