Chapter 12 #3
"Even when the fight involves billionaires and organized crime?"
"Especially then." I grin, letting some of my old cocky confidence show through. "Plus, you have a few billionaires in Cedar Falls. Your family drama doesn't scare me."
She snorts despite herself. "You're insane."
"I'm in love," I correct. "There's a difference."
The words slip out before I can stop them, hanging between us like a live wire.
I should take it back. Pretend it was a joke.
But the truth burns in my chest—I’ve been falling since the night she stood her ground in that alley, eyes blazing with courage.
And every damn day since, she’s proved she’s more than the runaway heiress, more than the guarded waitress hiding in plain sight.
She’s sharp, funny, breathtaking… a force of nature.
Watching her is like standing too close to a star—beautiful, dangerous, impossible to look away.
I’d always pictured saying it later—when I was whole again, when the fog in my head finally cleared. But maybe waiting was the lie. What if there’s never a perfect moment, no guarantee my brain won’t betray me? Do I deny what’s tearing through me every time she looks at me?
All I know is this: I love her. And all I want—more than my career, more than my pride—is to be the man she deserves to love back.
Her breath catches, her gaze locked on mine, and for a moment the room goes very still. Then, her hands slide up my chest, fingers curling in the fabric of my shirt like she’s anchoring me to the present.
And just like that, the pull between us shifts—from words to touch, from confession to hunger.
“Tara—” My voice breaks on her name.
She rises onto her knees, closing the distance, and suddenly her mouth is on mine. Not cautious. Not careful. Just fierce, claiming, the kind of kiss that strips the air from my lungs and leaves me dizzy.
Every muscle in me pulls tight. I’ve been aching for this, starving for it, and now that she’s here—now that she’s choosing me—I don’t care about restraint. My hands dive into her hair, tugging her closer, swallowing her gasp as I press her back into the cushions.
The love I confessed is still ringing in the air, and it’s in this kiss too—raw, demanding, desperate to brand her with it.
She pulls back just enough to speak, lips still brushing mine. “I think I want you right where you are.”
My brow lifts, breath ragged. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
She leans in, her whisper hot against my ear. “Because I plan to straddle you right here on this couch. Undress you, explore every part of you… and ride you until you forget your own name.”
A groan breaks out of me, helpless, my fingers clawing at the cushions to keep from flipping her beneath me.
“Sounds like you’ve thought this through,” I manage.
“I have. Just promise me you’ll let me take charge.”
“I promise,” I rasp. A wild rhythm stutters in my chest like it’s trying to break free. “So… what’s first?”
She swings her leg over, settling onto my lap, knees framing my hips. The weight of her against me has my cock straining, pressure sharp and unbearable.
“First,” she says, slow smile curving, “we lose some of these clothes.”
I nod, letting her take the lead, letting her set the pace. She leans in, her fingers working the buttons of my shirt open one by one, her knuckles brushing my chest each time the fabric parts, revealing my chest to her gaze. It’s deliberate, maddening, and she knows it.
By the time she pushes the shirt from my shoulders, her fingertips drag over my skin slow enough to make me shiver with anticipation.
Her gaze darkens. “Better.”
“And then?” My voice is rough, barely steady.
“Then,” she says, shifting so she can reach the waistband of my jeans, “we lose these.”
She undoes my belt, her fingers working the button with quick precision. When she pops the button and slides down the zipper, my breath shudders. I lift my hips, helping her tug the denim free until I’m left in nothing but boxers, painfully hard beneath the thin cotton.
“Very nice” her voice has turned sultry, her eyes roving over me with a hunger that makes my cock twitch.
“What else?” I ask, my voice rough with need.
“This,” she says, leaning down to press a kiss to my chest, right over my heart. Her lips are soft, warm, and the contact sends a jolt of pleasure through me.
She trails kisses down my chest, her tongue darting out to taste my skin. Every touch, every lick, sends another wave of desire crashing through me. I grip the couch cushions tighter, forcing myself to stay still, to let her claim me inch by inch.
Her mouth moves lower, kissing every inch of my chest, my stomach, as if it were sacred ground. When she reaches the waistband of my boxers, she pauses, looking up at me with a question in her eyes.
“Yes,” I rasp, my throat dry. “Please.”
She smiles, a slow, sexy curve of her lips that makes my cock throb in anticipation. Then, she tugs the fabric down, freeing my aching erection.
“Beautiful,” she whispers, her eyes locked onto me. She leans in, her breath warm against my skin as she presses a kiss to the head of my cock.
The sound that rips out of me is half-groan, half-swear.
Her tongue swirls, her lips seal tight, and when she looks up at me while sliding deeper, I almost lose it. No fog. No lapses. Just this—her mouth on me, pulling me apart. I clutch the couch cushions because if I grip her hair too tight, I’ll ruin her rhythm.
The sensation is exquisite—wet, warm, and so damn perfect. She works me with her mouth and tongue, her head bobbing in a rhythm that has me seeing stars.
I grip the cushions tighter to keep from thrusting up into her mouth. I can feel the pleasure building, my body tensing as she takes me deeper, her throat working to swallow me whole.
“Tara,” I groan, my hands finding her hair, gripping lightly. “If you keep that up, I won’t last.”
She pulls back, her lips leaving my cock with a soft pop. “Then maybe you should help me undress,” she says, her voice husky with desire.
I nod, my hands trembling slightly as I reach for the hem of her shirt. I lift it over her head, revealing her gorgeous curves to my gaze. Her bra quickly follows and the sight of her full breasts, her hardened nipples, makes my mouth water.
I groan, reaching to touch, but she swats my hands down, playful and commanding. “Later. My rules.”
“Now the rest,” she says, standing up briefly to slip out of her jeans and panties.
When she straddles me again, she’s completely bare, her body perfect and on display for me.
I grip the cushions hard, holding back, watching as she lowers herself onto me. Inch by inch, her wet heat envelops me, and the sensation nearly tears me apart. My head falls back, a raw groan dragging out of my chest.
She doesn’t wait for me to set the pace—she takes it, rolling her hips in slow, steady circles that grind me deeper into her.
My fingers twitch, wanting to grab her waist, to take over, but I don’t. I let her. I watch her. She moves like she knows exactly how to undo me—face flushed, hair tumbling around her shoulders. Her breasts bounce with each thrust, her head falling back as she rides me with abandon.
“Cam,” she gasps, bracing her hands on my shoulders as she rides me harder, faster.
“Tara! You feel so good,” I groan, my eyes locked onto her. “So tight, so perfect.”
She leans down, her mouth finding mine in a passionate kiss. Our tongues tangle, our breaths mingling as she continues to ride me, her hips moving in a way that drives me wild.
I reach up, cupping her breasts in my hands, my thumbs brushing over her nipples in a way that makes her gasp.
She offers more of her breasts to me and then leans down to kiss me, her rhythm never faltering. I taste her moan, swallow it, feel her body clench tighter around me.
“Cam!” she mews, her voice breathless with pleasure. “I’m close.”
“Me too,” I admit, my body tensing as the pleasure builds. “Come with me, baby. Let go together.”
She nods, her movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. My hand slips between us, finding her clit and rubbing it with steady pressure. She jerks, hips stuttering, her body convulses around me, her inner muscles clenching as she cries out my name, her orgasm ripping through her.
The sight of her, the feel of her, the sound of her pleasure—it’s all too much. I thrust up into her one last time, my own release tearing through me as I groan her name, filling her with everything I have.
For long moments, we stay locked together, our breaths coming in ragged gasps, our bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction.
“Wow,” she finally says, her voice soft with wonder as she collapses against my chest, her hair damp against my neck, her heartbeat racing wild to match mine.
I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight, anchoring us both. Her taking charge tonight wasn’t just heat—it was trust. Proof she’s letting me see every side of her.
I make a silent vow to remember this moment—her taking charge, her showing me a side of her I haven’t seen before.
The choice she made to lead, to let me follow. The way she showed me love can be strength and surrender, all in the same breath.
This is what love looks like, I realize. It’s not just about protection or comfort. It’s about partnership, about trusting each other enough to let go, to take charge, to be vulnerable and strong all at once.
Eventually, her breathing slows, her body soft and heavy against mine. “Bed?” she murmurs, drowsy but smiling.
“On it,” I say, and scoop her up in a fireman’s carry. Her squeal echoes through the loft as her hair swings against my back.
“Cameron Wilder! What’s with the shoulder toss?”
I smack her perky ass lightly, grinning at the sound she makes. “Not a chance. Saw how you were eyeing those firefighters this afternoon. Needed you to know I can do everything they do… and more.”
She kicks her feet, laughing, half-protesting. “Really? You’re going full firefighter fantasy now?”
“Call it occupational research,” I shoot back, striding toward the bedroom. “You’re not complaining.”
Her laugh vibrates against my neck as I lower her on the sheets. “You’re ridiculous!”
“Ridiculously irresistible,” I fire back.
She curls close, cheek pressed to my chest, and then her voice slips out—low, certain, meant only for me.
“I love you too.”