Page 31 of July’s Cowboy Dallas

That did it. The restraint I'd seen him carry for years—the careful distance, the controlled touch—broke. But it broke differently this time.

Not because he lost control. Because he finally let himself believe I meant it.

Dallas kissed me like he was trying to memorize the shape of my mouth. Like he'd spent years imagining this moment and didn't trust it to last.

I pulled him closer. His hands stayed careful even as his mouth went hungry. One hand gripped my waist, the other cradled the back of my head, and I wanted to tell him he didn't have to be so careful. But maybe he needed to be. Maybe I did too.

This wasn't the alley. This wasn't adrenaline and years of restraint snapping in the dark. This was slow, deliberate, and chosen.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his forehead resting against mine, his breath uneven.

“I don't want to get this wrong,” he said.

“Then don't leave.” I kissed the corner of his mouth. “Don't make decisions for me. And don't ever think you're just useful.”

His hand tightened at my waist. “What am I, then?”

“Mine,” I said. “If you want to be.”

Dallas kissed me again. Deeper this time. Less careful. More honest.

I felt the desk against my back and Dallas's weight pressing close, and for the first time in days, the knot in my chest loosened. This wasn't perfect. We still had forged certifications to track. A rodeo to salvage. Family messes that wouldn't untangle overnight. But Dallas was here, and he wasn't hiding.

The stock office door was locked. The blinds were drawn. The only light came from the single bulb over the desk, casting everything in warm, uneven shadows.

Dallas’s hands were rough from years of ranch work, calloused in ways that should have felt coarse against my skin. Instead, every touch sent a slow heat through me, like striking a match and watching the flame catch.

He kissed me again, slower now, his mouth moving against mine with a patience that made my pulse jump. I arched into him, my fingers curling into the front of his shirt, and he made a sound deep in his chest that vibrated against my lips.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said.

I pulled him closer by the belt loops. “I’ve spent years watching you hold back. Don’t you dare start now.”

That did something to him. His control didn’t break, but it bent, just enough to let me see what he’d been hiding. The way his hands tightened on my hips, the way his breath hitched when I rocked against him, the way his voice went darker when he said my name.

“Sadie.”

I liked the way it sounded. Like a warning. Like a promise.

He lifted me onto the desk, his hands sliding under my thighs to pull me to the edge. The movement sent papers scattering, but neither of us cared. His mouth found my neck, his teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp, and I tangled my fingers in his hair, holding him there.

“You’re sure?” he asked again, his voice rough against my skin.

“Yes.”

That was all he needed. His hands went everywhere all at once. When his thumb brushed the underside of my breast, I arched into the touch, and he groaned, his mouth crashing back to mine.

I fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, my fingers clumsy with want. He helped, tearing it open the rest of the way, and then his skin was under my palms, hot and solid, the muscles beneath shifting as he moved.

“You’re overdressed,” he muttered against my mouth.

I laughed, breathless, and reached for the hem of my own shirt. He didn’t wait for me to finish. He took over, pulling it off in one smooth motion, then making quick work of my bra. The air in the room was cool against my skin, but his hands were warm, calloused and careful as they cupped my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples.

I made a sound I didn’t recognize, my head falling back, and he took advantage, his mouth trailing down my throat, then lower. When his lips closed around one tight peak, pleasure shot through me. My fingers clenched in his hair as his tongue swirled, his teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp.

“Dallas—”

He switched to the other side, his hand sliding down to pop the button of my jeans. “Tell me what you need.”