the shire is burning [eddie munson x OC]

chapter twenty two

Willow gasps as warm lips make their way down her neck, trailing against her collarbones and pausing to suck harshly. She finds her hands instinctively reaching up, fingers tangling in long, curly hair without a second thought.

"Something wrong, sweetheart?" his voice laughs lowly against her ear. It sends shivers down her spine relentlessly, makes her fingertips press even harsher into his scalp as her back arches off the bed to press herself closer to him. She feebly shakes her head, but that's not enough for him, "Words, doll . I need your words."

"Nothing's wrong, just please... fuck," her hands travel from being tangled in his hair to the back of his neck, trying to force his lips back onto her, "Please touch me, Eddie. Please."

He complies at her begging, lips returning to their attack, his teeth nipping at her sensitive skin. Immediately, she whines, and his tongue laps at the spot with remorse. Her back is arching once more. Even with her nude chest pressed to his, she needs more. She needs him to touch her.

"Eddie, stop teasing, please," she sighs, eyes fluttering close despite her words and her head rolling back, giving him more access.

"Not teasing, just taking my time," he hums against her skin. His mouth finally travels lower, lips pursing as he stops at her breasts, "Don't wanna rush it. Wanna remember this moment, doll."

The nickname shoots straight for her gut, fluttering about and only worsening the ache between her legs. She glances down for a moment, just in time to catch his warm, brown eyes glimmering up at her as his lips wrap around her nipple.

Willow wakes up with a start. Her eyes snap open and she's gasping as if she's just run a marathon, breathless as the images of her dream continue to flood her brain.

Fuck.

She sits up far too quickly, getting dizzy but still wasting no time to throw her comforter off of her body. She's hot - she's far too hot.

What the hell was that?

She couldn't begin to process her dream if she wanted to try. The haunting image of Eddie, lips pretty and pursed and pink from kissing her, is still flashing behind her eyelids every time she lazily blinks. The feeling of his breath on her skin, his hands gripping her hips, being so close to her - the ache between her legs from her dream was still very real, torturous to her now as she stood and stretched. Friends don't dream about friends that way. Friends don't dream about how it would feel to have bruises littering their neck from each other, how it would feel to have bare skin on bare skin. The entire scenario was making her blush and all she could do was rake her hands over her face and groan loudly into her palms out of frustration. It made her skin crawl, not in an uncomfortable way, but instead in an unfathomable one.

She'd never had a wet dream.

Maybe it was from her lack of real-life experience, but most of the time, her dreams were nonsensical. Silly and light-hearted, easy to forget.

Willow couldn't forget the look in his eyes.

"What... what are you doing to me, Munson?" she whimpers in frustration, sighing harshly and glaring down at her bed she'd been occupying far too comfortably moments before. Her eyes widen when she does. As if the dream wasn't bad enough, the Universe couldn't give her a break; her pillow was stained a blotchy pink, and the edge of her fluffy comforter she'd had gripped up to her chin was, too.

Son of a bitch-

She knew last night that going to bed with wet hair was a bad idea, but had held weak hopes that she wouldn't wake up to the murder scene in front of her. The exact situation her mother had warned her of when her hair disaster first occurred had happened. She knows she should be pulling the sheets off, that she should grab the bleach and rectify her bad decisions, but she didn't.