“On whether you plan to shut up and kiss me or?—”
He cuts me off with a growl and crashes his mouth to mine, teeth grazing my bottom lip before his tongue claims every breath I have left. He kisses me like I belong to him. Like we never stopped. Like he’s starving and I’m the only thing that will satisfy him.
“You sitting on my lap like this,” he breathes between kisses, “makes me want to fuck you so deep you forget every man’s name but mine.”
I gasp as he drags me tighter against him, already hard beneath me.
“You feel that?” he mutters, grinding his hips upward. “That’s what you do to me. Every time you walk in the room. Every time you look at me like you don’t know I’d burn the whole damn world just to stay buried inside you.”
I whimper, hips rocking.
He rubs slow circles over my clit with the pad of his thumb. “You’re already soaked, baby. Didn’t even need to touch you.”
“Will—please?—”
He growls low in his throat. “That needy little voice? Fuck, I’ll give you anything you ask for.”
And he does.
One hard thrust, and he’s inside me again—deep, thick, hot—and I cry out, head falling back as he fills me all the way.
His hands grip my ass, guiding me as I ride him, slow at first, but quickly spiraling into something desperate and wild.
“Look at you,” he pants. “Taking me so good. Bouncing on my cock like it’s yours.”
“It is mine,” I moan, slamming down harder, chasing that sharp edge of pleasure.
“Damn right,” he groans. “No one else gets this. Just you. Only you.”
His mouth is back on mine, messy and claiming, and his words keep coming.
“You wanna be full of me again, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I gasp.
“You want me to ruin you, make you mine from the inside out?”
“Yes—God, Will, please?—”
“I’m gonna come so deep,” he grits, thrusting up harder, “you’ll remember me every time you breathe. Gonna fill this sweet little pussy until you can’t even think straight.”
I cry out, hands gripping his shoulders as my orgasm crashes over me.
Will follows with a loud groan, jerking beneath me, burying himself deep as he spills inside me with a final thrust that makes me shudder all over again.
For a few long moments, neither of us moves.
We’re just a tangle of sweat, breath, and everything we’ve kept bottled up finally breaking loose.
And then he whispers, “Mine.”
And I don’t even try to argue. Because I’ve never felt more claimed.
That evening I’m sitting at Flowers End, sipping on a drink that Will made me. It’s not the one, but it’s close.
It starts with a look.
Will’s behind the bar, forearms flexing as he slams the tap handle down and pours a pint for some ranch hand. I’m sitting on a barstool at the counter, wearing his flannel tied at the waist and a skirt I know drives him crazy. I don’t even have to say a word. I just tilt my head, lick the rim of my straw a little too slow, and his eyes darken instantly.
