“Shiloh,” I quiet her, kissing the inside of her knee. “Let me take care of you.”
Her breath falters, but she relaxes her legs.
I slide her panties down her legs, slow enough to feel her shiver with every inch of exposed skin. She’s warm, soft, and wet in a way that makes my own restraint feel like it’s burning out of my body.
“Lean back.”
She does.
The moment my mouth touches her, she gasps my name like it’s the only word she remembers.
I take my time with her. Long strokes of my tongue, gentle pressure where she needs it, teasing until her hips start lifting off the nightstand, begging without words. She grasps my hair, tugging, guiding, her thighs tightening around my shoulders, and every sound she makes fuels something wild and possessive in me.
When she finally breaks apart, she falls forward into my arms, burying her face in my neck, breath stuttering like she’s still half in the dream and half in my hands.
I lift her again and shift her onto the bed, laying her down carefully before unbuckling my belt, her eyes watching every movement with raw need.
“Cole,” she whispers, reaching for me. “I want you. Now.”
I slide onto the bed with her, covering her body with mine, kissing her slow and deep. When I push into her, she gasps against my mouth, her nails digging into my back, legs wrapping around my waist.
“Jesus, Shiloh,” I groan, the feel of her overwhelming—tight, warm, and everything I’ve been trying not to crave.
She bites her lip, breath shaking. “Don’t stop.”
I couldn’t if I tried.
We move together in rhythm, slow at first, until her hands fly to my shoulders, urging me harder, deeper, faster. She cries my name against my throat, back arching, body rocking beneath mine, and every whisper, gasp, and broken sound shatters something inside me I didn’t even know was still intact.
When she comes again, harder this time, she drags me with her, her thighs tightening, breath tangled with mine.
We collapse into each other, the aftershocks rolling through her as I hold her close, arms wrapped around her like she might slip away if I loosen even a fraction.
Her head rests on my chest, breath soft and warm against my skin. Neither of us speaks for a long moment.
Eventually, she whispers, fragile and honest, “Thank you… for staying.”
I kiss the top of her head, holding her closer. “I’m not going anywhere,” I say quietly.
She exhales, a soft, shaken sound that feels like trust, and for the first time in a long damn while, something inside me settles.
Like maybe this is where I was always meant to land. With her, in the dark. Holding her nightmares back with my bare hands.
So much for the rules that were supposed to keep us apart and professional.
17
ELLA
Cole brings Aria to the training ring just after eight, the morning sun still low enough to cast long, pale shadows across the arena. The air is that perfect Texas blend of warm and crisp, the kind that smells faintly of hay, horseshoe metal, and everything familiar. We agreed it’s best to train in the mornings before the sun gets too hot. The Texan sun is especially harsh in the summer.
Aria hops out of the truck with the sort of excitement only nine-year-olds can inspire—a bounce in her step, her helmet tucked under her arm. I meet her near the gate, and she grins at me the way kids do when they trust someone enough to be fully themselves—open, bright, and unguarded. Every time she looksat me like this, something deep and aching inside me settles a little more.
“Ready, champ?” I ask, lightly nudging her shoulder.
She nods vigorously. “Ready!”
Cole stands beside me long enough for me to feel the residual warmth of yesterday slip between us. He smells like sawdust, cologne, and the faintest trace of my skin still on his neck.
