Chapter Eleven
Delta
The lantern glows soft and gold against the canvas, turning the inside of the tent into a warm little world that feels a hundred miles away from everything else. The ranch sounds are all but non-existent out here.
I kick off my boots just inside the flap and wiggle my toes in my socks, laughing under my breath as I straighten up. “I still can’t believe you convinced me to sleep on the ground when I own an entire house with a perfectly good bed.”
Trace drops the cooler by the door and looks up at me like I just said the funniest thing he’s heard all day.
“You didn’t complain when I brought you out here this afternoon,” he says, taking in the blankets I already spread out, two thick sleeping bags unzipped and layered with quilts, extra pillows, and a couple of old crocheted throws.
“You said, and I quote, ‘This is cozy as hell.’”
“I also said I reserve the right to change my mind if anything crawls,” I remind him.
He grins, slow and warm, as he straightens. “I told you, I’ll handle the crawling things.”
“You better,” I say.
He watches me for a second, “Come here,” he says quietly.
I step over the cooler, careful not to kick it, and close the distance between us, his hands find my hips. His mouth meets mine and every thought I had scatters. His lips move over mine, unhurried and confident, like he has all night and I am the only thing he plans to focus on.
I press closer, my hands sliding up to curl around the back of his neck.
He makes a low sound in his chest when my body lines up against his, one that goes straight through me and settles low in my belly.
His fingers tighten on my hips, then glide back, palms spanning the curve of my ass as he pulls me in.
Heat pours through me in a way that feels heavy and light at the same time. The kiss deepens, turns hungry, his tongue slides against mine and my knees go soft; his hands hold me up like he knew that was coming too.
“Trace,” I breathe against his mouth.
“Yeah, baby,” he says, and the word curls around something warm inside me.
“You’re not sleeping on your side of this tent,” I tell him. “Just so we’re clear.”
He huffs out a laugh, forehead pressed to mine. “Good, because I have no intention of sleeping anywhere but next to you and I definitely wasn’t planning on us sleeping much.”
The bluntness of it sends a flush up my throat. “Arrogant.”
“Oh for sure! You and your body knows who it belongs to,” he corrects, then kisses me again, softer this time. “Tell me what you want.”
I swallow, heart pounding. He means it; that’s the thing about him, he always means it.
“I want you,” I say simply. “Here, with me, all of it. I want you in my bed and in my space and in my life, and if we’re going to fuck this up, I’d rather it be because we tried too hard than because we were scared.”
He stares at me like I’ve just handed him something holy. His jaw flexes. “You sure?”
“Yes.” My voice doesn’t even shake. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life that wasn’t a horse or this ranch.”
His relief is almost comical. “I love you,” he says, automatic and raw, then freezes like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.
“Say it again,” I whisper.
He swallows. “I love you.”
“Good,” I say, feeling my chest ache in the best way. “Because I love you too. And I’d very much like to have sex with my man now, if that’s okay with you.”
He laughs, a broken, disbelieving sound, and kisses me hard. “Yes, ma’am.”
He kisses me again, deeper, and starts walking me backward toward the blankets.
The canvas rustles softly, lantern light swaying as we move.
My heels hit the edge of the sleeping bags and I sink down onto them, pulling him with me.
We end up half-kneeling, half-sprawled, hands everywhere and it’s still not enough.
He breaks the kiss long enough to look down at me, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth.
His fingers move to the buttons one by one, not rushing, and that slows my heart even as it speeds it up, if that makes any sense.
He pushes the fabric aside, hands sliding over my skin, thumbs brushing the sides of my breasts, I suck in a breath.
He watches my face like he’s memorizing every reaction, then leans down and presses a kiss in the center of my chest, right where my heartbeat is kicking hard against my ribs.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs against my skin.
“Liar,” I say, but it comes out shaky.
“Don’t argue with me,” he says, and his mouth moves lower.
He kisses the swell of one breast, then the other, slow and reverent, before his hands slip behind me to unclasp my bra.
I shrug it off my shoulders and let it drop somewhere into the shadows.
The cool air hits me for a second and then his hands are there, warm and sure, cupping, thumbs brushing over my nipples.
I arch into him without thinking. He groans, low and rough. “Fuck, Delta.”
He lowers his head, takes one tight peak into his mouth, and everything inside me goes hot and soft.
I thread my fingers into his hair, anchoring myself.
He gives equal attention to both sides, pacing himself because he’s got all night and I’m something to savor, not rush through.
By the time he lifts his head, my breathing is wrecked.
“Lie back,” he says softly.
And I do, the blankets are plush beneath me, the lantern painting shadows across the roof of the tent. He follows me down, kissing his way over my stomach as his hands move to the button of my jeans. He looks up, waiting.
“Yes,” I say again. The word becomes a rhythm.
He undoes the button, pulls down the zipper, and eases the denim over my hips, taking my panties with them in one slow, deliberate movement. He sits back for a moment, looking at me, really looking, and I can see the hunger in his eyes, yes, but there’s something else too…love.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I say, because I need to hear it.
“That I’ve never wanted to take my time with anyone the way I want to with you,” he answers without hesitation. “And that if I don’t get my clothes off, I’m gonna embarrass myself in ways I have not done since high school.”
A helpless laugh bursts out of me, easing some tension. “Take your clothes off, Buchanan.”
He grins and obeys, his shirt pulls over his head, jeans and briefs pushed down and kicked aside. I watch him the whole time, taking in the long lines of muscle. He’s already hard, thick and heavy, resting against his abdomen for a second before he kneels between my thighs and reaches for me again.
“You are staring,” he says, amused and a little shy.
“Absolutely,” I say. “I’d be foolish not to.”
He shakes his head, but his mouth curves. Then he puts his hands on my knees and gently spreads my legs wider, dragging his thumbs along the inside of my thighs on the way. My breath stutters. The angle gives him a full view of how ready I am for him, and his eyes darken further, pupils blown.
“Beautiful,” he says again, a little rougher this time.
His fingers slide up, knuckles skimming my slick and aching pussy. I gasp, hips jerking making him hum in satisfaction and does it again, more deliberate this time, fingertip circling my clit before he dips lower.
He slides one thick finger inside me, and I clench around him, moaning, my head tipping back. He watches my face the whole time, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he moves.
“Don’t you dare stop.”
He doesn’t, he builds a rhythm, adding a second finger when my body opens for him, his thumb working steady circles on my clit making heat settles tight in my belly, the pressure building fast.
“Trace.” I’m not sure if I’m warning or begging.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”
The words tip me over—the trust in them does.
I come hard, a sharp, pulsing release that has me crying out, hands clutching at his shoulders as everything around me blurs for a second.
He keeps going through it, easing me down gently, thumb softening, fingers slowing but not leaving until I stop shaking, then withdrawing them and sucking them in his mouth.
When he finally pulls away, I’m boneless. He leans over me and kisses me, sharing the taste of my own cum, and something inside me sparks all over again.
He settles between my thighs once more, one hand braced beside my head, the other sliding under my lower back to tilt my hips.
“Trace,” I say, wrapping my legs around his waist. “If you don’t get inside me in the next ten seconds, I’m going to find a way to fire you from a job you don’t even technically work for me in.”
He groans. “Bossy.”
“You like it.”
“Yeah,” he admits, then pushes in, and we both gasp.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel… Jesus, Delta.”
“Keep going,” I whisper, nails digging into his shoulders.
When he’s fully seated, our hips flush, we just stay there for a second, until I tell him,
“Move.”
He pulls back and thrusts in again, slow at first. The friction makes me shiver, pleasure sparking through me all over.
He finds a rhythm that’s deep and steady, moving together easily.
I cling to him, meeting his thrusts, letting sounds slip out of me I’ve never heard from my own mouth.
He murmurs rough praise against my neck; how good I feel, how beautiful I am, how he’s not going anywhere.
I hear every word. The angle shifts, and suddenly he hits a spot inside me that makes my vision blur.
I cry out, arching, and he does it again, deliberate now, watching my face.
“Don’t stop, don’t...”
He doesn’t. His pace picks up, thrusts sharper, hand sliding between us to circle my clit again in time with his body. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. The pressure builds fast, faster than before, coiling tight and hot.
I grab his face, forcing his eyes to meet mine. “Don’t look away,” I say.
“I won’t,” he promises.
He holds my gaze as he drives into me, as his hand works me closer and closer to the edge. I feel him start to lose rhythm, feel his body tense, hear him curse under his breath.
“Come with me,” he grits out. “Please, baby. I need…”
The plea is what undoes me. I fall over the edge with a sharp cry, the orgasm tearing through me, pulsing around him.
He follows a heartbeat later, groaning my name like a prayer, hips stuttering as he spills inside of me.
He keeps moving through it, gentler, until it’s too much and we both collapse, breathless and sweating, tangled in quilts and each other.
For a long moment, the only sound is our breathing and the faint rattle of the tent in the breeze.
Eventually, he shifts, careful, and pulls out, lying down beside me on his back, chest still rising and falling fast. I roll onto my side and rest my head on his shoulder, one leg thrown over his. His arm comes around me automatically, hand splaying over my hip.
“Well,” I say, staring at the lantern light dancing on the canvas ceiling. “That was… not terrible.”
He snorts, then laughs, the sound deep and incredulous. “You’re insufferable.”
“You like it,” I say again.
He turns his head and kisses my forehead. “No,” he says quietly. “I love it.”
Outside, the night settles over Copper Ridge. Inside the tent, wrapped up in him, I feel safe, wanted, chosen, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe that I might get to keep all three.
Trace
Delta is draped across my chest, her breathing is slow, her hand resting right over my heart. I run my palm down her back once, slow, feeling her relax even more.
“Baby, you need to sleep,” I murmur against her hair. “Miss Evie’s party is tomorrow and you’re the one running the whole show. It’s going to be a long day.”
She groans into my neck, stubborn even half-conscious. “Five minutes.”
I smile because I already know how this goes. “No, not five, go to sleep for real.”
She doesn’t argue again, just melts right back into me and knocks out like somebody cut the lights.
I tuck the blanket around her, holding her close, and I can feel her whole body soften against me.
I pull the blanket up around her, settle deeper into the pillows, let my hand rest on the small of her back so she feels me there even in her sleep.
I am just starting to drift when her phone rings, it’s not a gentle text buzz it’s a loud ringtone. Delta does not move, I shake her shoulder lightly. “Delta. Your phone is ringing.”
She mumbles into my chest, barely awake. “Trace, leave me alone, I’m sleeping.”
I try again, rubbing her arm. “Could be important, sweetheart.”
She doesn’t budge, she actually burrows closer like she is hiding from responsibility.
I sigh, because only Delta Whitmore could run a multimillion-dollar ranch and also sleep like she’s dodging the law.
I check the pile of clothes at the foot of the sleeping bag and find her phone in the pocket of her jeans. The screen lights up.
Unknown Caller.
Before I can answer, the call ends. Missed call. Fifth missed call today. Whoever this is hasn’t given up. Whoever this is wants her attention.
I don’t wake her, she’s dead asleep, breathing deep and even, face relaxed against my skin.
I put the phone back exactly where I found it and slide my hand up her back again and she shifts closer her leg tightening around mine.
Tomorrow, I’ll ask her tomorrow. Somebody is calling her constantly and she’s ignoring it and I will find out why.
Her breathing syncs with mine, slow and steady, I close my eyes the last thing I feel before sleep pulls me under is her holding on to me.