Page 32 of July’s Cowboy Dallas

“You.” The word came out broken. “Just you.”

He groaned, his forehead pressing against my chest for a second before he straightened. His eyes were dark, his jaw tight with restraint, but his hands didn’t hesitate as he stripped my jeans and underwear down my legs, leaving me bare on the desk.

For a second, he just looked at me. I should have felt exposed. Instead, I felt powerful.

“Fuck, Sadie,” he breathed, his hands sliding up my thighs, parting them. “You’re perfect.”

I reached for him, my fingers fumbling with his belt buckle. He helped, kicking off his boots, shedding the rest of his clothes in record time. And then he was there, between my legs, his hands gripping my hips as he pulled me to the edge of the desk.

I wrapped my legs around him, feeling the hard length of him against me, and he groaned, his forehead dropping to mine.

“Wait,” he said, his voice strained. “I don’t have⁠—”

“I do.” I reached into my discarded jeans, pulling out the condom I’d tucked into my wallet earlier. Because I’d hoped. Because I’d wanted this.

His eyes darkened as he took it from me, rolling it on with quick, efficient movements. And then he was there, right there, the head of him pressing against me.

“Last chance,” he said, his voice rough.

I pulled him closer. “Stop talking.”

He didn’t. Not with words. Instead, he pushed inside me in one slow, deep thrust, and the world narrowed to the feel of him—stretching me, filling me, his hands gripping my hips like I was something precious.

I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders, and he stilled, his breath ragged.

“Okay?” he asked, his voice tight.

“More than okay.” I rocked against him, and he groaned, his hands tightening.

And then he moved.

Afterward, Dallas didn't pull away. He stayed close, one hand still resting at my hip, his forehead pressed to mine. He'd always retreated before. Always stepped back like he was giving me space I hadn't asked for.

Not this time.

“You don't have to earn your place beside me every time something goes wrong,” I said, my voice quiet.

Dallas's thumb traced a slow line along my hip bone. “Might take me a while to learn that.”

“Then learn.”

His mouth curved. Not quite a smile, but close. “Yes, ma'am.”

I laughed despite everything, because it felt good to laugh with him.

Dallas pulled back just enough to look at me, and something in his face had eased. Less guarded. Less certain he didn't belong.

For the first time in years, Dallas Miller looked at me like he almost believed he was allowed to be wanted. So I showed him again.

CHAPTER 9

DALLAS

The Fourth of July Rodeo had the whole town moving before sunrise. So did Sadie Hollister. And for the first time in years, I let myself look.

She was over near the vet station, loading supplies into crates with the kind of focused efficiency that made everything around her seem slower. Her hair was twisted up, already escaping at her temples, and her boots looked like they’d earned every bit of dust on them. The morning light caught her profile as she bent to check a water line, and I didn't pretend I wasn't watching. Didn't look away when she straightened and found me standing twenty yards out.

She smiled. Small. Just for me. And something in my chest loosened.