Page 113 of Cowboy Dragon's Rose

He cleans me up, and gets into bed, tucking me into his side.

This man. He’s everything. So goddamn perfect.

The firelight paints golden patterns on his skin, casting shadows over the lines of his face.

His eyes glow, not just with Dragon magic, but something even older—devotion.

He bends his head.

“Mine,” he whispers against my mouth.

“All yours,” I breathe.

This time when he pulls me on top of him and I raise my hips enough for him to slide inside me, we both sigh.

It’s like relief fills me every time we’re joined.

Like this is exactly how we are supposed to be.

And when I fall apart above him, my name on his lips, I release a sob of joy and trust, because for once, I don’t have to be independent. I don’t have to hide.

I just get to feel.

After, he gathers me close, our bodies tangled in warmth and love and something stronger than either of us.

“Still thinking about work?” he asks drowsily, his lips at my temple.

“Still thinking about that nap nest,” I tease.

He grins into my hair. “Told you. Five-star Dragon service, Petals. It’s all yours now. Es meus.”

“Mmm. Yours. And you’re mine, Fire Boy.”

“Fire Boy?” he asks.

“Don’t like it? How about Hot Stuff?”

“Mate,” he growls and nips my ear playfully.

I smile, feeling light and carefree for the first time—like ever.

“I love you, Petals,” he whispers.

“I love you, too.”

As I drift off in his arms, I know one thing for sure: whatever comes next, we’ll face it together because of him, and me? We’re fated.

He’s my Dragon and I’m his Rose.

And neither of us is alone now. We have our Crew. Our home. And each other.

Always.

EPILOGUE THREE-MAX

Dust spins in lazy circles in the warm summer air, kicked up by boots and hooves and the lingering buzz of the crowd. The Motley Crewd Rodeo has officially wrapped, and the stadium’s still pulsing with energy, but all I see are my people.

My Crew.

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