She grinned, wiping sweat off her forehead. “Just making it nice for your wifey. I know what ladies like, Mason. Trust me.”
I trusted her enough to let her run wild, but I still put up my own shit. Eight-foot metal fence with razor wire on top, cameras every twenty feet, motion lights that lit up the whole perimeter like midday. I even built Bandit a catio—a fancy enclosed run attached to the yurt with tunnels, shelves, and a heated bed so the little traitor could come and go as he pleased but stay safe at night. Half indoor, half outdoor, just like he liked it. He’d been coming and going like a king ever since he showed back up, fat and smug, like the desert had never happened.
Tonight I was done waiting.
Sienna had been crashing at a safe house with a prospect on the door for too long. I wanted her home. With me. On our land.
I pulled up to the safe house in Dolores—now fully hers again, emerald green and mean—and killed the engine. She stepped out in jeans and one of my old henleys, hair loose, looking tired but still the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“Sienna, babe,” I said, opening the passenger door for her. “I’ve never really courted you or dated you. Not properly.”
She slid in, giving me that half-smile that always made my chest tight. “Yeah. Every time I tried the whole dating thing, it ended sadly anyway. Figured we skipped straight to the shotgun wedding and the desert shootout. Why change the script now?”
I just grinned and drove.
The sun was setting behind the mountains as we turned onto the long dirt road that led to the forty acres. The sky was doing that canyon-desert thing—deep oranges bleeding into pinks and purples, the kind of colors that made a man feel small and lucky all at once. Sienna was quiet, watching the light change, her hand resting on my thigh like she didn’t even realize she was doing it.
When the headlights hit the platform, her breath caught.
The yurt sat there like it belonged—round, white canvas glowing under the string lights Regan had insisted on, warm golden bulbs wrapped around the railing and hanging from the platform roof. The fire pit was already crackling, flames licking at the mesquite logs I’d stacked earlier. The little garden bed was freshly turned, ready for whatever she wanted to plant. Bandit was perched on the railing like a gray gargoyle, tail flicking, watching us pull up.
I killed the engine. “I know it’s not even a house. No plumbing yet. Just a big fancy tent with a king bed and a wood stove. But?—”
Sienna was already out of the truck before I could finish.
She walked straight up the steps, eyes wide, fingers trailing over the smooth wood of the railing. The string lights caught inher hair and turned her skin soft gold. When she turned back to me, her face was lit up in a way I’d never seen before.
“It’s perfect,” she whispered.
Then she was in my arms, kissing me like she’d been waiting her whole life for this exact moment. No hesitation. No overthinking. Just her mouth on mine, soft and hungry and real.
I kissed her back, hands sliding under the henley to find warm skin. “You became a scientist to get out of buildings and cubicles and walls,” I murmured against her lips. “Figured this might feel more like freedom than four walls ever could.”
She pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes shiny. “I don’t know if I ever want you to build me a house, Mason. This… this is perfect.”
I laughed low. “We’ll add plumbing eventually. And a bathroom. But for now, it’s ours.”
Bandit jumped down and wound between our legs, purring like a broken engine, then took off into the dark desert to hunt. He’d be back before dawn to curl up in his heated catio like the spoiled little shit he was.
I took her hand and led her inside the yurt.
It smelled like fresh wood and the faint vanilla from the candles Regan had left. The king bed took up most of the round space, piled with soft blankets and pillows. A small wood stove sat ready in the corner. The round skylight overhead showed the first stars coming out.
I didn’t waste time.
I backed her toward the bed, peeling the henley over her head, then the jeans, until she stood there in nothing but a simple black bra and panties. I took my time undressing her completely, kissing every inch I uncovered—collarbone, the soft underside of her breast, the dip of her stomach, the inside of her thigh.
When she was naked I laid her down on the blankets and stripped myself. My cock was already hard, thick and heavy, aching for her. I crawled over her, settling between her spread thighs.
“Look at me, wife.”
Her eyes met mine, dark and needy.
I pushed inside her in one slow, deep stroke. She was wet, hot, gripping me like she never wanted to let go. I groaned at the feel of her—tight, perfect, mine.
“Fuck, Sienna. Still so goddamn tight for me.”
I started slow, rolling my hips, dragging the thick head of my cock over that spot inside her that made her back arch. Her nails dug into my shoulders. I picked up the pace, thrusting harder, deeper, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the yurt.
