"Yeah." Rough. "Just like that. Keep your eyes on me."
I kept my eyes on him. His jaw tight. His chest heaving. The medal swinging forward when he moved.
"You have no idea—" He stopped. Started over. His hand tightened in my hair, not rough, just holding. "Been thinking about your mouth since this morning. Since you said my name at craft services and I—" His hips stuttered forward and he exhaled hard. "Christ."
I hummed against him and he made a sound that wasn't a word.
"Daniela." Urgent now. The patience gone completely. "You have to—I need you to?—"
His hand tightened in my hair.
"Stop," he managed. "I need you to stop or I'm gonna?—"
He pulled me off by my hair and looked down at me breathing hard, wrecked, all that careful steadiness finally cracked open, and I felt powerful in a way that had nothing to do with performing.
"Come here," he said.
Not a request.
I got on my knees and he moved to take my jacket off…to pull my dress over my head.
Then I was naked in his bed. Like I’d wanted all night.
And he was standing over me with his jeans around his ankles and his cock…his cock, oh mygod, huge and shining with my spit, and?—
He stepped out of his jeans and I lowered to my back. He followed me down.
He reached past my head. The small drawer slid open. Wrapper tearing.
I watched him deal with it and thought about his hands on Bishop's reins, his hands at my waist in the paddock, his hands in my hair twenty minutes ago. By the time he looked back down at me I was already half gone.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," I said. Wrecked.
His thumb brushed my cheekbone. Gentle, after everything.
"Still with me?"
"Sawyer." I grabbed his hips and pulled. "Get inside me."
The gentleness didn't leave his face. The patience did.
He pushed inside me slow.
The stretch of him dragged a sound out of me I'd never made before—low and desperate and completely unplanned—and he made one back, rough against my throat, his forehead dropping to my shoulder.
"God." Strained. "Daniela?—"
"I know." I tilted my hips up. "Move. Please."
"Give me a second." His voice was tight. "You feel—Christ—just give me a second."
I gave him a second.
We lay there breathing, fully connected, his weight pressing me into the narrow mattress. I felt him everywhere. I understood suddenly, completely, why Millie couldn't stop getting pregnant. I understood it in my bones.
Then he moved.
