Chapter Eight
Morgan
"Ihave a job," I say, beaming as Blaze escorts me back to the cabin with his hand in mine. I try to walk like a normal person, but I'm so excited, I can't contain it. I probably look like a nut, dancing along at his side.
He doesn't seem to mind. He just keeps smiling at me.
Every time his eyes lock with mine, my stomach trembles, and I want to throw myself into his arms and kiss him stupid. For a man who indulges in kidnapping, he's pretty amazing.
"You do," he says. "I'm proud of you."
"Hey." I stop walking. "What did you mean when you said that you were handling it?"
"I mean that I'm handling it, baby."
"Blaze."
"Calamity."
I narrow my eyes at him. "You can't call me that at work. I'm a professional now."
"Oh, yeah?" He chuckles, pinning me up against the side of the cabin. One big hand wraps around my throat, tipping my head back. His eyes are so damn blue when they lock with mine. "What if I just call you mine instead, Morgan? You going to complain about that?"
"M-maybe," I lie, licking my lips. I want him to kiss me again so damn bad.
He dips his head, his nose brushing mine. "Didn't sound like you were complaining last night, baby," he breathes. "It sounded like you were moaning my name while you had your hand in your panties."
"You heard me," I gasp, not really surprised. I knew he was out there!
"You aren't going to deny it?"
"No," I whisper, holding his gaze. What's the point of denying it when we both know what I was doing in my room last night? "Are you going to deny that you moaned mine when you got off?"
"Hell no," he rasps, planting his lips against the side of my throat. "I came all over myself, right there in the fucking hall."
I moan, my fingers twisted up in his shirt.
"I wanted to break down your door and make you do it again in front of me." His teeth scrape my skin. "Want to make you do it right here."
"You could take me inside and do it yourself," I whisper, feeling bold and brave and a million different kinds of reckless.
He goes rigid, not even seeming to breathe. And then he groans, his teeth sinking into my skin. "Don't say it if you don't mean it, Morgan. I'm a desperate man, willing to fucking die just for a taste of you."
Maybe I should take it back, play it safe, or run.
My life is still a mess, with a big question mark hanging over my future.
But the parts of it I do see? They're shaped a whole lot like this wild cowboy who looks at me like I'm the only thing he sees.
And I'm smart enough to know that you hang on to things like that, even when they scare you—especially when they scare you.
If you aren't a little afraid, you aren't alive.
I've spent too much of my life feeling like I was half alive, being invisible, alone, or overlooked.
I've been the girl everyone looked at sideways for most of my life.
I've been the one who felt like she never really fit.
And I decided a long damn time ago that, if I ever found my person, the one who wants me exactly like I am, I'd be the girl brave enough to leap.
I owe it to myself to be her now.
This isn't a calculated risk or me giving him a chance to prove me wrong. This is me, giving him permission to steal my whole damn heart.
I lift up on my toes, my lips sliding along the stubble on his jaw until I reach the shell of his ear. "Take me inside and do it yourself, Blaze," I breathe in his ear.
Watching a cowboy lose control is a beautiful sight. This one snaps like a chain, his entire body rumbling with the force of his growl as he snatches me up in his arms fast enough to leave me breathless.
The world blurs around me as he takes the porch steps two at a time, the screen door banging against the wall before he kicks it shut with enough force to rattle the whole cabin.
I'm just weight in his arms, my breath caught in my throat, my heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to get to him.
He doesn't slow down in the hall. His boots are heavy on the wood floor, every step purposeful. Within seconds, we're in his room, and I'm falling.
The bed swallows me, the quilt soft and smelling like him—leather and hay and grass.
I gasp, the air rushing back into my lungs just as his hands land on me, gripping the hem of my t-shirt.
There's the brief, sharp sound of tearing fabric, and then cool air hits my stomach before the shirt is gone, tossed somewhere into the dim room.
I cry out, my back arching off the bed as he dips his head and sucks, his tongue a rough, perfect pressure against my nipple. One hand pins my hip to the bed, holding me still while he devours me.
All I can do is fist my hands in the bedding and moan his name, completely lost to the sensations raging through me.
He drags his mouth down my body, biting and kissing as he goes, his hands greedy and unhurried as he peels away every barrier I have left. My bra comes off first, the straps sliding from my shoulders like ribbon. He groans when he sees me, his eyes the darkest denim.
"Please," I whimper.
He doesn't even hesitate, just wraps his lips around my nipple until I'm writhing and begging, so overwhelmed by him that nothing else even exists.
Then he moves lower, yanking my jeans, panties and shoes off so I'm naked and trembling beneath him.
"Jesus, baby," he rasps, staring like he's trying to memorize my pale skin, my dimples and rolls, and the way my thighs shake when he looks at me like this—hungry, reverent, and wild.
I reach for him, desperate to feel more of him. I want his skin on mine. I want to see him stripped bare, too. I try to tug his shirt up, but he catches my hands, pinning them above my head.
"You don't need to do a damn thing, Morgan," he says, his voice rough. "Just let me look at you." His gaze roves over every inch of me again. It should make me self-conscious, but all I feel is hot and alive, high with the kind of power capable of making him lose his mind.
Finally, he lets me go, only to rip his own shirt off—literally, the fabric tears down the collar—and then he kneels over me, unzipping his jeans.
He's all muscle and ink and a wild, restless energy that makes my pulse trip over itself. The sight of him bare-chested, with his zipper down and his cock hard and straining, makes me ache.
I reach for him with greedy fingers, wrapping my hand around his hard length.
"Fuck, Morgan," he groans, his hips bucking into my hand.
I stroke him, greedy for the heavy heat of him in my palm, but he pulls away, pinning my wrists to the bed above my head with one hand again. His mouth is a hot brand on my throat as he works his way down, placing slow, open-mouthed kisses that linger at every spot that makes me squirm.
"I could do this all day," he groans.
I'm not sure I can. My skin is already slick with sweat, every inch of me screaming for relief.
His tongue flicks over my nipple until I'm arching off the bed, trying to rub against him. But he just holds me down, working my body like he's determined to break me.
He keeps going lower and lower until he's kissing down my stomach. My thighs quiver under his hands.
"Please, Blaze. Please." I don't even realize I'm begging until I hear my own desperate voice.
He just chuckles, his breath hot against my skin, and then he spreads my legs wide and settles between them.
I don't have time to be embarrassed before his tongue is on me, turning my world upside down. His stubble burns and his tongue soothes, the two sensations tangling until I'm arching up, writhing, and moaning his name over and over.
He holds my hips down with both hands, like he knows I'll try to escape if he lets me go, and he's right.
I'm so sensitive it's almost too much. Every flick and swirl is lightning, every slow drag up my folds a shattering kind of pleasure.
But it's like he's daring me to take it, to feel every second of what he's doing to me.
"You taste so fucking good," he rasps against me. "Didn't think it was possible, Calamity, but you might be even sweeter than you look."
My hands twist in his hair, gripping the silky strands like a lifeline. He groans every time I tug, as if it turns him on even more, and then he sucks my clit into his mouth, and I almost black out.
The vibration of his growl rips through my body. He's not gentle, but he's thorough. He licks and sucks and fucks me with his tongue until I'm babbling his name, nothing but a ball of sensation beneath him.
The orgasm builds so fast, it's almost painful. I try to warn him, but all that comes out is a sob, and then I'm coming, hard and violent, my legs shaking uncontrollably.
He keeps working me, milking every last spasm out of me while I gasp and writhe. I try to push him away, but he just growls and holds me tighter, like he's starving and I'm the only thing that will ever satisfy him.
"Please, please!" I sob.
When I finally beg—really beg—he relents, his mouth softening and slowing until I'm just a messy heap beneath him.
He slides up my body, covering me with his weight, his mouth claiming mine in a way that feels more like a confession than a kiss. I taste myself on his tongue and moan, shivering as he cradles my face, his thumbs stroking over my cheeks with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispers against my lips, the words a growl. "I'm never letting you go. Not ever, Calamity."
"Good," I say, my voice shaking. "Because I'm not leaving."
He grins and then kisses me again, slower this time, his tongue coaxing my mouth open, his body pressing harder against mine. I feel his erection nudging against my thigh and hook my leg around his hip, desperate to get him inside me.
He doesn't tease. He doesn't make me beg. He just lines himself up and pushes in with a low, broken sound that makes me shudder. The stretch is perfect, so perfect it hurts in the best possible way.
"Blaze," I gasp, clinging to his shoulders as he fills me, rocking forward until there's no part of me he hasn't claimed.
We fit. I don't know how else to say it. For the first time in my life, someone fits me, everywhere, in every way. It isn't just our bodies—it's everything. The way he kisses me, the way he says my name, the way he looks at me like I'm the only thing that matters.
I've never needed much in my life, but I need this man to keep cherishing me just like this. I need him to keep claiming every piece of me like this.
"Christ, Morgan," he breathes, his body trembling. "I want to keep you right here forever."
"Yes," I choke, pretty sure I could die happy right here.
He starts to move, slow at first, like he's savoring every inch of me. He kisses me through every thrust, his hips grinding down in a rhythm that feels like it was made just for me.
I can't stop touching him. My hands roam over his back, feeling the play of muscle under his skin and the way his body shudders. I wrap my legs around him and pull him closer, letting him know I want it harder, deeper, rougher.
He gives it to me, groaning my name, his teeth scraping along my collarbone, his hand fisted in my hair. "You feel so fucking good," he grits out. "You're the tightest, sweetest little thing."
"Faster," I gasp, unable to get enough, my whole body wound tight. "Blaze, please—"
"Give me what I want first, baby," he growls against my throat, thrusting harder, deeper, making me cry out. "Tell me who you belong to, and then I'll let you come."
"You," I pant, my nails digging into his shoulders.
"That's right, Calamity." His voice is rough velvet, his hips moving in a way that feels like coming home. "My wild girl. My perfect fucking girl. You feel how good we fit?"
"Yes!" I sob. "I was made to fit you."
He drives into me with a wildness that steals my breath, our bodies slapping together, his growls mingling with my cries. "That's it, baby," he rasps against my ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Take all of me."
"I am," I gasp, digging my nails into the hard muscles of his back. "God, I am."
I'm so damn full of him, he's everywhere, seeping into my pores, changing my whole world. I don't want him to stop, not now, not ever.
"Look at me," he commands, and I force my eyes open, meeting his stormy blue gaze. "I want to watch you fall apart on my cock."
He shifts his hips, hitting a spot that makes me see stars.
I cry out, my back arching off the bed. "Right there! Don't stop. Oh, please don't stop."
"Never," he vows, his thrusts frantic, possessive. "My sweet, wild Calamity. Tell me who you belong to, baby."
"You. I'm yours," I sob, the pleasure coiling so tight I can't think, can only feel.
His mouth crashes down on mine, swallowing my moans as his thrusts become shorter, harder. I feel him trembling above me, his control fraying. "Come with me, Morgan," he begs, his voice raw. "Come for me, baby. Now."
The command, the sheer need in his voice, shatters me. My orgasm rips through me, violent and blinding. I scream his name into his mouth as my body convulses around him, lightning bolts of pleasure ripping through me.
He groans, a deep, guttural sound of surrender, and I feel him pulse inside me, his own release hot and perfect as he collapses against me, his forehead pressed to mine.
His weight is a comfort, anchoring me to reality. I run my fingers through his damp hair, feeling the steady thunder of his heart against my chest, and I smile, burying my face in his throat.
My body shakes slightly.
"Are you laughing?" he asks.
"Yes."
He tips my head back, meeting my gaze with a question in his eyes.
"I think I have Stockholm Syndrome," I say, another giggle escaping my lips before I can stop it. "You aren't supposed to fall for your kidnapper."
"Jesus." He freezes on top of me, not even breathing. And then I'm flat on the bed, every inch of him pressed to me. "Say that again," he growls, his eyes wild.
"I think I have Stockholm Syndrome."
"The other part."
"Oh." I cup his cheek, smiling up at him. "I'm falling for you, Blaze. So freaking hard."
"Thank god," he breathes. "Thank god. I don't have to build a dungeon to keep you."
"Wait. That was an option?"
"Fuck yes," he growls, crushing me to his chest. "I even discussed it with Jon Bon Pony."
That's all it takes before I'm clinging to him, laughing uncontrollably. And it feels good. God, it feels so damn good.