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She didn’t say a word when I walked up. Just let me take her hand and lead her back. I undressed her slow, whisper-soft, kissing every mark I’d left like a prayer. Her skin was flushed, and the red prints blooming on her thick ass made her hiss and smirk all at once.
“I’m going to pay you back for that,” she murmured, voice heavy with exhaustion.
“Wildflower,” I said, brushing a kiss to her shoulder, “I’d be devastated if you didn’t.”
She gave me that wicked little smile that always ruined me. “Good. Then fold your big ass in that tub with me.”
Somehow, we made it work—her tucked between my legs, the water sloshing over the porcelain edge, her bare back pressed to my chest. She traced the ink on my arms with slow, lazy fingers while I lathered her hair, the scent of citrus filling the air. I poured water down her shoulders, watched it bead down the curve of her spine, felt her breath ease with every pass of my hands.
Afterward, I toweled her off slow, kneeling in front of her like she was holy. Rubbed arnica into her sore skin, kissed the places that bore my name in bruised reds and purples. I brushed out her hair while she leaned into me, quiet, trusting, soft in a way she never showed anyone else.
I tried to line up those sacred fucking pillows she kept like a wall between us, stacking them just right on the bed like ritual.
But she shook her head, eyes already heavy with sleep, voice barely above a whisper.
“Just hold me.”
So, that’s exactly what the fuck I did.
I held her all night, her body tucked against mine like she finally let herself rest. For once, no armor. Just skin.
Then came dawn—quiet, blue-edged, and breathless—and she moved over me, slow and sure, sliding down my cock with a kind of heat that stole the air from my lungs.
Those honey-burnt eyes locked on mine, wild and steady, as her palm pressed over my mouth demanding I lay there and take it.
She rolled her hips with deliberate cruelty, watching me unravel beneath her, a smirk ghosting across her mouth like she knew I’d beg if she let me. Then her fingers wrapped around my throat—soft, firm, devastating—and she detonated on top of me, hips stuttering, mouth open on a silent gasp.
I didn’t breathe until she did.
Best fucking wake-up call of my life.
Brr. Brr.
My phone lights up on the counter, vibrating against a chipped mug. The sound yanking me out of the haze, straight into the now.
I wipe my hands quickly on a towel and answer, “Yes, ma’am?”
“Go get your brother and meet us at the hospital!” Her voice comes like a shotgun blast—tight and urgent.
“Hospital?” I blink, confused. “Wait, what—?”
In the background, I hear chaos—footsteps, clattering, and then a familiar voice shrieking through the noise, “Don’t call him yet! It’s fine!”
My spine straightens. “Is that—?”
“Hurry the hell up, Louisiana, before she has this baby on my God damn kitchen floor!”
Click.
Silence. Then—
“Shit!”
I toss the fork down and kill the burner. The bacon sizzles in protest as I spin around, heartbeat slamming into my ribs like a war drum.
“Dallas!” I yell down the hallway. “Get dressed—we got to go!”
I don’t even wait for Dallas to throw on a damn shirt. Just snatch his arm and shove us both out the front door, my pulse hammering in my throat like a war drum. The morning air hits us hard—cool, sharp, electric—like it knows something big is coming. We tear down the steps, feet slapping against wood, gravel crunching beneath our boots as we make a beeline for my blacked-out Thunder Ridge Sheriff squad car.
