I undo his belt slowly, letting the sound of the buckle echo in the room. His jeans come undone with a soft rasp, and when I free him, he’s already thick and hard, twitching in my hand.
Will tips his head back with a groan as I wrap my fingers around him.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” I whisper. “About the way you taste. The way you sound.”
And then I take him in my mouth. His hand flies to my hair, but he doesn’t guide. He just holds on, like he’s anchoring himself against the storm building inside him.
I suck him slowly, swirling my tongue around the head, teasing the underside with every pass. He’s breathing harder now, muttering curse words and my name in equal measure.
“Fuck, sugar. Just like that.”
I take him deeper, moaning softly around him, loving the way his thighs tense, how his voice breaks. Every twitch, every groan, is a reward. A reminder that this is ours.
He pulses hot against my tongue, thighs flexing, chest rising in sharp bursts. He’s close. So close.
“Phern,” he gasps, “I’m gonna—fuck, I’m?—”
I don’t stop. I want all of it.
And when he comes, it’s with a strangled groan, my name on his lips and his fingers buried in my hair like he never wants to let go.
I stay there, gentle now, letting him ride it out. When I finally pull back, he’s flushed, breathless, eyes blown wide.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, voice raw. “You really trying to kill me?”
I crawl back into his lap, straddling him, pressing my lips to his jaw. “Just making sure you know I’m still all in.”
He pulls me close, arms tight around my waist, forehead pressed to mine.
“You’re everything,” he murmurs. “Even when it’s hard. Even when we’re hiding.”
“I won’t make you wait forever,” I whisper.
He grins, still breathless. “You keep makin’ it up to me like that, I’ll wait as long as you need.”
The next morning, Will tells me to wear boots. That’s it. No hint, no smirk, just a knowing look and a thermos of coffee already waiting in the truck.
“Where are we going?” I ask, sliding into the passenger seat.
He just grins and turns up the radio. “You’ll see.”
The drive is long enough to leave town behind. Asphalt turns to gravel. Fields open wide, framed by split-rail fences and the occasional low-slung barn. The sky is that bright, wide Wyoming blue that makes your heart stretch in your chest whether you want it to or not.
I sneak glances at him as he drives. He looks relaxed. Focused. A little nervous.
He pulls off down a winding lane framed by firs. At the end of it sits a modest house—ranch-style, set back against the rise of a hill. There's a wide porch, a swing hanging from one end, and just beyond it?
Land.
Acres of it.
Golden and open and quiet.
He shuts off the engine but doesn’t get out right away. “Come on,” he says finally, climbing down and rounding the front of the truck to open my door.
When I step out, the breeze lifts my hair, and the smell of warm grass and fresh dirt fills the air.
“I don’t understand,” I say quietly, looking at the house. “What is this?”
