Page 93 of Taking Denver

“My good girl,” I say. “I can feel you quivering around my cock.”

“Ranger—” She gasps, she tightens. The pleasure rises, peaks, and climbs, and my mind empties as she comes again, my orgasm following behind. Her head drops back as she cries out, and I whisper frantic words of possession in her ear:mine, you’re mine, always mine.

I rest my forehead on her shoulder, my body tingling, the desperate need to have her finally sated, if only for a little while.

And I can do without the dead men staring at me.

Wrapping my arms around her, I say, “Hold onto me.” She does, and I lift her. Still buried deep inside her, I step over the dead and walk up the stairs. Denver nuzzles into my neck, her arms tight around me, her legs around my waist as I head for my room.

I only place her on her feet once we’re in the bathroom and the shower water is running. After removing the rest of my clothes, I pull her gently under the warm water, and she wraps her arms around my waist.

“Tell me what you’re feeling.”

She takes a deep breath. “Content.”

“Good.”

She lifts her ear from my chest. “Ranger, your shoulder?—”

Small rivets of red mix with the water running down my body. I examine the wound—I’ve had far worse. “It’s a scratch.”

Her eyes widen. “You were shot.”

“Barely,” I say. “Are you okay? Do you feel shaky? Sick?”

She shakes her head. “I feel okay. I’m… I’m sorry I froze. I just couldn’t?—”

“You did what you had to do until I could take over.” I kiss her softly. “That’s enough for now. Turn around.”

She bites her lip and turns so I can clean her. She closes her eyes as I massage shampoo into her hair.

“You do this every fucking day?” I grumble, and she grins.

“Pretty much,” she says. “Now you know why I take so long to get ready.”

“And here I thought you did it to piss me off.”

Denver laughs, and I rinse the shampoo out of her seemingly never-ending locks of hair. “Well, that’s fun to do, too,” she says. “Conditioner now.”

Once we’re both clean, I wrap a towel around her. Her cheeks are pink, eyes alight, freckles peppering her nose. She’s so fucking beautiful it makes me ache. I’ve never once looked at her and felt anything other than totally overwhelmed—whether it’s love, anger, frustration, or adoration.

I’ve loved her for so long that I’ve forgotten how to live in this world without her. She is my everything.

My beginning, my middle, my end.

“Marry me, Denver.”

She stares up at me. “What?”

“I love you. And I know you love me,” I say, rubbing the towel across her shoulders. “I’ve loved you since you walked through those doors. I’ve seen every part of you, the best and the worst, and I don’t just love you for it. I love you more. There is nothing that could make me turn from you, Denver. Nothing. I want you forever.”

I thought the words might be hard to say. To admit to vulnerability, to offer my heart to someone who could tear it apart for her own amusement. I dislike knowing she could destroy me, but I can only trust that she won’t.

“Yes, I’ll marry you.”

I smile. “You didn’t really have a choice.”

She tuts. “Prick.” I turn her and walk her into the bedroom. “I’m going to get something to sleep in.”

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