Chapter 17 #2
“I do. I'm terrified, but I mean it.”
“Good.” He pulled me close, forehead resting against mine. “I'm terrified too. But I want this. Want you. Want to build something together that means something.”
I tilted my head up, found his mouth with mine. The kiss was slow, deliberate, full of promise. When we pulled apart, his hands cupped my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones.
“I love you,” he said. The words came out steady, certain, like he'd been holding them back and couldn't anymore.
My chest went tight, heat spreading through my ribs. “I love you too.”
His eyes searched mine. “You sure? Because I need you to be sure.”
“I'm sure.” I traced his jaw, feeling stubble under my palm. “I haven't wanted anything casual since the cabin. You ruined me for everyone else.”
“Good.” His hands slid to my waist, pulling me flush against him. “Because this is real. All of it.”
Heat pooled low in my belly. “Your shoulder—”
“Is cleared for everything. Full mobility, full strength.” His smile turned wicked. “I asked specific questions during my final physical therapy evaluation.”
I laughed despite the want building in my chest. “We're in my office—”
“Lock the door.”
Simple permission. I crossed to the door, turned the lock, heard it click. When I turned back, Cord was watching me with an intensity that made my mouth go dry.
“Come here,” he said.
I crossed to him, and his hands found my shirt, pulling it up. When I was bare-chested, his eyes traveled over me like he was cataloging every change.
“You lost weight.”
“Wasn't hungry.” I reached for his shirt, pulling it over his head with care even though he didn't need it anymore. When his chest was bare, I traced the surgical scars, pale pink now, healing well. “These look good.”
“Feel good too. Everything works.” He demonstrated by reaching up and back, full range of motion. “See? Cleared.”
“Show-off.” But my hands were already moving lower, working at his belt.
“You love it.” His mouth found mine again as we worked each other's jeans down.
When we were both naked, he pulled me close, skin on skin, his cock hard against mine. “Missed this. Missed you.”
“Missed you too.” I wrapped my hand around both of us, stroking slow. His head fell to my shoulder, breathing already ragged.
“Need you inside me,” he said against my neck. “Been thinking about it constantly.”
The raw need in his voice made my cock jump. “Desk?”
“Yeah.” He was already moving, clearing space with one arm, shoving aside papers and pencils. “Need something to hold on to.”
I grabbed supplies from my drawer and slicked my fingers. When I pressed one inside him, he groaned, hips rocking back.
“More,” he demanded. “I've been cleared for full activity. I'm not fragile.”
“Bossy bottom,” I muttered, but added a second finger, working him open.
“Damn right.” He braced himself against the desk, pushing back against my hand. “Come on, Dusty. Stop treating me like I'll break.”
“Your shoulder—”
“Is fine. My ass is what needs attention.” He looked back at me over his shoulder, eyes dark with want. “Now.”
I couldn't help laughing even as I added a third finger, watching him take it, watching him open up for me. “God, you're beautiful like this.”
“Less talking, more fucking.”
“So demanding.” But I pulled my fingers free, slicked my cock, lined myself up.
The first press inside made us both groan. He was tight, hot, perfect. I pushed in slow despite his impatient sounds, letting him adjust, feeling him relax around me.
“Move,” he demanded when I was seated deep. “Dusty, I swear—”
I pulled back and thrust forward, hitting deep. His back arched, a rough sound torn from his throat.
“Like that,” he gasped. “Exactly like that.”
I set a rhythm, steady and deep, watching his knuckles go white where he gripped the desk. The office filled with the delicious sounds we made, skin on skin, his ragged breathing, the desk creaking under our combined weight.
“Touch yourself,” I told him, one hand on his hip, the other braced beside his on the desk.
“Who's bossy now?” But his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking in time with my thrusts.
“You love it.”
“Yeah.” His voice broke. “I do. Love you.”
The words pushed me deeper, harder. “Love you too. So fucking much.”
His breathing changed, rhythm faltering. “Close. Right there—”
“Me too.” I adjusted the angle, hitting that spot inside him that made him curse.
He came with a shout, clenching around me, painting the desk. The sensation pulled me after, orgasm slamming through me as I came deep inside him.
We stayed like that for a long moment, both breathing hard. When I pulled out, he turned and pulled me against his chest, both arms wrapping around me now that he could.
“Love you,” he murmured into my hair.
“Love you too.” I pressed my face against his neck, breathing him in. “Can't believe you came back.”
“Couldn't stay away.” He pulled back to see my face. “This is real, Dusty. The partnership, the gallery, us. All of it.”
I looked into his eyes, saw the certainty there, the love that matched what was expanding in my chest. “Yeah. It's real.”
We cleaned up slow, got dressed, neither wanting to break the moment. When we were clothed again, Cord pulled me back into his arms, just holding me in the afternoon light.
“When do you want to see the building?” he asked.
“As soon as possible.” Then I stopped, my hand resting on his chest. “But I told them that I’d work until the end of the season, so that’s Christmas. I need to request time off.”
“Take a couple weeks if you can. We need time to handle the partnership paperwork, meet with the realtor, start planning renovations.” His hand found mine, fingers interlacing. “We've got a lot to figure out.” He kissed my forehead. “And I've got champagne in my room. We should celebrate.”
I grabbed the iPad, my sketchbook, the partnership documents. “Yeah. Let's go celebrate.”
We walked hand in hand across the courtyard as afternoon shifted toward evening.
Guests lounged by the pools, companions moved between buildings, the familiar rhythm of The Ranch continuing around us.
I'd been part of it for seven years. It had given me so much—a home when I needed one, work that mattered, the space to figure out who I was.
But looking at Cord, at our hands linked together, at the partnership documents tucked under my arm, I knew it was time for something new.
We stepped into the elevator, and the familiar space felt charged with possibility instead of uncertainty.
“So,” he said as the doors closed. “We're doing this.”
“Building a gallery. Running a guest house. Being business partners.” I turned to face him, both of us leaning against opposite walls of the small space.
“And the other thing.” He squeezed my hand. “The us thing.”
“Yeah.” I squeezed back, looking into his eyes as the elevator climbed. “The scary, wonderful, life-changing us thing.”
The elevator slowed, and I sensed the weight of the moment.
Not just tonight, but everything that came after.
Tomorrow we'd start making calls, signing papers, planning a future neither of us could have imagined when we first met.
But right now, in this small ascending space, it was just us and the choice we'd made to build something beautiful together.
The doors opened on the fourth floor, and we stepped out into the hallway, walking toward his suite, toward champagne and sunset and all the futures we were going to create. Starting tomorrow. Starting now. Starting with love.