Her lips curl into a smile, a mix of pleasure and mischief. “I do,” she breathes, her voice trembling.
I grin and keep at it, rolling my hips to meet hers, giving her the perfect angle to grind her clit against me. My hands move between teasing her breasts and tracing the curve of her waist, every part of her body driving me closer to the edge.
Her knees begin to shake, her movements turning frantic as her breathing grows ragged. I can feel her tightening around me, her body on the brink of release.
“Fuck, Wilder,” she cries out, her voice breaking as she lifts up one last time before slamming back down, her ass bumping against my sack, her entire body trembling as she falls apart.
The way her pussy contracts around me, squeezing tight, is my undoing. I grip her hips harder, holding her in place as I thrust up into her twice more, my release hitting me hard. My head fallsback against the pillows, my chest heaving as I unleash.
She collapses on top of me, her warm, trembling body molding perfectly against mine. Her head rests on my chest, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps. My arms wrap around her, keeping her close as I feel my pulse slowly return to normal.
Neither of us speaks for a moment, the only sounds in the room are our breathing and the faint hum of the fan. I run my hand up and down her spine, savoring the way her body feels against mine, how perfectly she fits in my arms.
When her breathing finally evens out, and I feel myself start to soften inside her, I press a kiss to her forehead. “Stay put,” I whisper, brushing a strand of hair from her damp face. “Let me clean you up.”
She nods sleepily, her lips curving into a satisfied, lazy smile as she nestles closer for just a few more seconds. And honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this complete in my life.
I shift her off me then carry her into the bathroom, both of us still naked until I sit her on the edge of the tub and bring a wet rag to between her legs, washing carefully. She’s quiet as she watches me, and I wonder what she’s thinking about. Despite all the sex we had last night, all over my pool house, I know I still haven’t said much. Didn’t ask much about her or tell her much about myself but she shared more than words could ever do for me. And it’s not that I don’t want to know or open up to her, it’s that every time I try to do that, it feels like the words get stuck in my throat. Captured there out of fear of sharing too much that might push her away, and stuck in the past mistakes that I’ve made.
“Can I come help you this morning?” she asks gently, dragging me out of my self-loathing thoughts.
“To feed the calves?”
She nods and smiles.
I shrug, because it wouldn’t hurt to have an extra set of handssince I’m running behind and she’d said she grew up on a dairy farm and should know what to do. “If you want.”
Eagerly, she pushes off the edge of the tub and strides back to my bedroom with purpose, her steps confident and unhurried. She makes a beeline for my closet, her fingers brushing over the row of flannels before pulling out my favorite long-sleeved one—the one with the faded blue-and-white plaid that’s soft from years of wear. She slips it on, the sleeves hanging past her wrists, and then grabs the jeans I’d ripped off her last night, shimmying all of her curves into them in a way I can’t make sense of.
She looks perfect. Like she belongs here, in the barely controlled chaos of my life. Living out of my parents’ pool house, waking up early to the sun cutting through the curtains, and facing the constant pull of responsibilities that seem endless. Teagan doesn’t look out of place in the slightest. In fact, she looks like she was made for mornings like this, for slipping into my clothes and walking barefoot across the wooden floors while the world outside slowly wakes.
My gaze lingers on her as she adjusts the flannel, rolling the sleeves up to her elbows and then slips on her boots. It’s a simple sight, but something about it knocks the air from my lungs. My mind flashes to my uncle Wylie and my aunt Stevie. They weren’t a love story at first—hell, not even close. They got married because of some old-school clause in the Cameron Ranch deed that said he needed a wife to take on the responsibilities alongside him. A marriage of convenience.
But here’s the thing: it worked. They became a team, the kind of couple that just clicks, even in the face of every challenge life threw at them. And for a split second, as Teagan tugs the flannel tighter around her, I can’t help but imagine us in the same way. A partnership, a team, the two of us taking on the weight of this place together.
The thought shouldn’t be comforting, but it is. And damn if it doesn’t stir something deep in my chest that makes me feelfoolish like I’m getting way too ahead of myself.
Despite falling into bed around two this morning, exhaustion weighing heavy on every muscle in my body, I’d take her back to bed again in a heartbeat if I didn’t have chores demanding my attention. I step closer, pulling an extra cowboy hat from the closet—a worn, black one that’s seen its fair share of early mornings and long days. She’s fiddling with the buttons of the flannel, her head tilted slightly as if lost in thought, and I can’t help but smile as I gently place the hat on her head.
The brim casts a soft shadow over her face, and when she looks up at me, those warm brown eyes meet mine, stealing what’s left of my resolve.
“Perfect,” I murmur, my voice low and thick, “You’ll need it to keep the sun out of your eyes while we’re working.
“Do I look like a real cowgirl now?” she asks, smiling, and dropping one hip to the side. She looks perfect wearing my clothes and standing in my home.
I smile back. “You look like you belong here, Teagan.”
Her smile falters for only a second at my heavy words but she quickly recovers as I slip on my cowboy boots. “Let’s go, Dixie Chick.”
Two hours and fifty baby calves fed later, I’m driving her back to Ryder Davenport’s home to drop her off for the rest of her sister’s bachelorette weekend.
It’s the last place on earth I want to take her, but I keep my mouth shut. Speaking up wouldn’t do any good—wouldn’t change anything—and the last thing I want is to tarnish the incredible night and morning we just shared.
Watching her care for the animals this morning was something I won’t forget anytime soon. She was radiant, her hair pulled back and cheeks flushed as she moved effortlessly between feeding, cleaning, and cuddling the little ones. She talked the whole time we worked side by side, her voice light and animatedas she said whatever came to mind, telling me about her childhood on her family’s dairy farm and how much she missed being around baby animals.
She opened up even more, sharing the path that led her to enroll in veterinary school and the dreams she’s been quietly nurturing—dreams of owning her own clinic someday where she can have something of her own and build a legacy. Her eyes sparkled as she talked, and even though I didn’t say much in return, I listened intently, soaking up every detail.
What I liked most, though, was that she didn’t need me to respond all the time. She didn’t demand that I fill the silence with details about myself or stories I didn’t feel like telling. She just let me exist beside her, basking in her shining presence while she shared her life with me. It was easy. Natural. And for someone like me, who’s used to walls and distance, that was rare.
