“Jesus Christ,” Jasper said, the words coming out on an exhale. “You’re so fucking big.”
I didn’t answer—couldn’t have if I’d tried. My hands tightened on his hips, the only outward sign of the effort it was taking not to thrust up into the tight heat of him.
Jasper began to move—careful at first, then with increasing confidence as his body adjusted. Up, then down, then a subtle roll of his hips that made us both gasp. His hands found my shoulders, then my chest, then my face, tracing the line of my jaw with careful fingers.
“Look at me,” he said.
I did—met his eyes directly, held his gaze as he set a rhythm that made the headboard knock against the wall. His face was flushed, hair falling across his forehead, mouth open slightly as he breathed.
I reached between us, wrapping my hand around his cock, matching my strokes to his movements. Jasper’s rhythm faltered for just a second, then resumed with renewed intensity, his hips moving faster, his breath coming in shorter gasps.
“That’s it,” I said, voice rough with the effort of holding back. “Just like that.”
Jasper’s hand came to rest over mine, adjusting the angle slightly. “A little harder,” he said, the words barely audible. “I’m close.”
I complied immediately—tightened my grip, sped up my strokes, watched as Jasper’s face changed with the new pressure. His thighs tensed against mine, his back arched, his hand fisted in the sheet beside my hip.
“Deck,” he said, my name coming out with more feeling than its single syllable should have been able to carry. “I’m going to—“
He came with a broken sound that wasn’t quite my name, his release hot against my hand and stomach, his body clenching around me with enough force to push me over the edge.
My orgasm hit with the intensity that came from holding back—a white-hot wave that started at the base of my spine and radiated outward, leaving me breathless and momentarily speechless.
Jasper collapsed forward, his forehead coming to rest against my shoulder, his breathing ragged against my neck. I kept my arms around him, one hand tracing small circles on his back, the other still buried in his hair.
His weight was solid against my chest, his skin warm beneath my palm, his scent—pine and soap and something that was just him—filling my lungs with each breath.
After a long moment, Jasper lifted his head, meeting my eyes with the directness I was still getting used to. “That was—“ he started, then stopped, apparently unable to find the right word.
I nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. “Yeah,” I said, keeping it simple. “It was.”
We stayed like that as our breathing slowed—Jasper in my lap, my arms around him, the warmth of skin against skin gradually giving way to the cool night air from the open window. The mountain was still visible through the glass—dark and solid and exactly where it had been when we’d started—but something had changed.
Not the view or the room or the life happening inside its walls, but the quality of the space between us—the simple fact of a man who’d decided I was worth trusting and wasn’t performing safety or obligation, just offering the thing itself.
We lay tangled together in the quiet aftermath, our breath slowly returning to normal, skin cooling where the night air touched it. Jasper’s head rested on my chest, one arm thrown across my stomach, his leg hooked over mine.
The mountain was a dark silhouette against the night sky through the window, exactly where it had been the day I’d driven Jasper up the gravel road to the ranch.
The white sheets were knotted around our legs—evidence of the urgency with which we’d moved against each other. Jasper’s hair was damp at the temples, his face flushed in a way that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with what we’d just done to each other.
My jacket hung on the hook by the door, the tear at the shoulder visible even in the dim light. The marriage certificate was still in the inside pocket—folded once along the crease, the official seal visible if you knew where to look. I’d checked it three times the first day—opening the pocket, unfolding the paper,making sure the signatures and dates were exactly where they should be.
I hadn’t needed to check it since. It had become part of the landscape—like the mountain and the equipment barn and the way the ranch hands looked at Jasper now, like he’d been here all along rather than a recent addition.
I shifted slightly, bringing my hand up to rest on the back of Jasper’s neck. His skin was warm beneath my palm, his pulse steady against my fingers. He made a small sound of contentment, turning his face slightly into the contact, the gesture of a man who’d decided he was done being careful.
Three months ago, he wouldn’t have let me touch his neck—would have flinched away from the contact before he could stop himself, would have spent the next ten minutes apologizing for the reaction. Now he leaned into it, his body relaxing further at the point of contact, his trust landing somewhere in my chest that I filed away for later.
“I’m glad you stayed,” I said, the words coming out before I’d fully decided to offer them.
Jasper’s head lifted slightly, his eyes finding mine in the dim light. “Me, too,” he said, the simple statement carrying more weight than its two words should have been able to.
I let my hand slide from his neck to his shoulder, then down to the small of his back, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my palm. He was still too thin—would be for a while yet, despite Jojo’s best efforts—but there was a steadiness to him now that hadn’t been there at the beginning.
The bruise on his cheek had faded completely, leaving behind smooth skin that would never quite match the color it had been before Nebraska. His hands had stopped shaking when someone entered a room unexpectedly. He’d begun saying my name from the other side of the house without calculating whether he was allowed to want my attention.
He’d stopped performing safety or obligation, had started offering the thing itself.
