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.