"You're not what?"
"Delicate. Beautiful. What she wanted me to be."
"No." His hands frame my face again, forcing me to look at him. "You're better. You're strong. Capable. Brave. You survived your brother selling you and a cartel hunting you, and you're still here. Still fighting. That's not delicate. That's fierce."
The word breaks something open in my chest.
"The woman your mother wanted you to be?" Colt’s thumb traces my cheekbone. "She's still here. But not because you're delicate. Because you're strong enough to be both. Grace and resilience. Beauty and steel."
I kiss him again, and this time it's not desperate. It's claiming. His hands slide down to my thighs, lift me up, and my legs wrap around his waist instinctively. He carries me to the couch, lays medown with surprising gentleness, given how hard we're both breathing.
His mouth trails down my neck, across my collarbone, and I arch into him, my hands in his hair, pulling him closer. The dog tags swing forward, cool metal against my heated skin, and I catch them. Hold them.
"Sofia's?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"You wear them every day."
"Every day for five years."
"Why?"
He lifts his head and looks at me. "Because I made the wrong choice." He stops, swallows hard. "Because I needed to remember what happens when protocol matters more than people."
I trace the chain, feel the worn edges of the tags. "And tonight?"
"Tonight I'm choosing differently."
"Even if it costs you everything?"
"Yeah. Even then."
I pull him down, kiss him deep and slow, and feel him surrender to it. His weight settles over me, solid and grounding, and for the first time in three days, I feel safe. Not because we're actually safe—we're not, we're probably more exposed than ever. But because I'm not alone anymore.
His hands find the button of my jeans, and I arch my hips to help him. We're moving fast—probably too fast—but I don't want to slow down. Don't want to think. Just want to feel.
"Maggie—" He pauses, his hand on my waist, his breathing ragged. "We should?—"
"It's going to take time for them to come back and try again," I whisper fiercely, my fingers digging into his arms. "Until then, give me this. Give me you."
He searches my eyes for a beat, something raw flickering there, then nods once, sharp and decisive. "Okay."
His mouth crashes back to mine, silencing any lingering doubt, and his fingers make quick work of my jeans, shoving them down my hips along with my underwear in one roughtug.
I kick them off impatiently, exposed now under the dim ranch light, my skin prickling with anticipation as he sheds his own pants, the fabric pooling on the floor. I reach for him, wrapping my hand around his length—hot, thick, pulsing under my grip—and he hisses through his teeth, hips jerking forward into my touch.
I stroke him slowly at first, teasing, watching his jaw clench and his eyes darken, but he doesn't let me lead for long; he pins my wrists gently but firmly above my head, his free hand sliding between my thighs, fingers parting me, finding me slick and aching.
"God, Maggie," he growls against my lips, circling my clit with his thumb in lazy, deliberate strokes that make my breath stutter, my body clenching around nothing, desperate for more.
He dips lower, one finger slipping inside me, then two, curling just right, and I buck against his hand, a whine escaping my throat as he works me open, slow and torturous, building the heat until I'm trembling, so close, teetering on that exquisite edge—but he pulls back, denying me, his touch vanishing just as the coil tightens unbearably.
"Colt, please—" I gasp, frustration twisting deliciously with need, my hips grinding up against empty air.
"Not yet," he murmurs, voice rough as gravel, and then he's there—nudging against my entrance, teasing with shallow thrusts that promise everything but deliver only the tip, stretching me just enough to make me ache deeper, wilder.
I wrap my legs around him, trying to pull him in, but he holds back, controlling the pace, dragging it out until I'm a writhing mess beneath him, every nerve screaming for release, the denial sharpening every sensation until it borders on agony.
