Sadie #2
“Then don't leave.” I kissed the corner of his mouth. “Don't make decisions for me. And don't ever think you're just useful.”
His hand tightened at my waist. “What am I, then?”
“Mine,” I said. “If you want to be.”
Dallas kissed me again. Deeper this time. Less careful. More honest.
I felt the desk against my back and Dallas's weight pressing close, and for the first time in days, the knot in my chest loosened.
This wasn't perfect. We still had forged certifications to track.
A rodeo to salvage. Family messes that wouldn't untangle overnight.
But Dallas was here, and he wasn't hiding.
The stock office door was locked. The blinds were drawn. The only light came from the single bulb over the desk, casting everything in warm, uneven shadows.
Dallas’s hands were rough from years of ranch work, calloused in ways that should have felt coarse against my skin. Instead, every touch sent a slow heat through me, like striking a match and watching the flame catch.
He kissed me again, slower now, his mouth moving against mine with a patience that made my pulse jump. I arched into him, my fingers curling into the front of his shirt, and he made a sound deep in his chest that vibrated against my lips.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said.
I pulled him closer by the belt loops. “I’ve spent years watching you hold back. Don’t you dare start now.”
That did something to him. His control didn’t break, but it bent, just enough to let me see what he’d been hiding. The way his hands tightened on my hips, the way his breath hitched when I rocked against him, the way his voice went darker when he said my name.
“Sadie.”
I liked the way it sounded. Like a warning. Like a promise.
He lifted me onto the desk, his hands sliding under my thighs to pull me to the edge. The movement sent papers scattering, but neither of us cared. His mouth found my neck, his teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp, and I tangled my fingers in his hair, holding him there.
“You’re sure?” he asked again, his voice rough against my skin.
“Yes.”
That was all he needed. His hands went everywhere all at once. When his thumb brushed the underside of my breast, I arched into the touch, and he groaned, his mouth crashing back to mine.
I fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, my fingers clumsy with want. He helped, tearing it open the rest of the way, and then his skin was under my palms, hot and solid, the muscles beneath shifting as he moved.
“You’re overdressed,” he muttered against my mouth.
I laughed, breathless, and reached for the hem of my own shirt.
He didn’t wait for me to finish. He took over, pulling it off in one smooth motion, then making quick work of my bra.
The air in the room was cool against my skin, but his hands were warm, calloused and careful as they cupped my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples.
I made a sound I didn’t recognize, my head falling back, and he took advantage, his mouth trailing down my throat, then lower. When his lips closed around one tight peak, pleasure shot through me. My fingers clenched in his hair as his tongue swirled, his teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp.
“Dallas—”
He switched to the other side, his hand sliding down to pop the button of my jeans. “Tell me what you need.”
“You.” The word came out broken. “Just you.”
He groaned, his forehead pressing against my chest for a second before he straightened. His eyes were dark, his jaw tight with restraint, but his hands didn’t hesitate as he stripped my jeans and underwear down my legs, leaving me bare on the desk.
For a second, he just looked at me. I should have felt exposed. Instead, I felt powerful.
“Fuck, Sadie,” he breathed, his hands sliding up my thighs, parting them. “You’re perfect.”
I reached for him, my fingers fumbling with his belt buckle. He helped, kicking off his boots, shedding the rest of his clothes in record time. And then he was there, between my legs, his hands gripping my hips as he pulled me to the edge of the desk.
I wrapped my legs around him, feeling the hard length of him against me, and he groaned, his forehead dropping to mine.
“Wait,” he said, his voice strained. “I don’t have—”
“I do.” I reached into my discarded jeans, pulling out the condom I’d tucked into my wallet earlier. Because I’d hoped. Because I’d wanted this.
His eyes darkened as he took it from me, rolling it on with quick, efficient movements. And then he was there, right there, the head of him pressing against me.
“Last chance,” he said, his voice rough.
I pulled him closer. “Stop talking.”
He didn’t. Not with words. Instead, he pushed inside me in one slow, deep thrust, and the world narrowed to the feel of him—stretching me, filling me, his hands gripping my hips like I was something precious.
I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders, and he stilled, his breath ragged.
“Okay?” he asked, his voice tight.
“More than okay.” I rocked against him, and he groaned, his hands tightening.
And then he moved.
Afterward, Dallas didn't pull away. He stayed close, one hand still resting at my hip, his forehead pressed to mine. He'd always retreated before. Always stepped back like he was giving me space I hadn't asked for.
Not this time.
“You don't have to earn your place beside me every time something goes wrong,” I said, my voice quiet.
Dallas's thumb traced a slow line along my hip bone. “Might take me a while to learn that.”
“Then learn.”
His mouth curved. Not quite a smile, but close. “Yes, ma'am.”
I laughed despite everything, because it felt good to laugh with him.
Dallas pulled back just enough to look at me, and something in his face had eased. Less guarded. Less certain he didn't belong.
For the first time in years, Dallas Miller looked at me like he almost believed he was allowed to be wanted. So I showed him again.