Chapter 20
Sawyer
Declan’s cabin stood high on the north ridge, constructed from massive,
hand-hewn lodgepole timbers that overlooked the entire snow-covered expanse of
the Sawtooth Valley. The living room was warm and spacious, anchored by a
floor-to-ceiling river-stone fireplace that crackled with split larch logs. The
rich smell of seasoned wood, leather, and dark roast coffee filled the house as
Sawyer hauled his final gear bag through the cedar mudroom.
Declan cleared a wide equipment bench in the gear room, hanging Sawyer’s yellow
ski shell directly beside his own black tactical parka. He took Sawyer’s ski
tuning vices, wax irons, and four pairs of wide freeride skis, racking them
neatly alongside his snow probes and explosive transport cases.
Declan walked into the living room holding a leather-bound folder. He set the
document on the rough-cut coffee table beside Sawyer, placing an official
matte-black radio callsign badge engraved with SPSR Scout One on top of the
paper.
"Caleb approved the budget allocation two hours ago," Declan said, his voice
quiet, deep, and steady. "Official contract for SPSR Lead Alpine Scout. You run
high-angle terrain scouting, route planning, and avalanche mitigation with me on
every major winter operation."
Sawyer picked up the heavy badge, his fingers tracing the engraved metal. He
looked across at Declan, feeling a deep, solid peace settle into his chest. He
had spent his entire adult life chasing fleeting podiums and corporate contracts
that vanished with a single bad season; holding the badge in his hand, he held
something real, permanent, and earned.
Sawyer set the badge down, stepped forward, and placed his hands flat against
Declan’s broad chest, looking up into the big man’s dark eyes. "I sign on one
condition, Ross."
"Name it," Declan said, his hands coming around Sawyer’s waist, pulling Sawyer
firmly against his hips.
"You never let me sleep in a cold room again," Sawyer murmured, his lips
brushing Declan’s stubbled jaw.
Declan’s answer was a low, possessive growl. He gathered Sawyer into his arms,
lifted him off the timber floor, and brought him down onto the thick wool rug
spread before the roaring stone fireplace.
Declan stripped them both bare with steady, unhurried intent, tossing their
clothes onto the cedar boards. The amber firelight washed over Sawyer’s skin,
highlighting every lean, sculpted muscle of his torso and the pale white tape
protecting his left shoulder. Declan knelt between Sawyer’s spread thighs, his
large hands mapping every inch of Sawyer’s ribs, hips, and waist with fierce,
reverent touch.
Declan prepared him with slow, deliberate fingers, slicking Sawyer’s tight
entrance with warm oil until Sawyer was writhing on the rug, his heels digging
into Declan’s calves.
"Look at me, Sawyer," Declan commanded, lining his thick, rigid eight-inch cock
up with Sawyer’s heat.
Sawyer locked his hazel eyes onto Declan’s face, parting his thighs wide in
total, unreserved surrender. "Take me, Declan. Right here on our floor."
Declan pushed forward in one long, heavy, unyielding thrust, sinking deep to the
hilt into Sawyer’s tight core. Sawyer let out a ragged, beautiful cry of pure
pleasure, his arms wrapping around Declan’s neck, pulling the big man down into
a deep, bruising kiss.
Declan established a slow, powerful cadence, his hips snapping forward with
heavy authority, driving into Sawyer’s sweet spot with every stroke. The
floorboards vibrated beneath them as Declan took him completely, filling the
quiet room with the sounds of their wet friction, rough groans, and deep,
possessive praise.
"You're mine, Sawyer," Declan growled against his mouth, his pace accelerating
into hard, rhythmic drives. "Every single piece of you belongs in this house."
"Yours," Sawyer cried out, his body convulsing around Declan’s thick shaft as a
shattering climax tore through him, spilling hot, white release across their
bellies.
Declan drove deep three more times, threw his head back, and emptied his release
deep inside Sawyer with a deep, guttural roar that rattled through the timber
rafters.
Declan collapsed onto his forearms, gathering Sawyer tight against his chest,
their sweat-sheened skin glowing in the firelight. He kissed Sawyer’s temple,
pulling the heavy wool blanket over their shoulders.
Sawyer buried his face in the crook of Declan’s neck, his fingers curled into
Declan’s hair. The winter wind howled through the high pines outside, but inside
the cabin on the ridge, Sawyer was finally home.