Page 34 of Ranger's Code

My breath catches as his teeth graze my skin, the sharp tease of danger rolling over nerves already stretched taut. He follows it with a slow drag of his tongue, hot and deliberate, a sensual balm that sends a tremor down my spine. I reach for the top button of his jeans, but he catches my wrists mid-motion, his grip firm and unyielding.

With a low growl that thrums against my throat, he pins my arms behind my back, forcing my chest to rise against him. One hand locks my wrists together with dominant precision, while the other slides possessively down my bare spine—because I wear nothing but the flush on my skin and the scent of sugar. His fingers explore my body with reverent urgency, mapping the curve of my back, the dip of my waist, until they find the heat of my belly and linger there. My knees tremble. Between the cool tile and the consuming heat of his body, I’m trapped and gasping for breath—a needy, raw, fiery sound.

“You sure?” he asks, voice low.

I arch against him. “I started this, didn’t I?”

He doesn’t speak—he devours. His mouth claims mine with a hunger that sears, wild and consuming, lips crashing in a clash of teeth and tongue that pulls a whimper from my throat. My nails score across his back, sharp crescents of need anchoring him as he presses me firmly against the counter. His thigh muscles between mine, a demanding intrusion that makes me gasp, the hard ridge of it grinding against my center until my legs lift instinctively, locking around his waist, tethering us as our bodies find a rhythm older than words.

Laid bare in every way, my skin flushed and glowing in the low kitchen light, I’ve never felt so exposed—nor so invincible. He drinks me in, his gaze roaming from the part of my lips down the soft line of my throat and over the curves of my breasts. His touch is reverent, deliberate, the slow trail of his hands painting fire across my ribs, up to cup my breasts in his palms. His thumbs flick over my nipples, drawing a sharp gasp as I arch into his hands.

His mouth follows, taking me with aching precision, lips wrapping around a pebbled peak as his tongue circles and teases, slow and relentless. I moan his name—a sound pulled from the marrow of my being—as his mouth lavishes attention, staking another claim.

My body, slick skin against his hard muscle, moves against him as if made for it; friction and fire meet at every contact point. My hips rock with increasing need, grinding with purpose, a slow, relentless drive that leaves no room for hesitation. I’m claiming him with every motion, every breath, every demanding move of my body—this isn’t surrender. It’s sovereignty.

And Gideon? He gives it to me. All of it.

“Gideon...”

“Say it again.”

“Gideon. Please.”

He steps back just enough to undo the buttons of his jeans, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine. With a low groan, he frees himself, his cock thick and already showing a drop of pre-cum at its tip. He reaches down, guides himself to me, and presses forward in one smooth, claiming stroke—deep, slow, and perfect—filling me until our bodies lock together like a seal, like a promise.

I cry out, nails digging into his back as my hips arch to meet his. He fills me with an exquisite stretch, slow at first, drawing every inch of sensation out like molten honey. Then he thrusts again—deeper, stronger—his hands gripping my hips as the rhythm builds into something primal, something wild. Every stroke is a declaration, every movement a promise, driving me higher, pushing me to the brink where breath dissolves into heat and thought vanishes into pleasure. My head falls back with a moan, surrendering to the delicious fire curling low and deep, rushing me toward the edge like a tide I can’t fight—and don’t want to.

“Ride me,” he growls against my throat.

He lifts me again—this time one powerful arm tucked under my thighs and the other braced at the small of my back—keeping me flush against him, still joined, still pulsing with the aftershock of that last thrust. He carries me to the bedroom with a rough grace, our mouths fused, my breath ragged against his neck. When we reach the bed, he drops onto it with a low groan, letting me straddle him fully, thighs wide around his hips, hair tumbling in waves over my shoulders.

I brace myself, palms splayed against the hard planes of his chest. I don’t wait for him to guide me. I rise, slow and deliberate, and sink down again, a whimper caught between pleasure and power escaping my lips. The drag of him inside me is blissfully deep, and as I find my rhythm—riding him with fierce intent—my body becomes a litany of control and carnal devotion.

He lets me take him, his gaze locked on the way I move—deliberate, sensual, fierce. My hands frame his chest for leverage, my thighs tighten around him, hips rocking with a rhythm that makes thought impossible. Every slow descent drags a low groan from deep in his chest, his fingers gripping my hips like a man holding on for dear life. My hair spills over my shoulders, a wild halo that brushes his skin as I lean forward, lips ghosting over his jaw, my breath warm and wicked. I move like I own every inch of him, like he’s mine to devour, to ride, to love—and God, he is.

The rhythmic sound of our bodies colliding fills the quiet bedroom, a slow, primal percussion echoing against the walls. My back arches, my spine a perfect curve of tension and release as I move atop him, claiming each thrust with a breathless whimper. My hands fan across his chest for leverage, my thighs tightening around his hips with every descent. Gideon’s grip on my waist is possessive, fingers digging into my flesh as he matches my rhythm, guiding me with reverent force. My head tips back, a flush blooming across my chest as I ride him harder, my moans low and wrecked, my movements nothing short of worship.

“You’re mine, Maggie. Say it.”

I lean down, press my mouth to his ear. “Yours. Always. You’re mine too.”

I shatter with his name on my lips, my body locking around him in a wave of slick, electric release that leaves me gasping. Gideon follows with a guttural roar muffled against my mouth, the sound raw and primal, his hips grinding up in desperate pulses as he empties into me, our bodies quaking through the last tremors of release. In the place where we forge and claim trust in fire, we cling to each other, undone together in a tangle of breath, sweat, and heat.

We collapse, sticky, breathless, tangled in each other.

“So,” I say, breathless but smug, “still think I can’t lead?”

He chuckles against my skin. “You led me straight to sin, Cupcake.”

Neither of us moves for a long time. The cupcakes are forgotten, the frosting abandoned—but neither of us cares.

CHAPTER16

GIDEON

The scent of her still clings to me—vanilla, rich and familiar, threaded now with something untamed. It’s like heat woven into silk, primal and unforgettable. I am seared with Maggie’s essence, her voice echoing— “You’re mine, too”—etched into my chest like a second heartbeat. It wasn’t just sex. It never is. The way she takes me, owns me with her mouth, her fingers, her fire—it cracks something wide open inside me. Something ancient. Something raw. Something that howls her name with every breath I take.

I lie there for an hour after she falls asleep. My arm curves around her waist, fingers lightly tracing the edge of her hip like I’m memorizing her. Her body molds against mine, breath soft and steady, but I don’t find sleep. I can’t. Not with her scent still flooding my senses, not with the awareness of how different—how irreversible—everything has become. I feel the change blooming in her blood, can almost hear the echo of it in her pulse. The bond has taken root, deeper than anything I’ve known before. And Maggie—my mate, my fire—has taken root in me. She isn’t just mine now. She’s part of me. And the knowing of it pulses beneath my skin like a promise too big for words.

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