Chapter 11-Sawyer
I round the bend, and there she is.
Lil Bit.
For half a second, everything in me just stops. Then my pulse slams back to life, hammering so hard it’s like I’ve got a second engine under my ribs.
The rig rumbles to a stop beside the garage, brakes squealing, but it’s background noise. Static.
Because the only thing that matters—the only thing I can see—is her.
She’s standing in the late light like the day saved its best glow just for her. Her hair catches the sun and burns dark russet at the ends.
Her smile—hopeful, uncertain—hits me like a body blow, knocking the breath right out of me.
Benji’s in the backseat, chewing himself to pieces over his old man and the way Ace Gunner’s been trying to drag us through the mud.
Micah’s already got the tablet out, security feed running, scanning every angle for breaches before we even unload the trailer.
Me?
I’m not thinking about cattle or contracts or logistics.
I’ve got something else gnawing at the inside of my skull.
Her.
Ever since Rooster told me the bastard I left bloodied on the side of the road—the one with the gang who tried to jack our load—was the same sick son of a bitch who’d been harassing her, I haven’t been right.
There’s this sound in my head I can’t shut off.
A low, constant snarl.
I can still see his eyes when I hit him. Wild. Unbroken.
Like he wanted it—like he was itching for another round. And that thought’s been driving me insane for days.
Because if he’s still out there, then she’s still in danger.
And that? That’s not acceptable.
Destiny’s Enforcers MC has been clear. Once this deal’s wrapped, they’re taking the women back with them until the heat dies down. Safer that way. Cleaner.
But the thing is—when it comes to her, I’ve got something to say about that.
If she’ll hear it.
Because my Lil Bit? She’s not leaving this ranch unless it’s her choice.
She can stay right here. With me.
I’ll keep her safe.
Hell, I think I need to keep her safe.
And yeah, maybe that’s selfish as all hell, but I don’t give a damn. Every mile of road I’ve driven without her has been a slow burn of need and worry and this aching, restless pull I can’t shake.
Desire’s clawing at me from the inside like a beast that’s been caged too long. And if I’m being honest, I’m not sure I want to fight it anymore.
When I see her start toward me—hair tossing in the wind, those big, brown eyes locked on me like I’m something she’s decided on—I lose it.
I don’t think.
I move.
By the time the truck door slams behind me, I’m already halfway to her.
My boots hit gravel, heart pounding like thunder in my ears.
She calls out, “Sawyer! You’re back,” and her voice hits me somewhere deep.
But delight flickers into confusion when I reach her—when my hand finds her arm and I pull her close, guiding her away from the truck, away from curious eyes, away from Benji, Micah, Rooster and all the other guys who don’t need to see this.
“What are you doing?” she gasps, stumbling a little as I lead her toward the shed.
But she doesn’t pull away.
God help me, she doesn’t pull away.
I yank open the feed shed door and step inside, pulling her with me. The door slams shut, the sound echoing through the small space like a shot.
The air smells of hay and cedar oil, warm and earthy. Dust motes swirl in the thin beams of sunlight slicing through the slats.
It’s quiet—too quiet—and it feels like the walls are closing in, trapping every ounce of want between us.
I spin to face her. My pulse is pounding, breath uneven, every muscle strung tight like I’m back on a mission where one wrong move could blow everything apart.
“Tell me I’m not crazy,” I rasp, voice rough enough to scrape. “Tell me you feel this too.”
She stares up at me, wide-eyed, chest rising fast. For a heartbeat, I think she’s going to bolt.
Then I see it—something flickering in her eyes. Relief. Want.
She steps closer, slow and sure, like she’s approaching a wild thing she doesn’t want to spook.
“I don’t know if you’re crazy,” she whispers, voice trembling just enough to ruin me, “but if you are, then so am I.”
My breath catches. “What?”
She swallows hard. “I feel it too, Sawyer,” she says, every word a soft tremor that sinks right into my bones. “I feel it, and I want it.”
And that’s all it takes.
Every ounce of restraint I’ve been hanging onto snaps like overstretched wire.
She moves, I move—like magnets drawn together—and before I can think better of it, I’ve got her caged between my hands and the wall, my mouth hovering just inches from hers, breathing her in.
Strawberries. Wildflowers. Trouble.
My Lil Bit.
And when she finally closes that last inch, when her lips touch mine, it’s not gentle. It’s fire and surrender and a promise I’ve been holding back since the second she stepped onto my land.
I’m gone. Completely gone.
I groan, the sound ripped from somewhere low and primal, and finally—finally—our mouths meet.
Her lips are soft and urgent, tasting of nerves and heat and every bad idea I ever wanted to make good.
“Thank fuck,” I grit against her mouth, hands sliding to her waist as I pull her in for a real kiss, licking into her with heat and possession running through me like a live wire.
The shed fades.
The world fades.
All that’s left is her body pressed to mine, her breath catching against my neck, and the raw, dangerous truth that I don’t just want to protect her.
I want her.
And for the first time in years, wanting doesn’t feel like a weakness.
It feels like coming home.
“Hurry,” she moans, her breath trembling against my mouth as my hands slide under her shirt.
Her skin is soft and warm, curves filling my palms like she was made for me.
When I lift the hem and bunch the fabric up under her chin, I swear I leak precum in my pants like a virgin.
Her breasts are full and lush. Perfect.
I want to take my time, taste every inch of her, worship her until she’s shaking, but the need clawing through me is feral.
If I don’t get inside her sweet pussy soon, I might actually lose it.
She’s already tugging at my zipper, her fingers bold, the press of her palm against my dick is making my head drop forward with a groan.
She’s on the same page—thank God.
“Hold on,” I manage, voice rough as gravel.
My hand finds the waistband of her jeans, sliding them down just enough to touch her where she’s hot and trembling.
She arches into me, a soft gasp breaking from her lips.
“Goddamn, you’re so wet. You’re ready for me,” I rasp, forehead pressed to hers.
“Condom?” she whispers.
“Pocket.”
She finds it without looking away from me. I hear the faint tear of foil, feel the brush of her fingers as she rolls it down my length, and my knees almost buckle.
The whole time I keep touching her, coaxing sounds from her throat, circling my thumb over her needy little clit.
Her eyes flutter. A flood of moisture wets my fingers.
The way she responds? The way she moves against my hand?
It’s everything—sweet and wild at once.
“Need you, Sawyer,” she whimpers.
And I am done waiting.
I lift her up, her legs wrapping around my waist, her breath a hot rush against my neck.
I pin her to the wall, holding her there with nothing but strength and the kind of hunger I’ve tried to bury for years—one hand behind her head so she doesn’t bump it against the rough wood.
“Look at me,” I tell her, my other hand cradling her nape, thumb brushing her pulse. “When I take you, when we become one—I want you looking at me.”
Her pupils are blown wide, lips parted, trust shining through the heat. She whispers my name, “Sawyer,” and it unravels me.
I push inside, slow but unstoppable, and the sound she makes wrecks me.
My eyes lock with hers as we both groan, the world tilting around us.
This isn’t just release.
It’s a claim, a promise, a line crossed and burned behind us.
“You feel better than I imagined,” she says, and I start to move.
Because she’s right.
This does feel better than anything I’ve ever experienced—real or not.
“Not so loud,” I tell her when she starts to moan. “Don’t want no one hearing you but me. Understand?”
She nods, pressing her hot little mouth to my neck as I fuck her in long, hard strokes.
She’s so tight.
So hot and wet.
I know I’m not gonna last. But I’m not going without her.
“Come for me, Lil Bit. Show me what you got, and come all over this dick,” I command, needing her obedience. Her submission.
And when she does? When she comes so hard, her entire body is shaking in my arms like an earthquake? Well, what else can I do but follow her into that sweet oblivion?
Willingly. Willfully.
It takes a beat for the world to come back into focus. Her breathing is still fast, her forehead resting against my shoulder, both of us slick with heat and effort.
My heart’s hammering, but slower now, settling into something steady.
I ease her down, my hands firm but careful as I help her find her balance.
Her legs tremble against mine, and a soft laugh slips out of her throat like she can’t believe what just happened.
Neither can I.
I steady her hips with one hand, brushing my palm over the back of her thigh, then reach down, tugging her jeans and panties back into place.
My thumb lingers for half a second at the edge of her waistband, not wanting to let go of the warmth of her skin just yet.
Then I lean in, kiss her parted lips, slow and deep, tasting her sigh as it melts into my mouth.
She’s sweet and fierce all at once, and the taste of her on my tongue is like nothing I’ve ever had.
Mine.
I tuck myself back into my jeans, zip up, and straighten. One hand finds her waist, the other slides up to cradle the back of her neck, my thumb tracing the pulse beating there.
Her eyes are still dazed, pupils wide, hair a dark halo of chaos around her flushed face.
“Don’t get lost in those thoughts now,” I murmur, brushing my thumb along her jaw.
Her lips part. “That was—I mean, what does it mean, Sawyer? What we just did?”
I tip my head, letting my gaze travel from the top of her tousled hair all the way down to the toes of her boots.
Everything about her is wild and real and standing right in front of me, and it hits me like a freight train.
“What we just did,” I say quietly, “means you’re mine, Lil Bit. You got a problem with that?”
Her mouth curves into a grin, breathless and shy at once.
“No. I don’t have a problem with that.” She hesitates, then adds, “But Kristie’s leaving, and I—”
“You’re staying right here.” My fingers tighten at her waist just enough to make the point. “With me. Where you belong.”
“Am I?” she asks, biting her lower lip, eyes searching mine like she’s not sure if she should believe me.
I nod, slow and sure. “Yeah. You are.”
Her breath catches at that, and for the first time since she showed up on my ranch, I see the flicker of something new in her eyes—trust, maybe. Or the beginning of it.
And for a man like me, that’s a whole lot more dangerous than any rival rancher or biker gang could ever be.