Page 56

There was too much stimulation, too much of everything for me to possibly last any longer. I was a goner the minute I saw her in my cowboy hat. The image alone was enough to go again.

Eleanor let go too, her walls milking me until there was nothing left. She let out a huff, collapsing on top of me, slicked with sweat.

I mumbled beneath the fabric, hoping to catch her attention.

“That was fun,” she laughed, pushing herself upright slowly with a beaming smile. She reached into my mouth, pulling out her panties and holding them on her finger, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I’ve never been gagged like that before,” I admitted, my voice a little rough around the edges.

Undoing the belt from around my wrists, Eleanor scoffed playfully. “And I’ve never shoved my panties into someone’s mouth before.”

I couldn’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction knowing I was the first to experience that intimate side of her. When the belt finally loosened, I freed my wrists, rubbing the slightly chafed skin while watching her closely.

Eleanor sat back on her heels, still completely bare, her gaze steady as she waited for me to speak. Instead of using words, I reached out, cupping her jaw gently in my hand as I yanked her closer. She toppled on top of me with a laugh, and I rolled her on her back.

As I used my forearms to support my weight above her, I kissed her—softly, tender, a stark contrast to the wildness we’d shared.

I couldn’t quite put into words how it felt, but it was freeing. Like, for the first time in a long while, I was beginning to trust again. I’d started to break free of the chains that had held me back, and Eleanor was the one holding the key.

For the rest of the night, Eleanor would be mine. Sleep wasn’t on the itinerary because I had all intentions to fuck her in every position, every spot we possibly could—starting with the damn armchair.

Chapter 20

Colton

SLEEP HIT ME harder than I expected last night. For the first time since I was a kid, I dreamed—and actually remembered them when I woke up. I was warm, at peace, curled up in bed with a comforting weight pressed against my front.

After finally falling asleep after a long night of physical activity, I had made the choice to sleep on opposite sides of the bed. Yet, my body had betrayed me.

Here I was, spooning Eleanor, who was wrapped in the sheets, wearing a matching satin lace pajama set. I wondered if she wore this kind of attire to bed every night.

Outwardly, she was composed—dresses, heels, well-put-together clothes, and a polished manicure. But last night and the nights we shared before had shown me another side—wild, untamed, and beautifully free.

I refused to move, savoring the rare tranquility I felt so close to her. I thought for sure that when I woke up, regret would weigh heavy on me.

Regret for letting myself step so far from the man I’d been—for losing control, for sharing laughter and stories in a bar, for having reckless, passionate sex in a bathroom, and then bringing the same woman back to the room, allowing her full control over my pleasure.

But there was no regret, just a surprising sense of contentment, as if, for the first time in a long while, I’d found something worth holding onto. That scared me. I didn’t want to trust her, allow her to have so much pull over how I felt or acted.

Later.

I would go back to Colton Stone later, when we reintroduced ourselves to society and continued on the journey to the next ranch.

Eleanor’s breathing was light and steady, the soft rise and fall of her chest telling me she was still asleep. A part of me thought maybe I should get up, act like I hadn’t been holding her on purpose.

She stirred in my arms, stretching gently, and I remained completely still, not wanting to break the fragile moment. She turned toward me, our bodies facing each other, mere inches apart. She took a deep breath and nestled closer into my chest.

“You’re so warm,” she whispered. So, she was awake and perfectly fine with what was happening.

I held her tighter as she pressed against me. I grunted softly, unsure what to say. My head was spinning, stuck on the fact I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to get out of bed. I had no urgency to get to work. All I wanted was to be here, with Eleanor. Yet, that was also the one thing I didn’t want. I felt myself getting too close, too willing to escape into her.

“Do we have to leave?” she asked, leaning back just enough to look at me. Our faces were so close I could count every freckle, trace every delicate curve of her lips.

“Yes,” I replied softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. My fingers lingered, reluctant to let go.

Dammit. I needed distance, I needed to stop touching her in soft ways, stop feeling the urge to be gentle with her.

“I don’t want to,” she admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I like who we are here.”