Inside, the house is tidy but lived-in: boots arranged by the door, a shelf sagging under the weight of dog-eared Louis L’Amour paperbacks, a coffee mug on every surface. In the living room, a couch that’s seen better days faces a massive TV and a battered, musty-smelling recliner. The kitchen is unexpectedly clean, with a bowl of lemons on the counter and neat rows of canned beans in the pantry.
I slide behind Cade as he puts the groceries away, wrap my arms around his waist, and plant my face between his shoulder blades. “I like it here,” I say.
He makes a rumble of pleasure, then turns in my embrace, lifts me bodily onto the counter. The move is so sudden I shriek, but he silences me with a kiss, slow and persuasive, his hands sliding up the bare skin under my shirt. I let him, let myself melt into the moment, until the only thing that exists is his warmth and my need.
“Bed?” he asks, his voice raw.
"Yes," I breathe, not caring how desperate I sound. He leads me down the hall, boots thudding on the worn hardwood.The bedroom surprises me—unexpectedly spacious, with high ceilings and dark wood furniture that could only belong to a man who knows what he wants. The air smells of cypress and cedar, like walking into a forest at dusk. Before I can take another step, he lifts me into his arms in one fluid motion, his mouth finding mine as he carries me toward the king-sized bed. My fingers tangle in his hair as he lowers me onto cool sheets, his body a welcome weight above mine.
There’s a primitive thrill in being handled, of knowing I could fight but choosing not to. Cade’s weight pins my wrists above my head, his knees bracketing my hips, making me aware of every difference in strength, every place our bodies refuse to fit until he forces them. He stares at me, a little out of breath, eyes searching my face like he’s looking for bandits. Between my legs, desire pulses like a caged thing, wild and insistent.
He drags his mouth down my throat, tongue flicking the hollow, and I shiver, helpless as a lamb. “I ever tell you,” he rumbles, “you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen?”
“You did not,” I say, “but it’s implied, given the way you keep staring.”
“That’s because you don’t know how fucking wild you look, Delilah. Like you’re going to ruin me. Christ.” He kisses along my collarbone, sucking little drowsy marks. His hands run the length of my arms, then down, never gentle but somehow never careless.
He slips his hands under my borrowed T-shirt—his T-shirt—and bunches it under my arms. I arch up for him, not shy at all, letting him see the curve of my chest, the faded purple marks, and the soft undercurve near my ribs. My nipples are already hard, tingling for his attention. Instead of rushing, he just watches them, one corner of his mouth slanting up, as if he enjoys the anticipation almost as much as what comes next.
“Gonna have to take this slow,” he says, and now his voice sounds a little desperate, frayed at the edges. “Or I won’t last a minute.”
“Not my problem,” I whisper, but then his tongue swipes my nipple, and I break off into a gasp. He slides one hand to cup my breast, thumb rolling the sensitive tip, while his lips work the other—lazy sucks, drawn out to the edge of pain and then a retreat, enough to make me crazy. A soft, shivery ache builds in my stomach, my back arching into him as he lets me writhe. He’s relentless, switching sides, licking and biting until tears prick my eyes and I’m clutching the sheets.
“Mercy,” I say, “oh god, Cade, mercy,” but he just rumbles with satisfaction and keeps going.
When he finally eases off, heat radiates from my chest. I’m floaty, melted on the sheets. He kisses each breast, a slow circle of his tongue around each nipple, as if apologizing for the assault. Then he grins up at me. “Not too much?”
“Not enough,” I confess. “But you’re forgiven if your next move is my pants.”
He makes a growling sound, fake-mad, and plants a palm on each hip, pressing his thumbs just under the waist of my jeans. He unbuttons them, slow, dragging down the zipper tooth by tooth. I’m so wet it should be criminal. When he slides the jeans over my hips, he catches on the bit of lace I was saving for a day that felt survivable. Cade pauses, right there, gaze heavy, like he’s memorizing the view for his deathbed.
“Blue,” he says. “You ever wear any other colors?”
I can’t make a sound, I’m so overclocked. When he peels off my panties, he tugs a little rougher, exposing me in a way that feels obscene and so, so perfect. The air hits my slick skin, and I shudder.
Cade kisses the inside of my knee, then the delicate skin above it, all the way to the softest part of my thigh. He ghostshis lips across my hip, then settles his hands under my ass and parts my thighs with a steady pressure. His eyes flick up to me, checking, and all I can do is nod, desperate for more.
He lowers his mouth, soft breath hot against my center, and licks me with a flat, broad stroke. My whole body goes rigid. I’ve had men do this before—always awkward, always treat it like a chore—but Cade is patient, methodical, obsessed. He licks and circles, mapping every sensitive inch, alternating between silken swipes and sharp little flicks to my clit that make my heels stamp the mattress. I feel his finger, thick and slow, curl inside, and I nearly bite through my tongue. He works me up and up, sucking my clit, then pausing to let me come down, then winding me back up again. It’s excruciating, and I want to die in the best way.
“Oh fuck, I—Cade, I—” I can barely make words. He slides his hands further under me, lifting my hips so he owns every angle, and adds a second finger, scissoring while he sucks. Sensation doubles, then explodes, my body clenching and spasming so violently I lose track of the world. I think I scream. I definitely beg. He doesn’t stop, just licks me through every spasm until I sag boneless into the bed, sheets sweat-soaked and clinging to my back.
He crawls up and kisses me, mouth shining with me, catching my bottom lip between his teeth. “That your favorite part?” he whispers, cocky but half-wrecked.
I answer him by rolling us, straddling his lap, bracing my knees on either side of his jeans. “Not even close,” I say. “Take these off.”
He obeys, letting me push his jeans down, cock springing free with such force it slaps his belly. He’s not normal-sized, not even close, and the challenge of it makes my mouth water with animal hunger. I grip the base, let my thumb stroke the thick vein, then run my tongue from the head to the root. Cade’s hands fist the sheets, then my hair, like he can’t decide which is real. I hollowmy cheeks and slide down as far as I dare, gagging but refusing to give up. He tastes of salt and sweat, and the faint citrus from his body wash. With every bob, he groans, the sound vibrating through my bones.
“Delilah, fuck, you’re—” He’s lost for words, jaw clenching. He manages to lift my head, just enough to look me in the eyes, his thumb grazing my cheekbone. “You don’t have to?—”
I cut him off by swallowing him, deeper, hands braced on his thighs. His groan is the rawest thing I’ve ever heard. He thrusts up, careful of my limits but unable to hold back. When he gets too close, he jerks me off, just in time, and I crawl up to lick the tip clean, smug as a cat with cream. I climb back onto his lap, and without warning, he yanks me down, impaling me hard and fast. I gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders, surprised and feral from the sudden entry.
“Jesus, Cade,” I say. “You trying to break me in half?”
He’s panting, sweat on his temples, hands locked around my waist. “Get used to it,” he says, voice thick. “Because I’m not even close to done with you.”
I do get used to it. I bounce on him, learning his rhythm, every thrust sending little earthquakes through my body. He holds me steady, thumbs pressing bruises into my hips. I let my head tip back, hair spilling down my spine, and I ride him, hard, until my legs start to tremble. He wraps an arm around my back, banding me to his chest, and thrusts up into me with a power that could knock planets out of orbit. I see stars, actual stars, and the pleasure builds again, tighter and clearer than before.
“You like that?” He’s teasing now, relentless, his cock stretching me in ways I never thought I’d want.