The loft was warmer, the air thick with the scent of wood.Dust motes swirled in the slanted afternoon light.Dawson led me to the far corner where a pile of blankets was stacked—clean, worn soft from use.He didn’t push me onto them.Just stood there, watching me, waiting.
I reached for the hem of my sweater and pulled it over my head.The cold air hit my skin, but his gaze was warmer, tracing the lines of my body like he was committing them to memory.His hands followed, slow and deliberate, skimming over my waist, my ribs, the swell of my hips.
“You’re sure?”he asked, his voice rough.
I answered by unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it off his shoulders.My fingers traced the hard planes of his chest and the ridges of muscle earned from years of work.He hissed in a breath when I scraped my nails lightly down his sides, his hands tightening on my waist for just a second before easing again.
This wasn’t like the first time…hot and fast, driven by something we’d both been holding back too long.And it wasn’t like all the times since.This was different.Like we were both finally admitting this wasn’t just about need.It was about wanting each other.
His mouth found mine again as he guided me back onto the blankets, his body covering mine without crushing me.His weight grounded me while his hands slid under my back, unhooking my bra way too easily.He tossed it aside before cupping my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples until they tightened under his touch.
I arched into him, desperate for more.
"Tell me what want," he murmured against my skin.
I didn’t hesitate."This.Your hands.Your mouth."I tangled my fingers in his hair, guiding him lower."Don’t stop."
He didn’t.
His mouth was hot and wet, his tongue swirling over one nipple before moving to the other, his teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp.His hands never stilled…one slid down to pop the button of my jeans, the other braced against my hip as he kissed his way lower, following the path his fingers had traced.
I lifted my hips, letting him drag my jeans and underwear down my legs, leaving me bare underneath him.The air was cool against my skin, but his breath was warmer, his hands rough and calloused as they slid up the inside of my thighs, pushing them apart.
"Fuck, Lilah," he groaned, his voice thick."Look at you."
I did.I watched as he settled between my legs, his gaze dark and hungry, before his mouth followed where his eyes had been.His tongue was slow at first, teasing, testing, until I gripped his hair and pulled him closer, until the sound of my own breath filled the quiet space between us.
He didn’t rush and he didn’t let me either.
By the time his fingers joined his mouth, I was already shaking, my body coiled tight, every nerve ending on fire.He worked me with a patience that should’ve been infuriating, but it wasn’t.It was like he was savoring every reaction, every sound, every way my body responded to his.
When I came, it was with his name on my lips, my back arched off the blankets, my hands fisting the fabric underneath me.He didn’t stop, drawing out every last shudder until I was boneless, breathless, my skin slick with sweat.
Finally, when I couldn’t take another second, he pulled back and stripped the rest of his clothes then reached for his wallet.I watched as he rolled on the condom, my pulse still thrumming in my ears, my body humming with the aftershocks of what he’d just done to me.
He settled between my legs again, bracing himself above me, his forehead pressed to mine."Still good?"
I wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him closer."Better than good."
He pushed inside me in one slow, deep thrust, and we both groaned at the feel of it…full, perfect, and so right.He stayed there for a long moment, buried all the way, letting us adjust to each other, his breath ragged against my neck.
Then he moved.
Not fast.Not hard.Just deep, rolling his hips in a rhythm that made my toes curl, and my nails dig into his shoulders.Every thrust was deliberate, every kiss slower than the last, until I was climbing again, my body tightening around his, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
"Dawson—"
"I’ve got you," he murmured, his hand sliding between us, his thumb finding exactly the right spot to send me over the edge again.
This time, he followed, his body tensing above me as he came with a low, rough growl, his forehead dropping to my shoulder.
We stayed like that for a long time, holding the rest of the world at bay.
Dawson’s arm rested heavy across my waist, his thumb tracing random patterns over my skin.The loft was quiet except for the distant sounds of the ranch, the occasional whinny of a horse, and the creak of wood settling.
Then he started talking.Not about us or the future.But about the past.How he’d lost both of his parents one right after the other and had to walk away from a championship run to come home and take over the ranch.How he’d been keeping things going but if the rodeo moved forward, he’d finally be able to get the ranch in the black.
I listened, trailing my nails over his arm while I let myself believe this could be the start of something.
