I nestled against the warm fleece of his sweater, hanging onto him tight.
"I've got you," he murmured into my hair. "I've got you."
I was boneless against him, arms around his neck, face pressed to his throat. He carried me the three steps to the bed like I weighed nothing, which I did not, and I did not care even slightly because his arms were solid and warm and I was still shaking faintly from the aftershocks.
He sat on the edge of the mattress with me in his lap and ran one hand up and down my spine, slow and steady, the way he settled Bishop after a hard training session.
"Still with me?"
"Barely."
"Good." His hand kept moving, up and down, unhurried. "Because I'm not done with you."
I lifted my head. Looked at him.
"No?" I said.
"Not even close." He pushed my hair back from my face, thumb at my cheekbone. "I've been thinking about what I wantto do to you for a week." His voice had dropped to that register, the low one, the paddock voice. "You want to know what I decided?"
My mouth went dry. "Tell me."
He tipped my chin up.
"I'm going to bend you over this bed," he said, "and take you apart from behind until you're begging. And when you think you can't take any more—" his thumb traced my lower lip, "—I'm going to flip you over and do it again." His eyes held mine. "And somewhere in the middle of all that I'm going to put my mouth on every inch of you. Including," his thumb moved, just slightly, "places I haven't spent enough time on yet."
The implication landed and my whole body went hot.
"Sawyer—"
"You're going to let me," he said. "Because you're mine. And because you want to." His thumb traced my lip again. "Don't you."
It wasn't really a question.
"Yes," I breathed.
"Good girl." He stood, set me on my feet, turned me by my hips until I was facing the bed. His hands ran down my sides, my waist, the curve of my hips, unhurried and possessive and absolutely deliberate. "Hands on the mattress."
I put my hands on the mattress.
"Good." His palm pressed flat between my shoulder blades, gentle, bending me forward. "Just like that. Stay there."
I stayed.
Behind me I heard his sweater hit the floor. His belt. The sounds of a man taking his time, not rushing, knowing I could hear every second of it and letting me.
"Sawyer." I couldn't help it.
"I know." His hands found my hips again, warm and sure. "I know what you want."
"Then—"
"Then let me give it to you." His mouth pressed to the back of my neck, my spine, moving down, and I grabbed the blanket with both fists. "Let me have you. All of you." His hands spread warm across my lower back. "Every part."
"Yes." My forehead dropped to the mattress. "Yes, okay, everything, just?—"
"Just what." His mouth at the small of my back. Lower. "Use your words."
"Please," I said. "Sawyer, please?—"
