Then he pushes me back down, deep into my mouth.
I choke, my throat stretching, my eyes watering. But I love it. I love the way he sounds, the way he groans my name, the way his thighs tremble beneath my hands.
I let him use my mouth, let him fuck my throat, let him wreck me the way I want him to.
“Fuck,” he hisses, his grip tugging my hair, controlling my pace, guiding me faster, deeper, harder. “You take me so fucking good, baby,” he groans. “So fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth.”
I whimper, my core throbbing, my own pleasure building just from making him fall apart.
Hopper’s breathing is ragged now, his muscles coiled tight, his abs clenching beneath me.
“You’re gonna make me come, sweetheart,” he growls, his voice rough, dripping with control that’s slipping fast. His fingers tighten in my hair, guiding me, holding me exactly where he wants me. “You gonna take it all? Swallow every drop?”
I whimper around him, nodding frantically, desperate for his praise, for his approval. My mouth is stretched around him, my body trembling with need, every nerve sparking with heat as I lose myself in the way he takes, the way he owns every second of this.
Then he grunts, his grip flexing, his hips jerking as he spills hot and thick onto my tongue. I moan at the taste, savoring every drop as I swallow him down, licking him clean, not stopping until there’s nothing left but the deep, ragged sound of his breathing.
I pull back, breathless, wrecked, shaking.
Hopper watches me, his chest rising and falling fast, his gaze dark and unreadable—almost possessive.
Then he moves.
His hands cup my face, tilting it up, his thumb running over my swollen lips. “That’s my good girl,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, rich with satisfaction. “Took me so fucking well.”
And then his mouth crashes onto mine, claiming, devouring. He kisses me deep, his tongue sweeping inside, tasting himself on me like he needs to, like he wants to own every part of this moment.
I melt into him, into the heat of his mouth, the way his hands cradle me like I’m something precious—even as he’s wrecking me all over again.
Chapter Thirty
Hopper
It was hard to leave my bed—my home—after being with Nysa.
After surrendering myself to her.
After letting go of everything I thought I was holding onto—every wall, every inch of distance I thought I needed to keep.
Because making love to her . . . that was different.
I’ve had sex before—plenty of it. I’ve been with women, let them into my bed, let them into my body. But never like this.
Never like her.
Never with this aching, consuming, possessive need.
Because Nysa wasn’t just sex.
She was something else entirely.
And now, I can’t stop feeling her. Can’t stop remembering the way she gasped my name, the way she clung to me, like she didn’t want to let go—like she was as desperate for me as I was for her. I still taste her on my lips, feel her body in my skin. I don’t think I ever want to let go either. But for now, I had to leave. Work doesn’t stop. The ranch still needs me, and there’s still a threat looming over us, waiting to be dealt with.
So I pull myself out of bed, out of the warmth of her body, out of the place where I felt more whole than I have in years—maybe ever. And now, I’m here, back at the ranch. The world is still waking up.
The air is cool, tinged with the lingering dampness of dawn. The only sounds are the occasional rustling of horses in their stalls, the slow, rhythmic creak of wood shifting under the weight of the world coming alive. My mind isn’t on the ranch. It’s still back in my bed, with her.
I shift, running a hand over my stubbled jaw, trying to shake the feeling creeping through my chest. This isn’t just about what being with her meant. It’s about the kiss that won’t leave me. Not just the one before I slid inside her, but the one after.
