28. Piper
Piper
Six months with Christian Crawford feels like six lifetimes of coming home to a place I didn’t know existed, only to find the kind of once-in-forever love people spend decades chasing and still never get lucky enough to touch.
I’m standing at the window above the kitchen sink, elbows braced on the counter, while the June sunlight spills through the glass and catches on Christian like he’s something made from the most perfect dream.
He’s out by the far pasture, one hand gripping a weathered fence post, the other adjusting a section of wire that’s come loose like it’s second nature.
Every muscle in his back flexes, carved and roped with the kind of strength that wasn’t given; it was earned from years of breaking horses, hauling hay bales, and cutting down trees.
When he straightens, my fingers dig into the kitchen counter’s edge, anchoring myself against the wave of want that crashes through my body.
His shirt is long gone, draped over the gatepost beside him, and his worn jeans are riding low, clinging to those powerful thighs in a way that should be illegal.
A trail of sweat rolls down his spine, disappearing beneath the denim, and, God help me, I’m not just watching him. I’m burning for him .
He hasn’t even looked toward the house, but he knows. He always knows when I’m watching. And if he turns right now, if he so much as lifts his head and beckons me with a finger? I’ll crawl to him without a single fucking thought other than please .
Moving up to the mountain with Christian in February wasn’t some big sit-down decision.
It just happened. One minute we were crashing at Violet’s, and the next I was up at the farm more than I was in my own bed, and it got stupid real fast. Christian was running himself into the ground, driving those endless country roads just to steal a few hours of sleep next to me, only to haul his tired ass out before the sun even thought about rising.
But Christian didn’t complain. Not once.
Because in his words,“ Now that I’ve got you, I’m not going back to sleeping alone. ”
The man is clingy as hell, but clinginess looks a little different out here.
It looks like checking the fence lines with me tucked in front of him on Roger, my back to his chest and one strong arm wrapped around my waist. It’s him making sure I’ve eaten before he even thinks about feeding himself and keeping my favorite mug full of coffee every morning, even if his is still half empty.
It’s the way he watches me from across any room—whether it’s the barn or the bar—like I’m not just the center of his world, but the reason it even spins.
Clingy, cowboy-style means I never have to question where I stand because, to Christian Crawford, I’m the point of everything.
The only night we didn’t spend together was Christmas Eve. That one belonged to Violet and me. It was our night for holiday movies, junk food that would probably kill us if we ate like that year-round, and matching pajamas that were absolutely necessary.
Christian never once pushed me about spending Christmas with him. He just pulled me close, kissed my forehead with those lips that always seemed to know exactly how to make everything better, and said in that low drawl,“ I’ll see you tomorrow night, darlin’. ”
The moment I suggested he stop running himself into the ground and told him to start sleeping at the farm instead of wearing himself thin trying to be everywhere at once, he just blinked at me like I’d completely lost my mind.
“ Not without you, ” he said.
Simple.
Final.
Nonnegotiable.
So I grabbed my bags, got in the truck, and went with him.
Because that’s what we do now; we don’t go home unless it’s together, because home isn’t a place anymore—it’s wherever he is.
Violet was okay with it. Well, she gave me some shit at first, but that was expected.
It’s kind of her love language, but underneath the sarcasm and side-eye, I know she’s happy for me.
Besides, I think she’s gotten so used to living alone now that if I showed up on her doorstep with my bags in hand, begging to move back in, she’d laugh in my face and slam the door.
Probably after telling me to grow up and go ride my cowboy.
Sisters.
We love hard, but we tease harder.
I’m still lost in watching Christian, frozen in place, when he finishes whatever he was doing with that fence and starts moving toward the house.
The sun behind him turns him into some kind of golden cowboy god, and I can’t look away.
When he looks up toward the kitchen window and catches me watching him, that slow grin spreads across his face, the one that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners and transforms his whole face from handsome to absolutely devastating.
I’m so stupidly in love with this man.
The front door swings open and closes with a soft thud, followed by the heavy thump of his boots.
A shiver rolls through me as my mind drifts back to this morning—his bare skin warm beneath my wandering hands, the charcoal sheets slung low around his waist, and my mouth full of him before he even opened his eyes.
He didn’t stop me. He never does. He just lay there with his fingers tangled in my hair, watching every filthy second while I swallowed him down like the good girl I am for him.
And fuck, does he love to watch me take it.
His chest is a wall of muscle pressed against my back, and his arms are braced on the counter like he’s claiming territory. His breath hits my ear, and he smells like pure, unfiltered masculinity.
Sweat. Dirt. Hard work. Pure man.
“Been watching me out there, darlin’?”
“Hard not to when you’re walking around looking like that.” His teeth catch my ear, nipping hard enough to make me shiver. Then he’s dragging his nose along my neck, breathing me in.
“Christian?”
“Yeah?”
“We don’t have long before Preston and Ivy’s party.”
“Your point?” he growls, grinding his cock against my ass.
I’m soaked, aching for him, and he’s still dragging his mouth over my neck, licking, biting, and torturing me with every second he refuses to give me what I need.
“My point is I’m about to lose my goddamn mind,” I bite out, pushing back against him.
“Flushed skin, messy cunt, and my cum dripping between your thighs. That’s the only way you leave this house tonight, Piper. I want you walking into that party so thoroughly fucked you feel me every time you sit down.”
I hear the clank of his belt, and my hands fly to the sides of my dress. I pull it up over my hips, bunching the fabric around my waist, too desperate to wait another second.
Thank God for these hips. Wide enough to keep the material out of the way when your cowboy’s about to fuck the sanity out of you.
He crouches behind me, rough palms dragging my panties down with a low growl. On his way up, his teeth sink into the curve of my ass, a bite that says mine without a single word.
“Hands flat,” he orders. “Arch your back and push that ass out for me.” I rise on my toes, presenting myself to him like I know he wants. “Fuck…” he groans, gliding his fingers down my curved spine. “Look at this slutty little pussy. Already wet for me.”
He slides his cock between my thighs, letting the swollen head brush over my clit again and again before tapping it.
“Spit on it,” I demand, glancing over my shoulder. “Stroke it for me first.”
He meets my gaze, then spits into his palm and wraps his hand around himself, dragging his fist down slowly as he watches me tremble.
“Watch all you want. This cock’s yours.” Then he steps forward, one hand on my hip, the other guiding him. “Hold on,” he warns, and he drives in, stretching me open in one brutal thrust.
We moan together, because it’s heaven laced with hell. So good it aches, so consuming I might not survive the way he touches me.
God, I want this man forever.
Not just when he’s ruining me with his body and filthy words.
But in every way.
“This is gonna be hard and fast, Piper. Now get your fingers on your clit.” My hand drops between my thighs, and he starts to move. No teasing. No slow buildup. Just him slamming into me.
“F-Fuck, Christian.” I gasp, barely able to breathe. “Oh fuck… fuck, please.”
“I need you to come, darlin’. I need to feel you lose it around me while I breed this pussy full.”
“I’m close—so close,” I cry out, the heat in my belly tightening. “Don’t stop.”
He fucks me through it, brutal and beautiful, and when my orgasm hits, it tears through me so hard I forget how to breathe. My body convulses, and he thrusts into me once more, burying himself deep before stilling and emptying inside me.
“Don’t move,” he whispers, pressed flush to my back, his breath hot against my ear. “I don’t want you spilling a single drop.”
His cock twitches inside me, and he lingers long enough to make it clear he’s reluctant to let me go. One hand smooths over the curve of my ass, then, finally, he pulls out.
I whimper as my body clenches around absolutely nothing, already aching from the loss, but he doesn’t give me a second to recover. His fingers slide back inside me, and my knees almost buckle.
He moves so easily, fingers gliding in and out, until he finally pulls them free and drags my panties back up my thighs, smoothing my dress down like he didn’t just fuck me raw against the kitchen counter. I turn and catch his wrist, bringing his fingers to my lips and sucking them clean.
“Give me a taste,” he rasps, eyes glued to my lips. I slide my hands up his bare chest, palms roaming over sex and sweat-slicked skin.
My nails scrape lightly along his ribs before I curl my fingers into his shoulder and yank him toward me. Our mouths meet, and my tongue sweeps past his lips, claiming him with the same desperation he just used to take me.
“Tastes like real love,” I whisper into his mouth, smirking through the haze.