Jaxon follows me into the kitchen and stands against the island. “This your second or third cup of the day?”
“What’s it to you?” I insert the filter and pour in the fresh grounds from Chapters and Brews. It’s a far cry from the crappy instant shit I was drinking in the library break room not all that long ago. God, has it really been more than a month since I moved in?
“Still giving me attitude. That means it’s only the second.”
I scan the drying rack for my favorite mug to no avail. I usually keep it in the same place since Jaxon stores his mugs too high up in the cabinet for my five-three stature. He must’ve put it away.
He rolls up his sleeves, and all of my thoughts scatter like leaves in an autumn breeze. An empty square of black ink surrounded by delicate florals captures my attention—the familiar tattoo belonging to the man who’s been talking me through my orgasms for the better part of three years. My mind travels back through a scrapbook of images, glimpses of that tattoo in each lurid memory.
Seemingly oblivious to my inner turmoil, he reaches above my head to grab my mug off the shelf. I let out an involuntary squeak as his hips press into mine.
A sharp breath catches in my throat, and each one that follows becomes a struggle. This can’t be real. With his hand still above my head, he glances down at me and smirks. "You ok, Callie?"
My name is like a prayer coming off his lips, but it’s not Jaxon I’m hearing now, it’s my cowboy. I’m sure of it.
He slowly brings the mug down and places it in my hand.Our fingertips brush the barest amount, but the touch is fleeting. I cradle the cup against my chest, trying to slow the erratic rhythm of my heart.
Jaxon Hayes is my cowboy.
He turns away from me, and my eyes land on the black bandana hanging out of his back pocket. Any other time, I’d write it off as a crazy coincidence, but not this time—not paired with the evidence etched into his skin.
Against my better judgment, I tug on the fabric. Its familiarity is jarring, though I never imagined I would someday hold it in my hands. This simple scrap of cotton has held me captive longer than I’m willing to admit, keeping me tethered to the thoughts it conjures within me—or rather, the man hidden beneath.
Jaxon’s gaze darts between me and the bandana. Could he know it’s me he’s been talking to all these years?
“Put it on, Jax.” I press it against his chest, and he captures my hand. His heart speeds up in time with mine.
The air grows thick and charged like the moments before a lightning strike. Something intense flickers in his gaze, and my carefully crafted walls begin to crack.
He tilts his head to the side and tugs me closer. “Say please, Alley Kat.”
A gasp escapes my lips as the nickname flows off his tongue. It sounds different in person, but not in a bad way—not at all. The way it makes me feel is entirely too dangerous to consider. “You knew?”
“How could I not? Do you know how long I’ve wanted you? How many times I’ve wished you were real?”
Another carefully crafted wall crumbles to dust.
“I studied you. Every word you ever spoke is etched into my memory. At first, I only hoped it was you. All I had was a voice and a gut feeling, so I watched and waited for the rest of the pieces to come together.”
He cups my cheek. Chest heaving, I lean into the touch.
His voice is almost awestruck as he continues. “I had my doubts. It seemed impossible that I’d get so goddamn lucky to find the only person in the last decade who’s managed to make me feel something. But you’re here, and I’m so goddamn glad it’s you.”
I take a slow step back to regain some clarity. “It’s not—I’m not who you think I am. I’m not her. I mean, Iamher, but she’s everything I’ve never let myself have.” I sigh and shake my head, looking into the emerald eyes I should’ve recognized from the start. “She might as well be a different person entirely. It’s all a lie, and I can’t pretend to be something I’m not anymore. Not with you. I don’t?—”
“God, will you shut up?” The bandana falls to the ground as he cradles my jaw between both of his massive palms and crushes his mouth to mine.
The kiss is hot and demanding, fueled by what can only be described as utter desperation. I put up no resistance, surrendering to it—to him and these feelings I’ve tried to deny for weeks. It's nothing short of a claim. A kiss of pure ownership.
Why do I want to be claimed and owned by this man? It’s absurd.
His tongue dances across mine as desperation gives way to something else, something altogether more tender, and pretty soon I’m putty in his skilled hands. His lips are soft and searching, as though he’s exploring me, learning how to bend me to his will. The truth is, he could do anything, and I would melt simply because it’s him.
Jaxon. My cowboy. One and the same.
His fingers splay across my lower back, slipping beneath the hem of my shirt. The touch sears into my skin like an irrevocable brand—the first mark I’d wear happily.For the briefest moment, I worry he’ll touch my scars, but his hands don’t move any higher, and I’m saved the trouble of layingmyself bare. All of my secrets remain intact as this wonderful man kisses me like the world could end tomorrow.
A sound like a cat’s purr rumbles through his chest. He eases back and brushes a half-open kiss against my lips, then another on my cheek. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”
