Chapter Nine
~ Burke ~
The sunset painted the ranch in shades of gold and amber, the kind that made even the dust in the air look intentional. I watched Danny from the corner of my eye, trying not to be obvious about it.
Six weeks had turned his bruises from angry purple to a sickly yellow-green, and he’d stopped wincing every time he took a deep breath. Progress. The kind that made my chest tight with relief.
We sat on the porch swing, our thighs pressed together, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him through my jeans.
The evening air carried the scent of fresh-cut hay and the distant smoke of Jojo’s bonfire out by the creek.
The swing creaked under us, a gentle, back-and-forth rhythm that matched my heartbeat.
Danny’s fingers brushed mine on the wooden seat between us. Not reaching, not asking—just there, like he was testing whether I’d pull away. I didn’t. I turned my hand, palm up, and waited.
He took it, his fingers sliding between mine like they’d been carved for exactly that purpose. His skin was cool, but not cold, softer than it had any right to be. I squeezed once, gently, and he squeezed back.
“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” I said, the words falling out before I could catch them. No joke, no deflection, just the raw, stupid truth.
Danny went still beside me. I could feel his breath catch, hear the soft hitch in his throat. His eyes—the one still healing, plus the good one—found mine in the fading light. Something passed between us, electric and impossible to name.
“Neither have I,” he said, and his voice had that same raw quality.
The breeze picked up, carrying the smell of him—that sweet, herbal thing mixed with something deeper, something that made my alpha instincts roar to life.
He’d been here six weeks, sleeping in the guest room, but spending every other minute by my side.
We’d kissed, held hands, fallen asleep in front of bad movies, but we hadn’t—not yet.
The bruises had been too fresh, too many.
But now his scent was changing, warming with an emotion I didn’t want to name for fear of scaring it off.
I turned to face him, the swing creaking with the movement. The last of the sunlight caught in his hair, turning the edges to fire. I reached up, brushed a strand from his forehead, and let my hand linger on his cheek.
“I want to kiss you,” I said, because I’d promised myself I’d never take that choice away from him, not even for a second.
He smiled, lopsided and beautiful. “I want that, too.”
I leaned in slow, giving him every chance to back away.
But he met me halfway, his lips soft and sure against mine.
What started as gentle turned into something else—his hand coming up to grip my shirt, mine sliding into his hair.
His mouth opened under mine, and I tasted the sweetness of the mint tea he’d been drinking.
His scent intensified, flooding my senses. Under the sweet notes was the unmistakable heat of an omega responding to an alpha—pure biology, impossible to fake. My body reacted instantly, blood rushing south, pulse hammering in my throat. I broke the kiss, breathing hard.
“We should go inside,” I said, voice rougher than I meant it to be.
He nodded, eyes dark with wanting. I stood, pulling him up with me. He was still too thin, the bones of his wrist too prominent under my fingers. But he was solid, real, alive in my hands in a way that made my chest ache.
I couldn’t wait. I bent, got one arm under his knees, the other behind his back, and lifted. He yelped, then laughed, arms looping around my neck.
“I can walk, you know,” he said, but he was already settling against my chest, his face tucked into the hollow of my throat.
“Too slow,” I growled, and carried him into the house.
The living room was empty—Rawley and Jojo had taken a rare night off, heading to town for dinner and a movie—but I didn’t stop there. I carried him down the hall to the guest room, now unmistakably his, with the laptop Carter had fixed sitting on the desk and a stack of library books by the bed.
I set him down on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle his still-healing ribs. His eyes never left mine as I stepped back, just enough to give him room to breathe.
“You sure about this?” I asked, because I had to, even if the question burned.
He reached for me, hands finding the hem of my shirt. “Yes,” he said, and pulled me down.
We kissed again, deeper this time. His hands slid under my shirt, cool fingers tracing the ridges of my abs, then higher to my chest. I groaned into his mouth, the touch sending jolts of electricity down my spine.
I helped him with his shirt, lifting it carefully over his head. The bruises were fading, but I could still see the faint yellow-green marks where Dennis’s fists had landed. I bent, pressed my lips to each one, a silent promise that no one would ever put their hands on him that way again.
He gasped, head falling back. “Burke,” he whispered, and my name in his mouth was the best sound I’d ever heard.
I worked my way back up, taking my time with his collarbones, the hollow of his throat, the spot behind his ear that made him shiver. His hands were busy too, pushing my shirt up and off, then fumbling with my belt.
“Wait,” I said, catching his wrist. “Let me.”
He nodded, eyes dark with want. I undressed him slowly, piece by piece, taking time to appreciate each new inch of skin. He was beautiful—all lean muscle and long lines, with a dusting of freckles across his shoulders that I’d never noticed before.
When he was naked, I stepped back just enough to strip off my own clothes. His eyes tracked every movement, hungry and a little shy. When I was bare, he reached for me again, pulling me down beside him on the bed.
The sheets were cool against our heated skin. His scent was everywhere now, sweet and sharp and so distinctly Danny that I wanted to drown in it. I kissed him again, one hand cradling his face while the other traced the line of his spine.
He arched into the touch, a soft sound escaping him. “Please,” he said against my lips. “I need—“
“I know,” I told him, and reached for the drawer where I’d stashed a bottle of lube the day after he’d moved in, just in case.
He watched, eyes wide, as I slicked my fingers. “Tell me if it’s too much,” I said, voice rough with want but determined to go slow. “We can stop anytime.”
He shook his head. “I want this. I want you.”
I kissed him again, deep and thorough, as my hand slid between us. He was already hard, leaking at the tip, his cock jerking when my fingers brushed against it. I worked my way lower, tracing the crease of his thigh, then further back to the tight ring of muscle.
He gasped against my mouth, body tensing for a second before relaxing into the touch. “That’s it,” I murmured. “Just breathe.”
I took my time, one finger working inside him, then two, scissoring gently to prepare him. His body opened for me, hot and perfect, his hips rocking back to meet each thrust. His scent filled the room, pure omega heat, making my head swim and my cock ache.
“Ready?” I asked when he was writhing beneath me, face flushed and eyes unfocused.
He nodded, beyond words. I positioned myself, the head of my cock nudging against his entrance. I pushed forward, just the tip, watching his face for any sign of discomfort.
His eyes flew open, meeting mine. “More,” he said, voice breaking. “Please, Burke, I need—“
I gave it to him, sliding home in one smooth thrust. The heat of him surrounded me, tight and perfect. He cried out, back arching, hands clutching at my shoulders.
“Okay?” I managed, holding perfectly still despite the overwhelming urge to move.
He nodded, a shaky breath escaping him. “God, yes. Move. Please move.”
I started slow, careful thrusts that gradually built in speed and depth. His body took me in, accepted me, his inner walls fluttering around my cock in a way that threatened to end things before they’d properly begun.
His legs wrapped around my waist, heels digging into the small of my back. Each thrust pushed a sound from his throat—half-moan, half-whimper—that went straight to my dick. I reached between us, wrapped my hand around his cock, and stroked in time with my thrusts.
“That’s it,” I growled, unable to hold back the alpha rumble in my chest. “Come for me, Danny. Let me see you.”
His eyes locked with mine, wild and desperate.
“Burke,” he gasped, and then he was coming, hot stripes painting his stomach and my hand.
The sight of him—face flushed, mouth open, body convulsing around me—was too much.
I drove into him one last time and came with a groan that felt like it was torn from the bottom of my soul.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. I could feel his heart hammering against my chest, our breath mingling in the space between us. Then, carefully, I pulled out and collapsed beside him, an arm thrown across his waist to keep him close.
He turned toward me, face still flushed, eyes drowsy with satisfaction. “Wow,” he said, the word barely audible.
I laughed, the sound rumbling through my chest. “Yeah. Wow.”
He tucked himself against my side, head on my shoulder, one hand resting over my heart. I held him there, counting each breath, each beat, until the world felt solid again.
Outside, the ranch was quiet, just the distant sounds of night creatures and the occasional creak of the old house settling. But in this room, with Danny’s weight against me and his scent in my lungs, I’d never felt more awake.
I pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “You okay?” I asked, suddenly worried I’d been too rough, too much.
He nodded, smiling against my skin. “Better than okay.” His hand traced lazy patterns on my chest. “You?”
I caught his hand, brought it to my lips. “Perfect,” I said, and meant it.