Page 28 of Sweetly Yours

She nods, but her expression is still distant. I let my hands linger for a moment longer before stepping back, giving her space.

“You know where everything is,” I say, heading toward the kitchen. “Hungry? I can make us something.”

She turns, her lips curving into the faintest smile. “Maybe just some tea?”

“Tea it is,” I say, grateful for even the smallest spark of normalcy.

With Frankie still sniffing around and Willow looking a little more settled, I head into the kitchen. She asked for tea, but I figure she could use more than that. I grab some bread, peanut butter, and jelly—something quick and easy—and slap together a plateful of sandwiches, cutting them in half. I toss a bag of chips onto the tray and add her tea before carrying everything back out to the living room.

She’s sitting on the couch, legs tucked under her, watching Frankie sniff every corner like he owns the place. Her eyes flick to me as I set the tray down on the coffee table.

“Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” I say with a smirk, sitting down next to her. “Can’t say I don’t know how to treat a woman.”

She picks up a half-sandwich, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Impressive,” she teases, taking a bite.

“I aim to please,” I say, grabbing one for myself and reaching for the remote. I scroll through for a minute before landing onThe Office. The familiar theme song fills the quiet space, the volume low enough to not drown out the sound of us chewing.

We eat in easy silence, the crunch of chips and the soft hum of the TV breaking up the stillness. Frankie hops onto the couch after a while, curling up against Willow like he’s claiming her as his. She strokes his head absentmindedly, her shoulders starting to relax.

“This might not be five-star dining,” I say, popping the last bit of sandwich into my mouth, “but I think it’s doing the job.”

She glances at me, her honey-colored eyes soft and a little more at ease. “It’s perfect,” she says quietly. “Thanks, Brock.”

I shrug, leaning back against the couch. “Anytime.” And I mean it. If it takes PB&J and reruns to make her feel a little safer, I’d do it every damn night.

When we head to the bedroom, there’s a low fire crackling in the corner fireplace, casting a warm glow over the space. She pauses for a second in the doorway, her eyes scanning the room like she’s taking it all in. There’s a shyness in her that wasn’t there earlier, like the weight of everything is finally catching up to her.

“You good?” I ask, watching her carefully.

She nods, her voice soft. “Yeah. Just… the fire. It’s nice.”

“Figured you’d like it,” I say, grabbing an extra pillow and tossing it onto the bed.

She picks up her bag and disappears into the bathroom to change. When she comes back out, I almost drop the pillow I’m holding. She’s wearing an oversized T-shirt, the hem brushing mid-thigh, and a pair of fitted boyshorts. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, and her cheeks are pink, probably from washing up. She looks… stunning, without even trying.

“You okay?” she asks, her voice soft as she tilts her head.

I clear my throat, nodding. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

She climbs into bed without another word, curling onto her side. Frankie hops up, circling a few times before settling at herfeet. I join her a moment later, lying on my back, staring at the ceiling, and hyper-aware of how close she is.

“Thank you, Brock,” she says softly after a long moment.

I glance over at her. “For what?”

“For everything. For making me feel safe.”

I turn onto my side, meeting her gaze as my voice drops. “Always, baby. That’s what I’m here for.”

Her lips curve into a faint smile as her eyes flutter closed. I watch her for a moment, the soft glow of the fire dancing across her face, and one thought keeps running through my head: I’d do anything to protect her. Always.

The fire has long since died down, leaving the room bathed in the soft, silvery glow of moonlight. Willow lies curled against me, her soft breaths steady and even as she sleeps. My arm drapes over her waist, my hand splayed across the curve of her hip, holding her close.

I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep when something pulls me from my dreams—a subtle movement, a pressure that sends a low hum of awareness thrumming through my body. It takes me a moment to register what’s happening, but then I feel it, Willow’s ass snug against me, her warmth pressed against my cock.

I bite back a groan, my body stirring as I try to keep still, not wanting to wake her. But then she shifts again, her hips rolling slightly, and a low, guttural sound escapes me before I can stop it. My hand tightens on her hip instinctively, trying to still her movements. “Willow,” I murmur, my voice rough with sleep and growing arousal.

She doesn’t stop. Instead, her hips shift again, this time deliberate, the curve of her ass rubbing against me in a way that makes my restraint snap like a frayed thread. “Willow,” I rasp, but there’s no urgency in my voice now, just pure want.

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