I barely remember the condom.
All I know is his hands are there, sure and steady, protecting me even in the middle of all this madness.
Then he lifts me, palms firm at my waist, and lowers me back onto his hard, heavy cock.He fills me slowly and deep, like he’s setting me exactly where I belong.
The shock of it hits us both at once—pleasure and ache tangled together—and we groan in the same breath.
For a heartbeat, everything stops.
His forehead rests against mine, his gaze locked on me, dark and unguarded.
And what I see there—need, hunger, something dangerously close to devotion—makes my chest tighten.
It’s too soon, too much, too fast.
But God help me, I want to believe he means it.
Because impossible as it seems, with his breath on my skin and his hands holding me like I’m the only thing keeping him upright, I’m fairly certain I’m already gone.
I love this cowboy.
His eyes flash, nostrils flare, and then he’s moving, thrusting up, bouncing me on his lap and all I can do is hold on.
I’ve never felt anything like this.
It’s mad.Desperate.
Like us coming together is simply inevitable.As if by some grand scheme or cosmic design.
I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck, and Sawyer just holds me tighter to him.
Our mouths are open, breaths mingling.It’s so hot and desperate.Our lips meet, and the taste of him floods through me like something holy.
For a heartbeat, everything narrows to his eyes—bright, burning, electric—and I swear I can see heaven in them.
The kind of heaven that isn’t soft or distant, but raw and wild and made just for us.
Then it happens.
The tension snaps, a rush so fierce it steals my breath.Like a bomb detonating.
My whole body arches, his does too, and we’re both caught in the same wild current—spiraling out of ourselves, out of the world—caught between pleasure and wonder and something too intense to name and too powerful to stop.
Something that feels a helluva lot like love.
Afterward, everything feels quieter.
The air between us hums with leftover heat, but the wild edges of it have softened, turned tender.
My heartbeat slows until it’s steady again, matching his.
Sawyer’s still holding me—his arm is a solid band around my back, his other hand tracing lazy, absentminded patterns over my shoulder.
There’s nothing demanding in his touch now.
Just warmth.Safety.Something I haven’t felt in maybe ever.
I don’t move.I don’t want to.
