Chapter 36
SAWYER
Hank’s passed out in the middle of the bed like he paid for the damn thing. Legs splayed, tongue lolling out of his mouth, dead to the world.
We’re both in front of the bathroom sink now, brushing our teeth like we’ve done it this way for years.
Her hair’s pulled back into a messy bun, loose strands curling at the nape of her neck.
She’s still in her dress, barefoot now, and there’s something so stupidly domestic about the whole thing I can’t stop looking at her in the mirror.
She catches me staring and points her toothbrush at me. “I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me about the award, Sawyer.”
I shrug, toothpaste in the corner of my mouth. “Wasn’t that big of a deal.”
Wren finishes brushing, spits, then lifts her brows at me like she’s about to read me a bedtime story and it’s called Bullshit . She wipes her mouth with the hand towel, turns, and points directly at the crystal trophy resting under a pool of lamplight. “ That isn’t a big deal?”
I glance at it. Maybe it’s a little bit of a big deal.
The Northern Plains Veterinary Excellence Award isn’t something they hand out often.
It’s reserved for people who’ve contributed something meaningful to the field—especially in rural medicine.
People who’ve gone beyond treating animals and found ways to support the people who depend on them, too.
Ranchers, farmers, folks with no time or money to spare but a hell of a lot to lose.
I’d been in the middle of checking a colt for joint ill when Dr. Marcus Jennings—president of the Rural Vet Alliance and someone I’ve looked up to since I started vet school—called me.
Said he’d been following my work with the clinic, the large-animal outreach I’ve been building from scratch these last few years.
That the committee was unanimous in choosing me.
I remember just staring at the call log afterward, feeling like all the years of driving back roads in the dark and crawling into freezing stalls had somehow…counted.
For a long time, it felt like I was building this thing alone.
Long hours. Constant emergencies. Taking on cases no one else would touch.
Running a practice that put people over profit in a world where the bottom line usually wins.
There were nights I slept on the surgery room floor.
Days I forgot to eat. Sometimes it felt like I was pouring everything I had into a hole I couldn’t fill.
But even after the call, I didn’t think about telling anyone.
Not because it didn’t matter, but because it didn’t feel like something to announce.
I didn’t want the night to be about that.
I just wanted to bring her. I wanted to see her in that dress.
I wanted to dance with her and not care who was watching.
And then I saw her, sitting out there in the crowd while they called my name, her eyes wide and shining like she’d never seen me before—and that right there? That was the best part of all of it. I want to spend the rest of my life chasing that look. Making her proud.
I glance over at her now. She’s leaned up against the counter, watching me. There’s still a tiny streak of toothpaste foam on her chin. I wipe it with my thumb, then lean in and kiss her forehead.
“I’m just glad you came with me,” I say quietly as I quickly wash my hands and dry them.
She shoots me a look that’s teasing but warm, like she’s trying not to smile. “You mean you’re glad your wife didn’t bail on you before you got your fancy vet Oscar?”
“Something like that,” I say, nudging her hip with mine as I hang up the hand towel.
She turns back to the mirror, muttering something under her breath as she tugs at the zipper near the curve of her spine. It’s stuck halfway down, caught on a thread or a fold of fabric, and she lets out this quiet, frustrated sigh that immediately pulls my attention.
“Let me help,” I say, stepping in behind her.
She lifts her hair without a word, fingers gathering it in one hand. My eyes follow the slope of her neck down to the bare stretch of skin between her shoulder blades.
Her back is all lean muscle and soft skin, a map I know by touch now.
My gaze dips lower, to the two dimples just above her hips.
I rest one hand on her waist, the other carefully working the zipper down.
It gives after a few tries, the fabric parting slowly, revealing the delicate line of her thong—ivory lace, thin at the waistband, disappearing between the curve of her ass.
Fuck.
I drag the zipper the rest of the way down, slower than I need to. My fingers linger, just for a second, before I let go.
She turns around, eyebrows lifted, lips curled into something smug and knowing.
“Maybe I should reward you for tonight,” she says, her hands sliding over my bare chest as she starts nudging me backward, one step at a time.
My smile pulls wider. “Yeah?”
She nods, eyes on mine. “You’ve been such a good boy.”
And then her dress slips off her shoulders, pooling around her ankles, slow and graceful, and all I can do is look at her—really look at her—and wonder how the hell I got here. How I got her.
I reach for her, fingers at her waist, and kiss her long and deep. She leans into it, hands curling against my chest. Her skin’s warm under my palms, her body soft and strong and pressed right up against mine.
I pull back just enough to whisper against her mouth. “I’ll never say no to you, Wren.”
Her mouth curves against mine, slow and wicked.
“Good,” she murmurs, and then her lips are on my neck, hot and open, her tongue dragging over my pulse point like she’s savoring the way it jumps for her.
Fuck. My hands tighten on her waist, fingers digging in just enough to feel the give of her skin, the flex of muscle beneath.
Her hands slide down my chest, fingertips skimming over my abdomen, leaving fire in their wake.
When she reaches the hem of my sweats, she doesn’t hesitate—just slips her fingers beneath the fabric, nails scraping lightly against my hips and thighs before her hand dips lower, sliding into my briefs.
I hiss through my teeth as her fingers wrap around me, already hard, already aching for her.
“Fuck me,” I mutter, tipping my head back.
She laughs, low and throaty, her breath hot against my throat. “You’re so hard already,” she murmurs, swiping her thumb over the head of my cock, spreading the wetness there. “Is this is all for me?”
I groan, my hips jerking into her hand. “You know it’s all for you.”
She strokes me once, twice, her grip tight enough to make my knees threaten to buckle. Fuck, if she keeps it up, I will black out. Every nerve in my body is lit up, hyper-aware of her—the way her teeth graze my collarbone, the way her fingers move against my skin.
I want to flip her onto the bed and sink into her, lose myself inside of her—but the way she’s touching me, the way she’s looking at me, makes it clear she’s not handing over control anytime soon. And hell if I’ll be the one to take it from her.
My sweats slide down my hips, pooling at my feet, and then her mouth is on me again—not where I want it, not yet, but close.
Her tongue flicks over my nipple, teasing, before she trails lower, kissing down my stomach, her hands pushing my briefs down my thighs.
I step out of them, kicking them aside, and then she’s on her knees in front of me, looking up through those dark long lashes, her blue eyes burning.
“Shit,” I breathe, my fingers tangling in her hair.
She doesn’t say anything. Just smiles, slow and sinful, before she leans in and licks a stripe up the length of me, her tongue flat and hot.
My grip tightens, my hips twitching forward, but she holds me still with one hand on my thigh, her nails biting in just to remind me she’s still in charge here.
My fingers twist tighter in her hair, tugging just enough to make her gasp, and the sound goes straight to my dick.
Then she kisses the tip, her tongue flicking over the slit, licking up the wetness there. I hiss through my teeth, hips jerking, but she pins me down again with that same goddamn hand on my thigh.
“Wren—” I croak out, my breath coming hard through my nose.
She blinks up at me, lashes fluttering, feigning innocence. “Yes?”
“I’m not gonna last long like this.”
A smirk curls her mouth. “Then tell me what you want me to do. Exactly. Specifically.”
“I want your mouth,” I say, my voice low and ragged. “I want to watch you fit my cock in your mouth and know you like it. I want you to ruin me a little.”
Her smile grows wickedly, pressing a kiss to my hip bone. “Now that,” she whispers, “I can do.”
And then her mouth is on me.
Fuck.
That’s the only word my brain can manage right now, the only coherent thought as her mouth wraps around me, hot and wet and perfect. I moan, my fingers tangling in her hair, not pushing, just holding on because Christ— the way her lips stretch around me is enough to make me lose it.
She pulls back slowly, her tongue flattening on the underside of my cock, dragging up in one long, torturous lick. I jerk my hips forward again, craving more. She knows exactly what she’s doing. Her tongue swirls around the tip, teasing, before she dives back down, taking me deeper this time.
“God, just like that,” I grit out, watching her through heavy-lidded eyes. “Look at you—you’re so fucking good at this.”
She moans around me, the vibration shooting straight to my spine, and I curse again. Her fingers twist at the base, her thumb pressing just under the head where I’m most sensitive, and I swear, my knees almost give out completely.
“Yeah, baby, just like that,” I pant. “Take me deeper. Let me fuck that pretty mouth.”