Page 42

He kissed me then, swallowing down whatever sound I might’ve made, his tongue slow and unhurried against mine even while his hips kept up that steady roll that had my whole body singing. I could feel the tension building low in my belly, coiling tighter with every thrust, and I reached down between us to stroke myself in time with him, desperate for more sensation and pleasure.

“That’s it,” he murmured against my mouth, watching my hand move. “Let me feel you cum, Buttercup. Don’t hold back.”

The morning light kept sliding warmer across the sheets, gilding the curve of his shoulder, the sweat at his temple, and I thought, in some distant corner of my mind that could still form thoughts at all, that I never wanted this moment to end. I wanted to stay right here, wrapped up in him, safe and loved, for as long as the world would let me.

“West, I’m close,” I gasped, my hips jerking up to meet his. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he said, his voice fraying at the edges, his own rhythm starting to stutter as he chased that same edge alongside me. “Cum for me, Rhett.”

That was all it took. I came hard, my whole body seizing up around him, my cry swallowed by his mouth as he kissed me through it, gentle even as I shook apart underneath him. I felt him follow only moments later, his hips stuttering deep inside me, a broken groan tearing loose from his throat as he buried his face against my neck. Heat flooded my insides, quickly followed by a feeling of sheer bliss. I’d dreamed of this moment so many times, but I never imagined it would feel so… incredible.

We stayed there a long while afterward, tangled together, neither of us in any hurry to move. His weight pressed me down into the mattress, warm and solid, and I ran my fingers slowly through his damp hair while our breathing evened back out.

“Hey,” he said finally, lifting his head just enough to look at me, his starlight eyes soft and a little hazy.

“Hey yourself.”

“You okay?” His thumb brushed along my cheekbone.

“More than okay,” I whispered. “I don’t think I’ve ever been better, actually.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to my forehead before easing himself out of me gently. I couldn’t help but gasp as he slipped free, already missing that closeness of having him inside. He gathered me up against him, my back to his chest, his arm slung heavy over my ribs same as it had been when I first woke.

“I love you,” he said again, quieter now, like it was a secret just for the two of us. “Ain’t never gonna get tired of sayin’ that.”

“Good,” I murmured, settling back into him, feeling more at peace than I had in years. “‘Cause I ain’t never gonna get tired of hearin’ it.”

Chapter 20

Rhett

The station smelled like burnt coffee and old papers, and I about lost my nerve twice just standing outside the door before I finally made myself walk in.

It wasn’t much to look at. There was one big room in the front with a desk, a rack of ancient filing cabinets, a corkboard covered in fliers about the fair, and a back hallway that I guessed led to a couple holding cells. A window unit rattled in the corner, working overtime against the Texas heat and losing the fight. Behind the desk was a door that I assumed led into the sheriff’s personal office, though the blinds were drawn on the windows. I stood there a second too long, hat in my hands, feeling about as out of place as a hog at a horse show.

“You must be Rhett.”

I about jumped clean out of my boots. Sheriff Webb had appeared out of the back office so quiet I hadn’t heard him, and now he was standing there in his uniform, filling up the doorway with his massive shoulders, looking down at me with those green eyes that didn’t seem like they missed much of anything.

“Yes, sir,” I said, sticking my hand out. “Rhett Levi. Mike said you might need some help.”

“Marcus.” He shook my hand, his grip firm but not trying to prove anything. “Sheriff Webb makes me feel like my daddy’s still standin’ in the room.”

That surprised a laugh out of me before I could stop it, and something in his face eased up a little at the sound, like he’d been testing the water and was glad to find it warmer than he expected.

“Marcus, then,” I said.

“Come on back. I’ll show you where things are, and we can talk about what needs doin’.” He gestured to the front desk. “Mrs. Baxter is out with her daughter at a doctor’s appointment, but I’m sure you’ll see her later. She won’t let you get far without an introduction.”

He turned and headed toward his desk, and I followed, taking in the framed photos on the wall. There was a younger version of him standing next to an older man who had to be his father, both of them in uniform, both of them wearing the same careful, guarded expression like it ran in the blood. And there was another photo, a more recent one, of Marcus standing beside a house with his arm around a shorter, thin man with short dark hair wearing a crop top with NYC written on the front. I couldn’t help but smile. That had to be Xavier.

Marcus dropped into the chair behind his desk and waved me toward the one across from it, then pulled out a folder thick enough to make my stomach sink a little just looking at it.

“Alright,” he said, flipping it open. “Sagebrush fair’s in five weeks. Last year we had about eight thousand folks come through town over the week it lasted. This year they’re sayin’ it might be closer to ten, on account of the barbecue competition gettin’ written up in some magazine. Beau Turner’s fixin’ to defend his title, apparently, and that’s drawn all kinds of attention. Probably because he and his husband run one of the biggest tourist ranches in northern Texas.”

“Ten thousand,” I repeated, trying to picture that many people crammed into Sagebrush’s little downtown, and failing.

“Yep. Which means ten thousand cars needin’ somewhere to park, ten thousand folks who might get lost, get too drunk, get in a fight over funnel cake, you name it.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw, and for just a second he looked more exhausted than ever. “It’s usually me, my secretary, and whatever ragtag group of cops I can borrow from the next county over for the weekend. This year Mrs. Baxter’s daughter’s havin’ a baby right in the middle of it, and she needs to help her get ready, so I need some help.”