Page 20 of Sweetly Yours

“Here you go,” I say, setting a plate in front of her once we move to the dining table.

She cuts into her steak, her eyes widening after the first bite. “Okay, this is really good,” she says, pointing her fork at me.

“I’m full of surprises,” I reply, smiling.

We eat, talking easily between bites, and by the time the plates are cleared, I can’t remember the last time I felt this... content.

Back on the couch after dinner, the atmosphere shifts. It’s quieter now, more intimate. The wine is almost gone, and the fire in the stove crackles softly, casting flickering shadows on the walls.

Willow sits close, her legs tucked beneath her, and when she leans into me, resting her head against my shoulder, I feel my whole chest tighten.

“This is nice,” she murmurs, her voice soft.

“Yeah,” I say, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “It is.”

Her hand rests on my arm, her fingers tracing small, idle patterns against my skin. It’s such a simple gesture, but it makes me want to pull her closer, to hold her and never let go.

“I like this,” she says after a while.

“What?” I ask, my voice low.

“This,” she says, tilting her head to look up at me. “Being here with you.”

I don’t say anything at first, letting the weight of her words settle over me. Then, slowly, I reach out, cupping her face in my hand.

“I like it too,” I say, my thumb brushing along her jaw. “A little too much, maybe.”

She tilts her head, looking up at me with those honey-brown eyes, and I’m a goner. “You’re staring,” she teases, her voice soft and playful.

“Can you blame me?” I murmur, my voice low and rough.

Her cheeks flush, but instead of looking away, she shifts, moving onto my lap, her legs straddling my hips.

“Willow,” I rasp, the weight of her against me sending heat coursing through my body.

She cups my face in her hands, her thumbs brushing over my jaw, and her lips curve into a small, shy smile. “I want this, Brock,” she whispers, her voice steady despite the blush creeping up her neck.

Before I can respond, she leans in and kisses me.

Her lips are soft but insistent, moving against mine with a heat that makes my head spin. I grip her waist, pulling her closer, and the feel of her body pressed against mine is enough to make me forget everything but her.

When she starts to move, rolling her hips against me, the thin barrier of her panties and my jeans does nothing to dull the friction. It’s maddening, and it’s not enough.

With a growl, I grip her hips and roll us over, pinning her beneath me on the couch.

She lets out a soft gasp as I settle between her spread thighs, her body arching slightly against me. Her dress has ridden up in the motion, revealing her creamy thighs, and I have to take a second to catch my breath.

Jesus, she’s beautiful.

Her chest rises and falls quickly, and she looks up at me, her lips swollen from our kiss and her eyes wide, her pupils dark.

I lower myself, brushing my lips against hers again, my hands finding their way to her thighs. I start to rub slow, circles up and down her legs, my palms gliding over her warm, smooth skin.

Her breath hitches, and I can feel the tension in her body as I inch closer to where I know she wants me.

“Brock,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need.

The sound of her saying my name like that—so breathless, so full of want—nearly undoes me. My fingers dip closer to the heat between her thighs, teasing, and her hips lift slightly, seeking more contact.

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