He hummed against me and I arched off the mattress.
"Please—" The word came out wrecked. "Please I need you inside me again?—"
He lifted his head just enough.
"Ask me nicely," he said. The audacity.
"You absolute—" I grabbed his hair harder. "Please, Sawyer. Please get back inside me right now. Please."
Something warm moved through his eyes.
He crawled back up my body and pushed inside again.
I blacked out, just for a second.
When I came to, my fingernails were in his shoulders…and he wasfucking me now.Hard and fast andgood.
This was different from last night's frantic and different from this morning's slow—this was something else entirely, something that had been building since the paddock fence and the trailer door and six months of not doing this. He was everywhere. His hands on my hips, his weight over me, the slap of skin and the creak of the narrow mattress and his breath ragged against my jaw.
"Look at me," he said.
I looked at him.
His eyes were dark and intent and completely present, watching my face the way he'd watched me in the paddock. Taking stock.
"Good," he breathed. "Stay with me."
"I'm with you." I wrapped my legs around him. "I'm right here."
Something shifted in his face. The careful thing, going soft.
He kissed me—hard, then soft, then hard again—and kept moving and I held on and let everything else fall away. The career and the stage name and the decisions and the industry cocktail parties and six months of hotel rooms. All of it gone. Just this. Just him.
"Sawyer." Urgent. Climbing fast.
"I know." His hand slid between us. Found me. "I've got you."
"I know you do." I grabbed his face with both hands. Made him look at me. "I know."
Something cracked through his expression—fast, unguarded—and then his forehead dropped to mine and he drove deep and I shattered.
Completely. Entirely. Nothing held back.
He followed me over thirty seconds later with a sound he buried in my neck and his hands gripping my hips hard enough that I'd see the marks tomorrow and didn't mind at all.
We lay there.
Wrecked. Both of us.
His weight was heavy and complete over me and I kept my arms around him and stared at the ceiling of the small trailer and felt—scraped clean. Empty in the best possible way. Like six months of carrying something carefully had just been set down.
“You didn’t have to text me,” he murmured into my neck, voice muffled. Then he lifted his head. “But I’d’ve liked it if you did.”
I met his eyes, reaching up to play with his curls. “I’d’ve liked it too.”
“So why didn’t you?”
I bit my lip, frowning. “Because…”
