His body remembers what his mind has been forced to deny, and there's no hiding how much he's craved this connection. We've been so careful with his recovery, keeping everything chaste, but his body is clearly done with restraint.
"I have a surprise," I say when we come up for air. "Your antibiotic treatment is officially over. So we're celebratin'."
His eyes darken. "How exactly are we celebratin'?"
I take his hand and lead him toward the driveway where an old Willys Jeep sits loaded with picnic supplies. The vehicle is a faded brown color that reminds me of the sandstone cliffs nearDrybone. And though it’s a ranch vehicle—a favorite of the ranch hands—there’s no logo on it.
"Want to drive?" I ask, holding up the keys.
Legion's face breaks into a genuine smile as he runs his hand along the hood, his fingers tracing the weathered metal with reverence. "This thing is a classic," he says, eyes lighting up with appreciation for the vintage military vehicle before us.
He looks so much better than he did ten days ago. The white t-shirt stretches across shoulders that have regained their strength. His faded jeans hang perfectly on his hips. He looks so good now, you'd almost never know he was on death's door three weeks ago.
Only I know about the scars hiding underneath—the healing tissue where his brand was, the marks from prison, the story of his life written on his skin.
We climb in, the Jeep's engine roaring to life with Legion behind the wheel. I direct him away from the main house, past the eastern pastures where the tall grasses sway in the afternoon breeze, and toward a secluded canyon formation I've known since childhood—a place where the sandstone walls rise up like ancient guardians, their surfaces etched with decades of wind and weather.
The dirt path narrows as we approach, winding between juniper trees and scrubby sagebrush that release their earthy scent with each step.
We park the Willys at the trailhead, its engine ticking as it cools in the summer heat. I gather our supplies from the back—Legion hefting the heavy wicker picnic basket with one hand as if it weighs nothing, the muscles in his forearm flexing beneath his tattoos. I take the soft cotton blankets, their edges worn from countless family outings, though this is the first time I've brought anyone here aside from Colt.
The way Legion's eyes scan the landscape, taking in every detail, makes me wonder if he's memorizing an escape route, or simply appreciating the wild beauty that's always been my sanctuary.
The canyon isn't far, just enough of a walk to feel like we've earned our privacy. It's a natural alcove carved into the sandstone, sheltered from prying eyes by an overhanging lip of rock that curves like a protective hand above us. The weathered formation creates a perfect pocket of seclusion—a secret chamber that feels both exposed to the elements, and completely hidden from the world.
Centuries of wind and water have hollowed out this sanctuary, sculpting the warm amber stone into a space that seems designed specifically for forbidden love.
The ground beneath our feet is almost powdery, fine particles of eroded stone create a soft, sand-like cushion against the hard earth.
The sun's direct rays can't penetrate this hidden pocket, creating a cool refuge from the relentless summer heat that bakes the plains beyond. Wind has sculpted the interior walls into smooth, undulating curves that seem to embrace us as we step deeper into the shadow. And the air feels different here—still and ancient, carrying the faint mineral scent of stone.
We spread the blankets over the soft ground. I've barely straightened the last corner when Legion's hands are on my waist, turning me to face him.
"I've been thinking about this for days," he says, his voice rough with desire, the words catching in his throat like they've been waiting too long to escape. His eyes lock with mine, dark with hunger and something deeper—a need that's been building steadily over the past ten days. "It's been agony knowin' you're upstairs and I can't go up because of that stupid rule.”
He gives me a side-eye, which makes me giggle.
He tried to climb the steps on day four, but was stopped by a servant. "No guests upstairs," the housekeeper, Eileen, told him. And older woman who's been working for us since she was nineteen. She wagged a finger at him. "Never. Ever. Ever."
Legion backed off and didn't try again.
"But now," Legion continues, "I've got you all to myself." His fingers trace the curve of my jaw, callused skin against softness, leaving trails of fire wherever he touches.
His mouth finds mine again, and this time there's no holding back. His tongue slides against mine as his hands grip my hips, pulling me against him. I can feel how much he wants me, his cock hard and insistent through his jeans.
God, I've dreamed about this every night he was downstairs, imagining his hands on me again, wondering if he was lying awake thinking the same things.
"Missed you," I whisper against his mouth. "Missed this."
Legion lowers me onto the blanket, his body covering mine. His weight feels perfect, solid and real after so many nights of sleeping alone while he recovered downstairs. He kisses down my neck, his breath hot against my skin as his hand slides up my thigh, pushing my dress higher.
"Where are your fuckin' panties?" he growls when his fingers find bare skin.
I smile up at him. "Ooops," I giggle. "I guess I forgot them."
"You're bad."
"You make me bad. But don't worry, I'm only bad with you." I place my fingertip on his lips, letting them part slightly to lick, then trace his mouth. He bites my fingertip, being deliberately gentle. Using his tongue to play with it. Swirling around the sensitive pad.
