Chapter 30
Adore You – Harry Styles
Gunner
I’d been to Cassidy’s apartment once before when I’d picked her up for our date, but I hadn’t been past the doorway.
The small living room was exactly what I’d imagined, comfortable and lived-in with overflowing bookshelves lining one wall.
An overstuffed armchair sat by the window with a reading lamp and a small table that held a stack of books with colorful bookmarks poking out from various pages.
“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, slipping off her shoes by the door. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’m good.” I watched her move through the space, noting how she belonged there among the walls filled with the stories she loved.
She caught me staring and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What?”
“Just looking,” I said, stepping closer. “Your place suits you.”
“Small and cluttered?” she laughed and looked up at me. “And you’re entirely too big for it
“I don’t know, I think I kind of fit in perfectly.” I cupped her face and ran my thumb over the apple of her cheek. “I meant that it’s warm,” I corrected, dropping my hand to link our fingers together. “Intelligent. Inviting.”
The soft light from the table lamp caught the gold flecks in her eyes as she looked up at me.
Something about being here, in her personal space, made everything feel more significant.
This wasn’t some hookup in a bar or even the heated moments we’d stolen at the ranch. This was something else entirely.
“I like you being here,” she whispered. “Even if you make it look doll house size.”
“Well, I hope the bed is big enough because I have plans.” I pulled her closer and dropped a kiss to the corner of her lips. She smiled against my mouth. “Do I get to devour you for hours now?”
“Absolutely.” And then she turned and led me out of the lounge.
Her bedroom continued the theme of the lounge—bookshelves, soft fabrics, and a large bed covered in a quilt that looked handmade.
Photos lined her dresser, Cassidy with groups of kids, an older woman who had to be her mother based on the matching smile, and one of Cassidy as a child on a farm, a small goat standing beside her.
There was also a guy wearing jeans and a denim shirt standing behind her, his hands on her shoulders.
They were both grinning for whoever was taking the picture, probably her mom.
“Your parents?” I asked, nodding toward the photos.
She nodded, something soft crossing her face. The way she looked at the photo, there was so much love there. Loss too. It made me think of my own mom and the fact that we didn’t talk about her enough at home. Didn’t celebrate her enough, well maybe that should change.
“Strange,” Cassidy said with a sigh, “even though both pictures were taken years apart, both were a year before they passed away.”
When she inhaled, I moved behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and resting my chin on her shoulder as we both looked at the photos. “You have your mom’s smile and the same eyes as your dad.”
“Everyone said that about me and Mom.” She turned in my arms, her hands sliding up my chest. “And she always said that me and Dad were the only two people she knew whose eyes were the same color as Macallan.”
“Has always been my favorite whisky,” I replied. “Your mom was right.”
Cassidy narrowed those Macallan colored eyes on me. “You really want to talk about my mom right now?”
“No,” I admitted, dipping my head to brush my lips against hers. “But I want to know everything about you, Cassidy Turner. All the parts that make you who you are.”
She made a small sound, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, as her fingers tangled in my hair. “Later,” she whispered against my mouth. “Right now, I want you to stop talking.”
When our lips met this time, there was nothing cautious about it.
No worry that someone would walk in on us.
This was a kiss with intent, with promise.
Her tongue slid against mine as her body pressed closer, seeking contact.
My hands found her hips, pulling her against me so she could feel exactly what she was doing to me.
“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” I said against her neck, my teeth grazing the sensitive spot below her ear. The spot that made her squirm in the best possible way.
Her head fell back, giving me better access. “Me too. Ever since you pushed me against your bedroom wall and gave me a hint of what was to come.”
Slowly, I walked her backward until we reached the bed and immediately my fingers found the buttons of her blouse, undoing them one by one. Every one revealed inch after inch of soft skin and when I pushed the fabric from her shoulders, she shivered, but not from cold.
“Your turn,” she murmured, her hands already working at the buttons of my shirt.
There was something so damn sexy about the way she bit her lip in concentration as her fingers brushed against my chest with each button she released. When she pushed my shirt off, her hands splayed across my chest, tracing the muscles there with appreciation.
“You know all those times I saw you working around the ranch,” she confessed, her fingertips trailing down to my stomach, “I wondered what you’d look like without your shirt.”
“You didn’t even like me most of those times.”
“Still imagined it.”
“And?” I couldn’t help the smirk.
“Better,” she admitted, her hands moving to my belt. “And I have a pretty good imagination.”
The sound of my belt buckle releasing sent a jolt of anticipation through me. But instead of rushing, I caught her hands, bringing them to my lips.
“Slow down, sweetheart,” I whispered. “We’ve got all night.” I’d never cared about going slow before. It was always about the finish line. But, with her, I wanted to memorize every second, every sound, every expression.
Just like the smile she was giving me; it was both shy and wicked. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
I lowered her onto the bed, following her down until I was hovering above her, supported on my forearms. This close, I could see every detail of her face, the light freckles across her nose, the flecks of amber in her eyes, the soft curve of her lips.
I wanted to memorize all of it. Her eyes drifted shut and something moved in my chest. This wasn’t just about release anymore.
Every touch, every kiss felt like a confession that I wasn’t brave enough to make with words.
When I kissed her again, it was slower, deeper. My hand traced down her side to her hip, then back up to cup her breast through the lace of her bra. She arched into my touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.
“You’re so beautiful,” I whispered, meaning it more than I’d ever meant anything.
Her hands explored my back, my shoulders, everywhere she could reach. “You’re not so bad yourself, cowboy.”
The nickname made me smile against her skin as I traced kisses down her neck to her collarbone. When I reached the swell of her breast, I paused, looking up to meet her eyes, seeking permission. The heat in her gaze was all the answer I needed.
Reaching beneath her, I unhooked her bra, sliding the straps down her arms. The first sight of her breasts, perfect and flushed with desire, nearly undid me. I lowered my head, taking one nipple into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the sensitive peak while my thumb circled the other.
The sounds she made, soft gasps and breathless moans, drove me wild. Her hands were in my hair, holding me to her as if afraid I might stop. As if I could ever want to be anywhere else.
“Gunner,” she breathed, her body arching beneath mine.
I loved hearing my name on her lips like that, halfway between a plea and a prayer. I switched my attention to her other breast, giving it the same thorough appreciation while my hand slid down her stomach to the waistband of her pants.
When my fingers undid the button and slipped beneath the fabric, finding her wet and ready for me, we both groaned. Her hips lifted instinctively, seeking more contact as I touched her with deliberate, gentle strokes.
“Is this okay?” I asked, needing to hear her say it.
“Yes,” she gasped, nails scoring half-moons into my shoulders, anchoring me to her. “Don’t stop.”
I eased her pants down her legs, underwear following, until she lay before me, skin painted gold in the lamplight. I couldn’t look away, didn’t want to as I memorized the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip, the constellation of freckles across her ribs.
“You’re staring,” she whispered, a flicker of something uncertain crossing her face.
“Can’t help it.” The confession left me raw, more vulnerable than her nakedness. “Never seen anything so beautiful.”
The blush that spread across her cheeks and down her neck was almost as beautiful as her smile. She reached for me, pulling me back down to her, her mouth finding mine in a kiss that communicated everything words couldn’t.
Her hands went to my jeans, pushing them down along with my boxers until there was nothing between us. The first sensation of skin against skin was electric, drawing a deep groan from my chest.
I reached for my jeans, fumbling in the pocket for the condoms I’d grabbed from home, just in case. Her eyes followed my movements, darkening with anticipation as I tore open the packet.
“Let me,” she said, taking it from my hands.
The feeling of her fingers rolling it onto me was almost too much. I closed my eyes, focusing on my breathing, determined to make this last.
When I opened them again, she was watching me with such tenderness it made my chest ache. I positioned myself between her thighs, the tip of me just brushing against her entrance.
“You sure?” I asked one more time, needing to know this was what she wanted.
Her answer was to wrap her legs around my waist, drawing me closer. “I’ve never been surer. Of anything.”
I pushed forward, entering her slowly, giving her time to adjust. The sensation was overwhelming. Tight, wet heat surrounding me, her soft gasps in my ear, her nails digging into my back. When I was fully seated inside her, I paused, resting my forehead against hers.
“Okay?” I whispered.
She nodded, her hands framing my face. “More than okay.”
I began to move, slow at first, savoring each thrust, watching her face for signs of what she liked. When I shifted slightly, hitting a spot that made her cry out, I kept that angle, driving into her with increasing intensity.
How had I ignored this beautiful woman? Fought with her. Fought against letting myself even think about her. She was everything. She made me want to do better. Her beauty, her intelligence, her humor. She was…perfection.
Her legs tightened around me, urging me on, her hips rising to meet each thrust. The sounds she made, my name mixed with breathless pleas, drove me to the edge of control.
This was more than just sex. I’d had plenty of that.
This was something else entirely, like I was coming home to a place I never knew I was missing.
“Cassidy,” I groaned, feeling my release building. “Sweetheart, I’m close.”
“Me too,” she gasped, her body tensing beneath mine. “Don’t stop.”
I slipped a hand between us, my thumb finding her most sensitive spot, circling in time with my thrusts.
Her back arched, her eyes flying open as she came apart, my name on her lips like a revelation.
The way she let go, trusted me completely with her body, it was the most incredible thing I’d ever experienced, and I’d forever remember it.
The sight of her pleasure, the feeling of her tightening around me, pushed me over the edge. My release hit me like a thunderstorm, intense and all-consuming, leaving me trembling above her.
For several long moments, we stayed like that, connected, breathing hard, my forehead resting against hers. Then slowly, carefully, I withdrew, disposing of the condom before gathering her into my arms.
She curled against my chest, her body fitting perfectly against mine as if we’d been designed for this very moment. Her palm flat against my still heaving chest.
“That was worth waiting for,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to my chest.
I laughed softly, stroking her hair. “If I’d known what I was missing, I wouldn’t have wasted years fighting with you.”
“Yes, you would have,” she said, looking up at me with a smirk. “You’re too stubborn not to.”
“Look who’s talking.” I kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips. “But you might be right.”
She settled back against my chest, her body relaxing into sleep. As her breathing evened out, I found myself thinking about how perfectly she fit in my arms, how right it felt to be here with her.
It scared me, this feeling. It was bigger than anything I’d felt before, intense in a way that had nothing to do with physical release and everything to do with the woman in my arms.
But as scary as it was, I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. For the first time in my life, I understood what Nash had been talking about all those years—that feeling of finding your person, the one who makes everything else make sense.
As I drifted toward sleep, Cassidy’s warmth against me, I realized with startling clarity that I was falling in love with her. And maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t such a terrifying thought after all.