Page 15 of The Lasso Master

She gripped his shoulders, pulled him in, let him take. Let herself be taken. His mouth was hot and relentless, dragging along her jaw, down the slope of her neck, until her skin sparked in his wake. Each kiss was a claiming, slow and bruising, sending shivers rolling down her spine like the tremor before a fall. Her breath hitched when he lifted her to the counter like she weighed nothing, muscles flexing beneath her hands as she clung to him. Her thighs parted instinctively, welcoming the press of his body as his hands slid beneath the flannel—rough palms skimming up her sides, fingers splaying like he was mapping the parts of her that no one else had earned. The heat between them wasn’t just physical—it was feral, intimate, dangerously precise.

"You’re mine," he said into her skin.

She didn’t argue. Didn’t want to. She just held on.

Later, wrapped in one of his blankets and the kind of silence that didn’t hurt, Harper curled against him on the couch, her body molding to the solid warmth of his side like it had been waiting to exhale for years. The weight of the throw, the steady thrum of his breathing, the low hum of the weather outside—it all pressed her deeper into a kind of peace she didn’t trust but couldn’t resist. Reed had one arm behind his head, the other looped lazily but securely around her waist like he wasn’t just holding herclose—he was anchoring her there. As if he knew exactly how far she'd been drifting and had no intention of letting go.

"I still don’t trust easily," she said, her voice soft but raw, like too many disappointments had sanded it down. The words hung there, bare and sharp-edged, both a confession and a warning. It wasn’t just about him. It was a reflex she hadn’t unlearned, muscle memory built from years of being used, abandoned, watched too closely by men who smiled as they set traps.

"Good. Neither do I," he said, fingers tightening slightly around her waist, a grounding squeeze more than a warning. "But you don’t need to trust me with everything. Just enough to let me have your back when it counts. Just enough to stay in the fight—even when it’s messy. Especially when it’s you and me in the middle of it."

"That’s the problem," she murmured, half-asleep. "I think I already do."

Outside, thunder rolled again, louder this time—a deep, bone-rattling growl that shook the windows and echoed through the floorboards. It was the kind of presence that didn’t drift past—it lingered, possessive and unrelenting.Harper listened to it roll and crackle like distant artillery and wondered if it was a warning or a promise.

And somewhere out there, Stuart was still alive—waiting in the dark like a spider, watching, waiting. Still pulling strings like the threads of a web with that same quiet arrogance, still betting she’d flinch when the past came calling. But this time, Harper wasn’t just the weapon he’d forged. She was the one choosing where to aim—and she was almost ready to fire. Her hand was already on the trigger.

8

REED

Reed didn’t need coffee to wake up. He’d been wide-eyed for hours, tracking the slow, even breaths Harper took against his chest like they were signs of a fragile ceasefire. She slept in full surrender, draped over him with one leg tangled around his and her cheek resting just above his heart, like she belonged there. Like she trusted it. Trusted him.

Her warmth seeped into him, quiet and unrelenting, replacing adrenaline with something far more dangerous—hope. It slid under his skin, slow and insistent, the way rain softens dry earth—subtle until it's soaked through.

He didn’t move. Couldn’t. Wouldn't. Every breath she took pressed closer, deeper, like she was rewriting the space between them with a trust that curled around his ribs and squeezed. It shook something loose inside him—something he hadn’t named in years. A need not just to be wanted, but to be believed in. And she was doing it without saying a word.

She’d settled into him, all her tension dissolved by the rhythm of the rain and replaced with raw need. The way she molded to him, with no hesitation or guardedness, did more damage than a thousand loaded stares. It undid something.

Holding Harper was the most dangerous thing he’d done in a long time—not because of the risk, but because of what it made him crave. Not control. Not power. But permanence. A future. Her. Asleep in his arms like she belonged there, she wasn’t just a mission or a complication anymore. She was the thing that made him forget he used to be good at letting people go.

And he wasn’t about to risk scaring that off—not when it felt like something he’d never get back if he let it slip. Not when it felt like the first thing in years that was his to lose. Something real. Something unscripted. The kind of connection that didn’t come with a mission briefing or an exit plan. And that made it all the more terrifying—and all the more worth protecting.

Not just sex. Not just obedience. He wanted her—every clever retort, every scar she refused to talk about, every inch of defiance within which she cloaked her vulnerability like armor. He wanted the version of her no one else had earned. The one who slept against his chest without apology. The one who looked at him like she already knew she could wreck him and still chose to stay.

The thought was irrational. Irresponsible. It didn’t fit the man he’d trained himself to be—measured, detached, always three steps ahead. But it clung to him like her scent on his skin, stubborn and intimate. And it wouldn’t shake loose.

She stirred, shifting just enough to nuzzle against him, her breath warming his bare chest in soft pulses. Her lashes fluttered, slow and lazy, as she blinked sleep from her eyes, gaze still fogged with dreams. The kind of moment that felt too delicate to belong to a man like him—and too dangerous to want as badly as he did.

"You’re watching me again," she said without looking up.

"You make it easy."

She stretched, slow and catlike, dragging her body against his like every inch of her skin was a tease, and Reed’s control frayedat the edges. Desire surged low and hot, and it took everything in him not to roll her beneath him and take what her body was offering.

His jaw clenched, breath catching—he held still, barely, riding the wave of instinct with a discipline that felt more like punishment. Every breath seemed designed to test his control. Her breasts brushed his chest, her hips shifting just enough to stir the heat low in his gut. Like she wasn’t aware of what it did to him. Or maybe shewas—and wanted to watch him crack.

"I drool in my sleep. That doesn’t seem like your brand of sexy."

"You also sigh when you let go. Like it costs you something. Thatismy brand."

She looked up, that smart, sharp smile tugging at her mouth. "Careful, boss man. Sounds like you're catching feelings."

"Too late."

That froze her. Just for a second—but it was enough. Enough for him to see the flash of fear behind her eyes, the flicker of old instincts wrestling with something she hadn’t expected to want. Like a system error, brief and brilliant. Then she blinked, swallowed it down, and chose him anyway.

Then she leaned in and kissed him, soft this time. No games. Just pressure and honesty. Her lips moved against his with a patience that felt like trust and a heat that said she didn’t regret a second of it. It wasn’t about control or surrender—not this kiss. This was her choosing him, not just for tonight, but for the war that came after.

---