Chapter 14-Bit
When a cowboy who looks at you like he’s about to devour you? Like every fiber of his being is honed in on your exact location, and he wants to consume you?
Let’s just say survival instinct kicks in.
Sawyer bursts through the door of the guest room where I’m sitting on the edge of the bed—wondering what the heck I’m doing with my life—and the look on his face? It’s everything.
Every cell in my body says run even as another voice, deeper and older, whispers stay.
So instead of throwing myself at the hot-as-Hades man, I stand and step back—like an idiot—and corner myself between the bed and the wall.
My palms flatten against the wood, heart racing.
It doesn’t matter.
Because really? I want to be caught.
By him.
When he strides forward and tells me in no uncertain terms that I’m with him, well, it just eases all those doubts and fears that’ve been pestering me all day.
He walks me to the main bedroom.
We flirt.
We watch each other.
Some playful banter.
A little striptease.
“Holy shit,” he murmurs when I’m almost naked in front of him.
He cups one big, calloused hand around the back of my neck and drags me to his hot, hard body, the sound that leaves me isn’t fear.
It’s relief.
The kiss he gives me isn’t just a kiss—it’s a sweep, a tide, a promise—and I get caught up in it.
And more? I absolutely fucking love it.
“Mm, you taste so good. I need you naked. Now. Wanna see all of you, Lil Bit,” he growls against my neck, his breath hot enough to make my knees shake.
Sawyer leans back, fingers hooking at the waistband of my panties, turning us slow like a dance until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed and I’m standing between his knees.
“Sawyer,” I whisper his name, trembling.
It feels like a prayer, or maybe a confession.
He looks up at me, eyes gone dark.
Then he leans forward and presses a kiss right between my breasts, slow and reverent.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs, voice rough like gravel under velvet, tugging my underwear down my hips while his mouth trails open-mouthed kisses across my skin.
My arms slide around his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair. For once in my life, I stop thinking about what’s next, what I should do, what might be waiting on the other side of this.
I just let go.
I give him the reins, let him take the lead, and it feels so good my breath comes out in a shaky sigh.
His mouth drifts lower, whispering kisses across my belly, then back up to my breasts.
His hands stroke my thighs, big palms warm and steady, and my whole body arches toward his touch like it’s been waiting forever.
The heat between us builds, slow and powerful, and I realize with a dizzying certainty that this isn’t just about lust.
This is about him. About us.
About finally being where I want to be.
He licks into me with all the confidence of a man who knows what he’s doing and all I can think is how good this feels. How easy. How right.
It’s insane. But it’s the best kind of madness.
When two bodies collide so quickly, and so right, it just makes everything else go away.
When he lays me back on the bed, his big hands molding to my curves, caressing, memorizing me.
I moan in response, and I surrender to it. To him.
I want to give myself to him—to this absolute pleasure he brings me.
And what more? I want to make sure he feels it too. So somewhere along the line, I flip our positions.
Sawyer is on his back, and it’s me peppering his hard body with kisses and licks.
Thick cords of muscle rope around his long body in a maze of perfect anatomical strength and purposeful beauty. I swear I’m salivating as I trace the tiny trail of hair leading from his belli button to his long, gloriously thick cock.
My stomach tightens as I stroke him, loving the way his velvety skin moves beneath my palm.
“Fuck, Lil Bit. That feels so fucking good,” he grunts and hisses as I cup his balls and squeeze them gently, lowering my head to lick a trail from his scrotum to the tip of his cock.
“You have got to be the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” I confess, and he growls in response.
Then he moves faster than I can track, cupping his hands around my neck and pulling me in for a pussy-wetting lip lock.
Sawyer’s hands are on my hips and ass as he drags me up his body, and I’m so goddamn wet I think I might leave a trail of my arousal on his skin.
Panting and writhing against each other, I want him so badly.
“Need you,” I moan as he sucks on my nipples, and I rub myself on him shamelessly.
“I got you, Lil Bit.”
Everything blurs—the creak of the old floorboards, the smell of hay and soap and him—until it’s just us.
I barely remember the condom.
All I know is his hands are there, sure and steady, protecting me even in the middle of all this madness.
Then he lifts me, palms firm at my waist, and lowers me back onto his hard, heavy cock. He fills me slowly and deep, like he’s setting me exactly where I belong.
The shock of it hits us both at once—pleasure and ache tangled together—and we groan in the same breath.
For a heartbeat, everything stops.
His forehead rests against mine, his gaze locked on me, dark and unguarded.
And what I see there—need, hunger, something dangerously close to devotion—makes my chest tighten.
It’s too soon, too much, too fast.
But God help me, I want to believe he means it.
Because impossible as it seems, with his breath on my skin and his hands holding me like I’m the only thing keeping him upright, I’m fairly certain I’m already gone.
I love this cowboy.
His eyes flash, nostrils flare, and then he’s moving, thrusting up, bouncing me on his lap and all I can do is hold on.
I’ve never felt anything like this.
It’s mad. Desperate.
Like us coming together is simply inevitable. As if by some grand scheme or cosmic design.
I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck, and Sawyer just holds me tighter to him.
Our mouths are open, breaths mingling. It’s so hot and desperate. Our lips meet, and the taste of him floods through me like something holy.
For a heartbeat, everything narrows to his eyes—bright, burning, electric—and I swear I can see heaven in them.
The kind of heaven that isn’t soft or distant, but raw and wild and made just for us.
Then it happens.
The tension snaps, a rush so fierce it steals my breath. Like a bomb detonating.
My whole body arches, his does too, and we’re both caught in the same wild current—spiraling out of ourselves, out of the world—caught between pleasure and wonder and something too intense to name and too powerful to stop.
Something that feels a helluva lot like love.
Afterward, everything feels quieter.
The air between us hums with leftover heat, but the wild edges of it have softened, turned tender.
My heartbeat slows until it’s steady again, matching his.
Sawyer’s still holding me—his arm is a solid band around my back, his other hand tracing lazy, absentminded patterns over my shoulder.
There’s nothing demanding in his touch now.
Just warmth. Safety. Something I haven’t felt in maybe ever.
I don’t move. I don’t want to.
The world outside can wait.
He exhales against my hair, slow and heavy, and it ruffles across my skin in a way that makes my eyes sting.
Because this feels real. Too real.
His heartbeat thuds steady beneath my ear. I listen to it and try to memorize the sound—like if I can keep it, I’ll never have to go back to that restless, empty version of myself that wandered into his life.
My fingers rest on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath.
He smells like soap and sweat and the faintest trace of leather from his gloves.
All Sawyer.
He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I.
We don’t need to.
There’s a peace here that doesn’t require words.
But somewhere deep in my chest, the truth is starting to settle in.
This isn’t just want or need anymore. It’s something heavier, sweeter, and far more dangerous.
Because I know what this is now.
I love him.
And that realization terrifies me even more than the idea of him waking up tomorrow and telling me to beat it.
If I do love him like I suspect I do, then Sawyer DeWitt is the most dangerous man in the world to me.
Because he has the power to break my heart.