Page 28 of Dirty Sweet Cowboy

"Wayne," I gasp as he pushes inside in one smooth thrust. No matter how many times we do this, I never get used to the initial stretch, the delicious fullness of him filling me completely.

"So fucking tight," he groans, bottoming out inside me. "Always so tight for me."

He sets a rhythm that's familiar yet never boring—deep, powerful thrusts that hit places inside me I never knew existed before him. One large hand cups my breast, thumb flicking over the sensitive nipple, while the other grips my hip, holding me in place for his possession.

"Mine," he growls, punctuating the word with a particularly deep thrust. "All fucking mine."

"Yours," I agree breathlessly, legs wrapping around his waist to take him deeper. "Only ever yours."

The angle changes, allowing him to hit that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. I cry out, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure builds within me, a tidal wave gaining momentum.

"That's it," he encourages, grinding against me. "Come for me, angel. Let me feel you."

My orgasm crashes over me without warning, intense and all-consuming. I arch beneath him, inner walls clamping down on his cock as wave after wave of pleasure washes through me. He doesn't slow his pace, fucking me through it, prolonging the sensation until I'm a trembling, gasping mess beneath him.

Only then does he let himself go, hips slamming against mine in an increasingly erratic rhythm. "Going to fill you up," he grunts, eyes locked with mine. "Going to put my baby in you."

The thought sends another tremor of pleasure through me. We've been trying for two months now—me off birth control, him coming inside me every chance he gets. The possibility of carrying his child, of growing round with the physical proof of his claim on me, makes me clench around him again.

"Please," I beg, wanting it as much as he does. "Want your baby. Want to give you a family."

With a roar, he drives into me one final time, cock pulsing as he empties himself deep inside me. "Love you," he growls, the words still rough around the edges but no less sincere for it. "Love my wife. My perfect fucking angel."

Afterward, he collapses beside me rather than on top of me, always careful not to crush me with his weight. But he keeps me close, arm thrown possessively across my waist, face buried in the crook of my neck where he places gentle kisses against my damp skin.

"Never letting you go," he murmurs, the words a familiar refrain. A promise renewed each day.

"Never want you to," I reply, my own promise just as faithful.

Soon he'll have to get up, tend to the ranch, the animals. I'll make breakfast, maybe work in the garden I've started, call about the nursery furniture we ordered last week—just in case. Our days have taken on a comfortable rhythm, a sense of belonging and purpose I never knew was possible.

The shadows that chased me here have faded, banished by Wayne's protection, by the life we've built together. I am safe. I am loved. I am home.

Forever.