“Faster,” I urge, my hands guiding her movements. Her body shudders as she follows my instruction, working herself toward her release. Soft whimpers and breathless gasps spill over her trembling lower lip. Her body is a blur above me, a rhythmic wave of sweat-slicked skin and desperate need. I’m mesmerized as she bounces on me, her breath hitching with every downstroke.
The firelight dances across our skin, casting us in a warm, golden glow as she increases her pace, her movements becoming more erratic and desperate. The sounds of ourbodies meeting, our ragged breaths, and the crackling of the flames are the only sounds in the vast, empty night.
I lean forward, my mouth finding her. The kiss is hungry and demanding, a reflection of the frantic rhythm of our bodies. Her pussy flutters around my cock, and I know she’s close. “Are you ready to come for me?” I whisper, the words barely audible over the crackling fire and the wind howling outside.
I don’t wait for a response. I grip her hips with a strength that shocks her, my fingers digging into the soft flesh. Holding her in place, I thrust upward, hard and fast. I piston into her, repeatedly burying my cock to the hilt as my grunts echo in the night air.
The sensation is blinding. It’s not just pleasure. It’s a collision of bodies, a raw, elemental meeting of two souls. She throws her head back, toward the skylit sky, as a cry billows from her. Her walls clench around me, rippling and convulsing, demanding that I come with her.
“Eyes on me,” I command, my voice strained and thick with my own need. When she doesn’t comply, I lace my fingers through the golden locks at the back of her head and demand her attention onto my face. She forces her eyes open and struggles to meet my stare. “I want you to see what you do to me.”
I need to see the exact moment she unravels, and I want her to know the raw power she has over me. Her gaze meets mine, hazy and unfocused, pupils blown with ecstasy. She looks wild and possessed. Her eyes go wide, rolling back for a split second before she snaps back to focus on me. Shemanages to keep them open, though they are glassy and unfocused.
The crackle of the fire sounds distant, a dull roar in the back of my mind, drowned out by the wet, slick sound of her taking all of me. Her internal muscles clench so firmly I feel every ridge of her as she swallows me, her walls fluttering and pulsing around me. And it’s my undoing. The tightness in my gut explodes like fire through my veins. I thrust one last time, burying myself to the hilt before emptying myself inside her with a deep, animalistic sound that vibrates from my chest. My hips jerk uncontrollably as every pulse of my cock marks her with another hot jet of my release.
My hands slide from her hips, up her spine, clutching her shoulders and pulling her closer. She collapses slightly, her forehead resting against my collarbone, her breath ragged. Her inner muscles are still clenching around me, milking every last drop, refusing to let me soften. I stroke her back—my fingers tangling in her hair—holding her close as the aftershocks ripple through both of us. The intensity of the moment begins to bleed away, replaced by heavy, satisfied lethargy.
For a long time, neither of us speaks. The fire crackles nearby, popping and hissing, a stark reminder of the wilderness surrounding us, but we are insulated, cocooned in each other. Our shared body heat keeps the cold Montana night at bay. When it begins to creep back in, I carefully pull out of her and ease her from my lap.
Her legs are wobbly and unsteady when I help her to her feet. “I’ve got you.” I reach down, snaking an arm behindher thighs and scooping her into my arms before she can protest.
“Easton.” She sighs, resting her cheek against my shoulder. “I can walk.”
“I know you can,” he replies, a hint of a smile in his voice. “But you’re tired. Let me carry you.”
With Teagan in my arms, I walk to the small canvas tent we pitched earlier. The zipper sounds like a sharp crack in the quiet night. I step inside, and I set her down gently on the splayed sleeping bag. After closing the tent, I crawl in beside her and fasten the sleeping bag. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her flush to my chest. She curls into me, like a cat seeking warmth, tucking her head under my chin.
“You’re amazing,” I whisper against my hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you look when you come?”
She smiles before teasingly responding, “I can’t answer that. I haven’t ever watched myself come.”
I chuckle, the vibration rumbling through both of us. “We’re going to have to change that.”
The fire has burned down to embers, its glow faint and unsteadily painting the inside of the tent in soft, flickering gold. My fingertips dust mindlessly over Teagan’s skin, memorizing the shape of her.
She shifts slightly, an incoherent grumble rumbling from her as she fights sleep.
“Good night,wildfire.”
“Good night, city boy,” she groggily replies, her voice carrying that familiar edge of sass even near sleep.
I tighten my arm around her in response, holding her a little closer, unwilling to let the moment slip away yet. My gaze drifts upward. Though all I see is canvas. I picture the sky beyond it. “Good night, dreamer,” I murmur, the words meant for Rosie and the part of me that still belongs to her.
Teagan’s cheek firms against my chest as her smile spreads— the subtle shift unmistakable even without seeing it—as she shimmies closer to me.
I’m finding my footing on this unfamiliar stretch of road—one that winds carefully between a beloved ghost and the fragile promise of something new—learning how to move forward.
Before us, the land stretches wide and golden in the pre-dusk light, the grass bending in slow waves beneath a breeze that smells of sun-warmed earth and distant rain. The ranch is just beyond the rise and a cluster of old cottonwoods.
Easton slows first, his hand light on the reins as he eases Ranger to a halt. The leather of my saddle creaks as Daisy follows suit beneath me, her ears flicking forward, attentive and calm. Both things I currently am not.
The silence is thick, not awkward, but weighted with everything we haven’t figured out yet.
Out here, it’s easy.
Out here, there are no overprotective brothers watching from the porch or a father with an assessing gaze that misses nothing. Out here, there is only wind, sky, and us. Neither of us knows how to do this.
Easton dismounts first, his boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. I dismount, swinging my leg over and slidingdown from the saddle. Easton is in front of me before my boots even tough earth. His gaze is fixed on mine with quiet intensity as we stand dangerously close. Close enough that I can see the faint scar running through his beard by his chin.
