Page 48 of Branded By the Cowboy

My vow triggers my release, sudden and shocking, catching me by surprise. I can’t contain my shuddering moan as he thrusts into me, his rhythm choppy now. I’m barely aware of his choked groan as he stills and empties inside me. His fingers grip my hips, no doubt leaving bruises, but I don’t care. The slight discomfort only amplifies the pleasure pulsing through me, beading my nipples and pulling every muscle taut.

My arms finally give out as my orgasm fades. Angus catches me before I face-plant the mattress, hauling me up so my back is to his chest. He’s still pulsing inside me, every throb a reminder of what we just did. Cupping my chin, he turns my face to his, kissing me deeply, our tongues sliding and caressing.

Finally, we collapse to the bed together, panting, our limbs tangled. I’m breathless, full of him. His chest heaves against mine, his skin hot and damp.

We lie tangled for a moment, hearts thudding in sync, the storm forgotten.

I run a hand down his back, and he exhales like I’m the safest thing he knows.

Then something tugs at his focus. His gaze shifts and sharpens.

“Luna…” His voice drops with concern. He sits up straighter. “Your hand.”

I follow his eyes, frowning—and wince. The bandage I wrapped earlier is blotched with fresh blood.

“It’s nothing,” I say, repeating my earlier words.

But Angus doesn’t let it go. “Let me see.”

I try to wave him off. He doesn’t budge.

And honestly? A small part of me doesn’t want him to. I like having him take care of me.Craveit.

He gently takes my hand, big fingers surprisingly careful as he peels back the gauze. I watch his jaw tighten when he sees the angry cut beneath, still oozing at the edges.

He mutters something under his breath and reaches for the nightstand drawer, pulling out a first aid kit. Because of course my husband has one there. You can take the man out of the SEALs…

“Stay still,” he murmurs, already dabbing the cut with antiseptic.

It stings, and I flinch. “You’re fussing,” I mumble.

“I’m fixing,” he counters without missing a beat. “There’s a difference.”

I roll my eyes, but I don’t pull away. His brow furrows with concentration like he’s patching a bullet wound, not a scrape. It’s ridiculous. It’s sweet. It’s him. A side of him it seems only I’m privy to.

When he finishes wrapping my hand in fresh gauze, he lifts it to his mouth and presses a kiss to the bandage.

“All set,” he whispers. “Good as new.”

Something warm and weightless swells in my chest.

I reach for him with my other hand, tugging him under the covers where he belongs. He doesn’t resist. He folds around me like he was always meant to be there.

He brushes my hair back and kisses my forehead. “I’m sorry I pushed you away.”

I smile. “You’ve more than made up for it.”

“Good,” he says, pulling me close. “Because I plan on round two before sunrise. Quiet this time so we don’t scandalize Henry and Shay.”

I yawn, blissful and sore, listening to the soothing thud of his heart. The steady thrum ofhome.

Chapter13

Angus

Luna hands me a mug of coffee and settles on the porch swing beside me with hers.

It’s been a week since the night of the storm. A week of quiet moments and cautious steps. A week of loving her every night, her falling asleep in my bed—ourbed—and me trying to believe I deserve it.

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