“Damn right.” I shift the angle, hitting that spot that makes her quiver. “Come for me, Jessie. Let me feel you.”
She breaks. Her whole body goes rigid, her inner walls clamping down on my cock so hard I see stars. She screams my name—Sawyer, my real name, the one that’s only hers—and I follow her over the edge with a groan that comes from somewhere primal.
I spill into her in waves, filling her with everything I have, everything I am.
And when the world finally stops spinning, I don’t pull out. I’m still buried inside her, arms braced on either side of her hips, our foreheads pressed together.
We lie tangled together, sweaty and satisfied, her head on my chest and my hand tracing idle patterns down her spine. Our breathing slowly evens out. The cabin is quiet except for the crackle of the fire and the wind in the pines outside.
“Best clerical error in county history,” I murmur into her hair.
Her snort is undignified yet completely adorable. “Eventually, we're going to have to share this story. How we met.”
“I outbid Mr. Rolex for you at a charity auction, then a volunteer accidentally married us. What's complicated about that?”
“When you put it that way, it sounds almost romantic.”
“Itisromantic. I saw you, I wanted you, I bought you, and the state of Montana agreed we should be together forever.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “Fate with really good paperwork.”
She laughs, her whole body shaking against mine. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet, you married me.”
“Accidentally.”
“Next time, it’ll be on purpose.” I tighten my arms around her.
She props her chin on my chest, looking up at me with her soft brown eyes. “So how is this going to work? Us. Life. The practical stuff.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t just stop working. Art is who I am.”
“I know.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “And I’d never ask you to stop.”
“But what if I get commissions? What if someone wants a mural in New York or Barcelona or Tokyo?”
“Then you go,” I say it simply because itissimple. “You go, you paint, and you come home.”
“And you’ll be okay with that? Me leaving?”
“Jessie.” I pull her up so we're eye to eye. “There’s a difference between leaving and going. Leaving is running away. Going is living your life and coming back to someone who’s waiting.” I kiss her softly. “I’ll always be waiting. This mountain isn’t going anywhere, and neither am I.”
Her eyes light up. “What about you? The lumberyard, the ranch?—”
“Still here. Still need someone to haul wood and fix fences.” I shrug. “I’ll work, you’ll work, and we’ll come home to each other at the end of it.”
“And if we have kids?”
The question lands in my chest like a live wire.
“Kids?” I manage.
“Someday.” She's blushing now, which is adorable given what we just did. “Not tomorrow, but eventually. Maybe. If you want?—”
“I want.” The words come out rough and raw. “God, Jessie. I want everything with you. Kids, dogs, chaos. All of it.”
“Yeah?”
