Chapter Sixteen
~ Decker ~
The ranch house had gone quiet, most of the lights out, everyone long since retired to their rooms or back to their own places. Jasper and I had been the last ones at the dinner table, sitting with our knees touching beneath the worn wood, hands brushing as we passed the salt or reached for water.
Now we stood in the bedroom, the door closed behind us, the air between us charged with a electricity I’d been carrying since breakfast.
Jasper’s eyes met mine across the small space, his gaze steady in a way that would have been impossible three months ago. The fear that had lived there—the constant calculation, the carefulness around the edges—had been gradually replaced by something quieter and more certain.
It wasn’t gone completely—I knew better than to think that—but it had settled into the background rather than dominating every interaction.
“You good?” I asked, the question carrying more weight than its two words should have been able to.
Jasper nodded, not breaking eye contact. “I’m good.”
I closed the distance between us in one long stride, my hand coming up to cup the back of his skull.
His hair was soft under my palm, slightly longer than it had been when he’d arrived at the ranch.
I’d watched him grow it out—week by week, the careful attention he paid to its shape gradually giving way to something looser and more his own.
When I kissed him, Jasper’s mouth opened under mine immediately—not the careful tentativeness of our first few attempts, but the directness of a man who’d stopped questioning whether he was allowed to want this.
His hand found my waist, fingers pressing into the muscle there, his body leaning into the contact.
I pushed my other hand under his t-shirt, palm flat against his skin.
He was still too thin—would be for a while yet, despite Jojo’s best efforts—but the carefulness of the first weeks was gone.
I could touch him without triggering that momentary freeze, that automatic calculation of whether this was safe.
I broke the kiss just long enough to pull his shirt over his head, taking my time with it, watching the way his eyes darkened as I deliberately slowed my movements. His hands moved to my belt, quick and capable, working the leather through the loops with practiced movements.
“You’re not the only one who gets to take clothes off,” he said, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
When he reached for the button of my jeans, I caught his wrist, bringing it to my mouth instead, pressing a kiss to the pulse point there.
“Slow,” I said, the word barely audible even in the quiet room.
Jasper nodded, understanding immediately what I was asking for. This wasn’t the quick release of the first frantic weeks, when we’d both been so hungry for contact we couldn’t slow down enough to breathe. This was something with more room in it—the warmth of two people who knew they had time.
I eased him down onto the edge of the bed, following him until he was flat on his back and I was stretched out beside him, one leg thrown over his.
The window was open, the cool night air carrying the smell of pine and distant livestock.
The mountain was a dark shape against the lighter sky, visible if I turned my head just right.
But I wasn’t looking at the mountain. I was looking at Jasper—the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the small scar at his collarbone from a childhood fall he’d told me about.
I put my mouth on the scar, then lower, tracing his ribs with my tongue, feeling him shiver beneath me.
When I reached his nipple, I took it between my teeth, just firmly enough to make him gasp, my hand coming up to mirror the motion on the other side.
Jasper’s back arched off the bed, one hand coming to rest on the back of my neck. “God, Deck,” he said, voice carrying the breathiness of a man who was rapidly losing his composure.
I continued downward, mouth moving over the flat plane of his stomach, pausing at the hollow just above his hip bone.
His skin was warm beneath my tongue, slightly salty with the day’s work.
I lingered there, tracing the sensitive spot with deliberate attention, feeling him shift restlessly beneath me.
When my hand reached the waistband of his jeans, Jasper’s breath caught—a quick, sharp inhale that I felt against my hair.
I undid the button with one hand, the zipper with the other, then pulled back just enough to take in the full effect—Jasper sprawled across my bed, eyes dark with want, jeans open, but still on, cock hard against his stomach.
“Jesus,” I said, the word coming out with more feeling than I’d intended.
Jasper laughed, the sound landing somewhere between nerves and genuine amusement. “I’m right here,” he said. “No need to call for divine intervention.”
I pushed his jeans down, taking his boxers with them, then stripped off my own clothing in three quick movements. The air was cool against my skin, but not enough to cut through the heat building between us.
Jasper watched me with undisguised hunger, his eyes doing a quick sweep of my body before returning to my face. “You’re so fucking hot,” he said, the statement simple but carrying more weight than its four words should have been able to.
I reached for the nightstand, fingers closing around the bottle of lubricant I’d placed there the day before. “Turn over,” I said.
Jasper complied without hesitation, shifting onto his stomach, then up onto his hands and knees when I nudged his legs apart with one hand.
The vulnerability of the position—back exposed, ass raised, completely at my mercy—should have triggered that moment of calculation, that instinctive bracing for whatever came next.
It didn’t. Jasper held himself steady, head turned to the side so I could see his profile, one hand fisted in the sheet beside his shoulder. The trust of the moment landed somewhere in my chest that I filed away for later.
I warmed the lubricant between my fingers, then pressed one against his entrance, watching the way his back tightened at the contact. “Tell me if you need me to stop,” I said, the words automatic after three months of making sure.
Jasper shook his head, face pressed into the pillow now. “Don’t stop,” he said, voice muffled but clear. “Just go slow at first.”
I worked him open methodically—one finger, then two, then three, each movement precise and careful. Jasper took it all, body gradually relaxing around the intrusion, breath coming faster as I crooked my fingers to hit the spot that made him gasp.
“Deck,” he said, my name coming out with more force than he’d probably intended. “I’m ready. Please.”
I pulled my hand back, reaching for more lubricant. “Not like this,” I said, already moving to the head of the bed. “I want to see you.”
Jasper turned to look at me, confusion visible on his face. “What?”
I settled against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of me, cock hard against my stomach. “Here,” I said, patting my thigh. “Like this.”
Understanding dawned on Jasper’s face—the look of a man who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted without having to ask for it. He moved up the bed with quick, graceful movements, straddling my thighs, one hand coming to rest on my chest for balance.
“Like this?” he asked, though he clearly already knew the answer.
I nodded, hands coming to rest on his hips. “Just like that.”
Jasper reached between us, wrapping one hand around my cock, positioning me against his entrance. The contact was electric—hot, slick pressure that made my breath catch in my throat. I kept my hands loose on his hips, letting him set the pace.
He sank down slowly, taking me inch by inch, his face a study in concentration. I watched the play of emotions across his features—focus, then pleasure, then something close to wonder as he settled fully onto my lap, my cock buried completely inside him.
“Jesus Christ,” Jasper said, the words coming out on an exhale. “You’re so fucking big.”
I didn’t answer—couldn’t have if I’d tried. My hands tightened on his hips, the only outward sign of the effort it was taking not to thrust up into the tight heat of him.
Jasper began to move—careful at first, then with increasing confidence as his body adjusted. Up, then down, then a subtle roll of his hips that made us both gasp. His hands found my shoulders, then my chest, then my face, tracing the line of my jaw with careful fingers.
“Look at me,” he said.
I did—met his eyes directly, held his gaze as he set a rhythm that made the headboard knock against the wall. His face was flushed, hair falling across his forehead, mouth open slightly as he breathed.
I reached between us, wrapping my hand around his cock, matching my strokes to his movements. Jasper’s rhythm faltered for just a second, then resumed with renewed intensity, his hips moving faster, his breath coming in shorter gasps.
“That’s it,” I said, voice rough with the effort of holding back. “Just like that.”
Jasper’s hand came to rest over mine, adjusting the angle slightly. “A little harder,” he said, the words barely audible. “I’m close.”
I complied immediately—tightened my grip, sped up my strokes, watched as Jasper’s face changed with the new pressure. His thighs tensed against mine, his back arched, his hand fisted in the sheet beside my hip.
“Deck,” he said, my name coming out with more feeling than its single syllable should have been able to carry. “I’m going to—“
He came with a broken sound that wasn’t quite my name, his release hot against my hand and stomach, his body clenching around me with enough force to push me over the edge.
My orgasm hit with the intensity that came from holding back—a white-hot wave that started at the base of my spine and radiated outward, leaving me breathless and momentarily speechless.