He kissed the top of my head. “I would too.”
FOURTEEN
Sawyer
We took a few days off training after that and just stayed in bed.
We had enough food to get by— headed over to the house to scrounge up snacks a couple times in the middle of the night, careful not to wake Gage’s family. One of those nights, I pushed Daniela up against the wall in the main house and fucked her hard and fast, only for Millie to come down right as I was zipping up my pants again.
She'd been giving us shit ever since.
I didn't care.
It was the first time I'd ever been in love and I wanted to enjoy every second of it.
Now, it was our last day before we would head out to location for the shoot…and we'd taken the horses out to the creek for one last ride.
And I was givingherone last ride.
The weather had warmed enough that we could lay out on the blanket, and Daniela was wearing nothing but an unbuttoned flannel as she rode my cock in the afternoon sun. It was the fourth time we'd had sex in almost as many hours—my stamina seemed endless with her—and she was nice and relaxed, rockingher hips, her hands splayed across my chest. I was deep inside her, brow furrowed, breath harsh as she clenched me.
"Don't slow down," I said.
She slowed down.
"Daniela."
"Hmm?" Innocent. Completely not innocent, her hips rolling in that lazy figure eight she'd figured out drove me insane, her hands pressing into my chest like she needed the leverage. Her flannel had slipped off one shoulder. Her hair was loose and wild from the last three times and she hadn't done anything about it and I hadn't wanted her to.
"I will flip you over."
"You keep threatening that."
"I keep meaning it."
She rolled her hips again, slow, deliberate, and I felt my jaw tighten. She watched my face the way she watched everything she found interesting—sharp, cataloguing, entirely too pleased with herself.
"You're doing it on purpose," I said.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Daniela." I put both hands on her hips. Didn't guide her. Just held. "Move."
"I am moving."
"Move like you mean it."
She leaned forward, hands sliding up my chest to my shoulders, and looked down at me with those dark eyes and that mouth and four months of this and I was still not even slightly prepared for her.
"Make me," she said.
I flipped her over.
She yelped and grabbed my shoulders and then laughed—real, full, the one that took over her whole face—and I pressed her into the blanket and looked down at her and felt somethingso large and specific move through my chest that I had to breathe through it for a second.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi." I pushed her hair back from her face. "You done being a brat?"
