Page 48 of Leather & Lies

Something breaks in my chest at the unexpected praise, at the mention of my father without the usual sharp edge of debt and obligation between us. A single tear escapes before I can stop it, falling onto his arm where it’s wrapped around me.

His hand stills in my hair. For a moment, I think he’ll use this vulnerability against me, turn it into another power play. Instead, he simply pulls me closer, offering silent comfort as the storm rages outside. The heat of his body and the familiar scent of the hay loft wrap around me like a cocoon, making it harder to remember why I shouldn’t trust this feeling.

“Rest,” he murmurs, and for once the command in his voice is softened by something that sounds dangerously like tenderness. “Everything else can wait until morning.”

As I drift off, I wonder if he means the fire damage, the injured horse, or this shifting thing between us that feels less like submission and more like partnership with every passing hour. As sleep claims me, I find myself surrendering to something far more dangerous than desire—trust.

18

Jackson

Moonlight creepsthrough the barn’s broken boards, painting unfamiliar shadows across rough wooden beams. The hay loft still holds traces of smoke and storm, but Shiloh’s body draped across my chest keeps me warm. It’s the soft curve of her mouth, completely unguarded in sleep, that makes my chest tight.

Each small movement presses her more firmly against me, a reminder of how perfectly she fits against my larger frame. Outside, the storm has gentled to lazy rainfall, but in here, time seems suspended, measured only in her quiet breaths against my skin. Below, the rescued horses shift and settle, their earlier panic soothed by her expertise and care.

At some point during the night, I’d gathered more blankets, wrapping her against the chill that seeps through the damaged roof. Now I trace one finger along a bruise blooming on her shoulder, expecting her to tense even in sleep. She makes a small sound of contentment and presses into my touch, like a cat seeking warmth. The unconscious trust in that gesture hits me hard.

My darling hellcat, who fights me at every turn, who challenges me with that sharp mind and sharper tongue, who makes me earn every inch of submission—seeking my touchwithout prompting. Something primitive and possessive roars to life in my chest, but it’s tangled with an unfamiliar tenderness that threatens my careful control.

Her eyes flutter open, and for one heartbeat there’s no wariness, no walls—just drowsy heat as she arches against me. “Jackson?”

“Right here.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. I slide my hand into her hair, gripping just tight enough to remind her who she belongs to. But when I tilt her head back, it’s to study her face rather than claim her mouth. “Sleep well?”

“Mmm.” She stretches against me like a cat, all soft curves and sleep-warm skin. My cock hardens against her hip, but I hold myself still, curious what she’ll do without my command. Her hand traces idle patterns on my chest, and that small liberty—taking pleasure in touching me without being ordered—makes me throb.

The events of last night flood back—her competence during the fire, the way she commanded my ranch hands—and me—without hesitation, saving the lives of both horses and men. That brilliance, that strength, they should have threatened my control. Instead, watching her had only fed my need to possess her completely.

I tighten my grip in her hair, pulling until she gasps. The rough blanket beneath us catches on my calluses, a reminder that we’re miles from my usual calculated control, completely isolated in the predawn. “Good morning, hellcat.”

Her pulse jumps beneath my other hand where it rests on her throat. But instead of tensing, she angles her head further, offering more access. God, her willing submission frays the edges of my control. Her lips tilt up into a smile that makes me want to drop to my knees and worship her. “Good morning.”

Fuck it.

I give into the impulse. “Tell me what you want, little hellcat.” I scrape my teeth along her thundering pulse, marking her again because I can’t help myself. Because she’s offering instead of fighting. Because that’s what I want more than anything else in the world right now. “Tell me how to please you.”

Her breath catches. “I thought Jackson Hawkins takes what he wants.” But she smiles as she teases me, and I realize I’d do anything to keep that sweet affection in her expression.

“I do.” I roll us until she’s pinned beneath me, the sweet-scented hay crackling under our weight. Her curves yield to my hardness, but the heat in her eyes is new. Willing. Eager. “And Iwantto watch you fall apart. Over and over and over again.”

“You’re still trying to own me.” But her voice catches as I drag my free hand down her side, mapping curves I intend to memorize.

“I already own your pleasure.” I slide my hand between us, finding her already wet, my words at odds with the reverent way I touch her. Through the gaps in the floorboards, a horse stamps restively, but her attention is focused entirely on my touch. “And I’ll prove it.”

She gasps at the first ruthless glide of my fingers. I keep the pressure maddeningly light, circling her clit with barely-there strokes until she’s fighting not to arch into my hand. When she finally breaks and rocks against me, seeking more friction, I pull away completely.

“Patience.” I drop my head to her breast, replacing fingers with tongue. Her gasp as I suck her nipple hard makes my cock throb. The hay loft’s shadows paint her skin in patterns of gold and shadow as dawn strengthens. “We have all morning.”

I take my time with her breasts, alternating between gentle and rough until she’s writhing beneath me. Only then do I slide lower, mapping her ribs, her stomach, the curve of her hip with my mouth. Each kiss brands her. Each bite marks her as mine.

When I reach the apex of her thighs, I pause, letting my breath tease her. “You’re so wet for me already.” I trace one finger through her folds, barely touching. “So ready.”

The first swipe of my tongue makes her whole body jerk. I hold her hips down with one arm across her pelvis, forcing her to take what I give her, to let me devour her, worship her, even if she’ll never know that’s what I’m doing. Each slow stroke winds her tighter, but I pull back every time she gets close, switching to gentle kisses on her inner thighs until she’s trembling.

“Jackson—” Her hands fist in my hair, trying to direct me where she needs it most.

I lift my head, drinking in the sight of her spread out before me. “Yes?”

“Don’t stop.” The words catch in her throat as I slide one finger into her, so slowly she can feel every inch.

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