Chapter 13-Sawyer
Taking her in the shed the way I did was rough, spontaneous, and honest as hell.
No thinking. No planning.
Just two people crashing into each other like a match to dry grass.
But night’s fallen now, and the ranch has settled into its quiet rhythm.
Angie and Diego just grinned when I walked into the kitchen and announced Lil Bit was staying.
Angie patted my arm like she’d known it was coming all along.
Diego smirked and muttered something about “finally found a beauty to tame the beast.”
Alex looked a little put out, maybe chagrined.
Not my problem.
Benji and Micah didn’t even blink—just grabbed their bags and headed toward the bunkhouse.
Jersey Iron Ranch is sixty percent mine, forty percent theirs.
They’ve already staked out spots to build their own houses on the property, and it’s big enough that we’ll all have plenty of space.
When I asked where they were going, Micah rolled his eyes and Benji snorted.
“Like we wanna intrude on the Honeymoon or whatever this is,” he said.
I shook my head, but the truth? I’m glad.
I want Lil Bit to myself.
And now I have her.
Finally.
Only nothing prepared me for what happens next.
I step inside the main house, expecting to see her at the kitchen table, or curled up on the couch with one of those paperbacks she found on my shelf.
But the living room’s empty.
So’s the kitchen.
The silence is louder than the engines were.
A pulse of something sharp hits me in the chest. My heart starts pounding, breath going shallow.
For one sick second, I think maybe someone came for her while I was busy congratulating myself.
Then I remember.
I stalk down the hall, boots heavy on the hardwood, my jaw clenched tight enough to crack a molar.
The guest room door is shut.
I push it open—harder than I mean to—and it slams against the wall.
She jumps, eyes wide and hunted, sitting on the edge of the bed like a kid waiting to be scolded.
“Sawyer!” she gasps.
“What are you doing in here?” My voice comes out low, angry, a growl I can’t quite choke back.
“Well, um—” She twists her fingers together, shoulders hunching. “I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”
“Presumptuous?”
“Yeah.” Her voice wavers. “I didn’t know if you wanted me in your room or not. I mean, we hardly know each other—”
I step inside, shutting the door behind me.
My anger isn’t directed at her.
It’s at me for not telling her. For not making it clear.
It’s at the fucking thought of her thinking she’s not wanted.
“Hardly know each other? I know how you feel when your pussy is clenching around me,” I say, voice rough. “I know your scent, the way you taste when you’re on fire for me. And I know what sounds you make when you come, Lil Bit.”
Her eyes go round at my words, but I don’t stop.
“I think we know each other just fine,” I finish quietly.
Her lips part, a tremor running through her.
The nervousness is still there, but under it I see the spark—the same one that’s been burning me alive since she stepped onto my land.
I move closer, slow this time, until I’m standing right in front of her.
My hands find her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks.
“You are not a guest here,” I murmur. “You’re with me. You sleep where I sleep, period. Tell me.”
For a moment she just looks up at me, eyes soft and searching, and for the first time all night the noise in my head goes quiet.
“I’m with you, Sawyer.”
Then she nods, small but sure, and something inside me eases—like a lock sliding into place.
I take her hand.
She lets me.
I lead her down the hall to my room—our room now—and hell if that doesn’t feel perfect.
“Oh, um, by the way. You know that I—I don’t have anything here,” she murmurs as we step inside, clearing her throat like she might be embarrassed.
So, I wait. Give her time to settle her thoughts, to tell me what she’s thinking.
“Kristie texted. Her place was broken into. I’ve been staying with her till I find my own place.”
“Which you just have,” I fill in because I can’t help it.
She grins.
“Yeah, but, um, so I didn’t have much with me, anyway. Nothing worth going through the trouble of getting just now. So, I’m thinking I’ll just go into town or find a Walmart or something for now.”
I nod, toeing off my boots. She needs stuff. I get it.
“We can go shopping tomorrow.”
“I have money—I’m not asking you to buy me anything,” she clarifies quickly, like she needs me to know.
I just watch her while she mimics me, kicking off her own boots and reaching for the buttons on her jeans.
“Just don’t want you to think I see you as some sort of six-foot-tall meal ticket,” she mumbles.
“I’m six-two,” I correct softly, peeling off my shirt.
Her eyes go wide, lips parting. I catch the way she’s looking at me—like she’s not sure whether to stare or touch—and it makes something deep in me want to crow.
I’m all ink and hard work, scars and muscle, built from years of soldiering and rebuilding this place with my own two hands.
Every mile, every wound, every night spent awake adds up to this moment with her.
“See something you like?” I tease, my voice low, and rough.
And really, I hope to fucking God she does—see something she likes, that is.
She purses her lips, arches a brow at me. Then it’s my turn to lose breath as she whips off her shirt and shimmies out of her jeans in one fluid motion.
“Goddamn,” I murmur, the word torn straight from my chest.
She’s round and soft, a goddess with curves that could make marble jealous. Her skin looks like satin, those tan lines a map my hands ache to trace.
“See something you like, cowboy?” she quips, eyes glinting.
“Yeah, Lil Bit,” I growl, stalking her across the room. “I see a whole lot I like. Come here.”
She bites her lip, giggling as she backs away, one hand behind her.
Then she tugs her bra straps down her arms, the fabric sliding slow as a whisper.
I freeze mid-step, just drinking her in. My pulse goes heavy, my throat dry.
“Holy shit,” I breathe.
And for a long heartbeat I don’t move. I just stand there, watching her, knowing this is more than a man staring at a woman.
It’s a soldier, a rancher, a man who thought he’d closed every door, realizing he’s been standing at the threshold of something he didn’t think he’d ever have.
A someone. My someone.
And it’s her.