His fingers work against my clit in tight circles, and I feel myself climbing toward something that feels too big, too consuming.
"I can't—" I start, but he cuts me off with a kiss that tastes of possession.
"You can," he murmurs against my lips, his hips driving deeper. "Let go for me."
The combination of his words and the relentless pressure of his fingers sends me over the edge. I cry out, my back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crash through me. My body clenches around him, and I hear him curse, his rhythm faltering.
"That's it, sweetheart," he groans, his voice tight with restraint. "Fuck, I can feel you."
He watches my face as I come undone, his eyes burning into mine with an intensity that makes me feel both seen and exposed. I can't look away even as my body trembles, even as I gasp his name again and again. The vulnerability terrifies me, but there's tenderness in his gaze that keeps me anchored.
"Don't close your eyes," he commands softly. "Stay with me."
My walls continue to pulse around him as he drives deeper, his rhythm growing erratic. I feel the exact moment he loses control—his muscles tense, his breathing ragged against my ear.
"Fuck, I need to pull out," he groans, his voice strained.
I tighten my legs around him, my hands gripping his sweat-slicked back. "I'm on the pill," I whisper, surprising myself with how badly I want to feel him finish inside me.
He searches my face for confirmation, and when I nod, something primal flashes in his eyes. His hips slam against mine once, twice more before he buries himself deep with a guttural groan that reverberates through my chest. The feel of him pulsing inside me triggers another wave of pleasure, smaller but no less intense, and I whimper against his throat.
We lie there afterward, breathing hard, his weight pressing me into the mattress in a way that should feel suffocating but doesn't. His heart hammers against my chest, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.
"Well, good morning," he murmurs, voice rough and low with a hint of a smile.
"You call this morning?" My voice is wrecked, a shaky laugh hidden inside it.
"Best one I've ever had." He kisses me, slower this time.
The intimacy of it makes my chest tighten in ways that have nothing to do with the physical act we just shared. His thumb traces my jawline as he pulls back, studying my face with an expression I can't quite read.
The sunlight finds his shoulders where the sheet slips, gilding the powerful line of them. He looks carved from the light itself, more beautiful in this quiet than any man has a right to be.
And that's when it hits me. The bliss. The guilt. The way they tangle until I don't know which one will choke me first.
I close my eyes, trying to breathe around the knot in my chest. I know this can't stay hidden forever. The secrecy, the sneaking, the stolen hours. He deserves better. Emma deserves better. I deserve better.
But wanting it doesn't make it easy. My whole life has been built around the careful balance of responsibility. And here I am, toppling it over because of one cowboy with steady hands and a mouth that makes me forget who I am.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks, and there's a carefulness in his tone, like he's not sure he wants the answer.
The truth is, I'm thinking about how this changes everything. But looking into his eyes, still dark with satisfaction and maybe affection, I can't bring myself to voice any of that.
"I'm thinking I should probably get dressed. Emma will be asking for me soon," I say instead, which isn't entirely a lie. The rational part of my brain is screaming at me to put distance between us before I lose what's left of my objectivity.
When I finally pull myself from his bed, the sunlight is already high. I try to protest when he grabs his keys, but he just shakes his head.
"I'm not letting you walk out of here and try to figure out a ride," he says, matter-of-fact. "I drove you here. I'm going to drive you back."
I could argue, but I don't. The truth is, I like the sound of him saying it as if it's already decided.
The drive is quiet, the kind of quiet that isn't empty. Gravel crunches beneath the tires, the windows cracked enough to let in the morning air. His hand rests on the console, close enough to brush mine, and I have to keep reminding myself not to reach. Not here. Not where anyone could see.
When he pulls up to Candy and North's ranch, he doesn't put the truck in park right away. He looks at me instead, steady as the land itself. "You sure you're ready for this?"
I try for lightness. "It's just Candy's place."
"Not what I meant." His eyes hold mine, and the weight of what he's really asking makes my chest ache.