Slowly at first, hips rolling with a rhythm that nearly unravels me. Her hands plant on my shoulders for balance, her tits bouncing with every rise and fall of her body. I take one in my mouth, sucking her nipple into my mouth, teeth grazing until she gasps.
She moves faster. I thrust up to meet her.
It’s raw and messy and perfect.
Her hands tangle in my hair as I kiss her neck, her jaw, her mouth. Every moan, every shudder, every breath that hitches in her throat drives me harder.
I grip her ass, guiding her pace, and she rides me like she’s already mine.
“God,” she gasps, “Maverick—”
“I’ve got you,” I growl.
One hand slips between us, thumb circling her clit.
She shatters a moment later, legs trembling, her body locking around me with a cry that punches all the air from my lungs. I follow with a groan, thrusting deep and spilling into her with a heat that leaves me wrecked.
We collapse together, chests heaving, hearts pounding.
I hold her close, her head tucked under my chin, her body still trembling around me.
She’s mine and I’m never letting her go.
Epilogue
Maverick
It’sbeenthreeyearssince one weekend and one Valentine’s Day Auction rearranged my whole life.
A month after that, Nova stood in Lovesbury City Hall in a simple white dress, hands shaking, chin lifted like she was daring the world to doubt her. Evelyn Hartwood cried like she’d personally invented romance. Mayor Hartwood officiated with a cautious solemnity while his wife beamed through her tears.
Nova squeezed my hand.
I squeezed back.
And just like that, I knew I was hers. Completely. No going back.
Her ex never came back. Maybe he got the message. Maybe he didn’t. I don’t care. If he ever comes back, I’ll handle it.
What I do care about is that Nova built a life and a business with both hands and no apology.
It started with one scared stray that showed up that first spring. Then a cat. Then a rabbit. Then a limping old hound dumped at the edge of town. Then a half-frozen litter of puppies that would’ve died if Nova hadn’t found them.
One by one, they came.
Until it wasn’t just a habit.
It was a full rescue. Real. Loud. Constant.
She named it Silverpine Rescue, after the river and the trail.
Last summer, I built the bigger barn. Put up the fenced run and the little shelter beyond it. Heated kennels. Strong latches. The kind of work that turns love into something you can lean on.
That was then.
Now, it’s morning, and the cabin is warm while the world outside tries to freeze solid.
The light hits the snow like it’s attempting to be gentle about it.
