Page 143 of Ride the Sky

“No more games.” His voice is smoke and flame vibrating through me as I lean back in his arms. Our eyes lock, heat curling between us. “You.”Thrust.“Are.”Thrust.“My.”Thrust.“Wife.”

“Wyatt,” I breathe as my thighs tremor.

We’re on the verge of something dangerous.

His warm breath moves over my skin like silk. His eyes don’t stray from mine. “You’re mine, Trouble. You’re my girl.”

I cry out, his words boiling over something dark and cold inside of me.

It’s coming. The wave of realization, even as I fight against it. It’s him. It’s always been—and always will be—Wyatt Montgomery.

To fight the feelings, to chase them away just a little bit longer, I bury my face in his neck and inhale his beautiful scent. Man. Leather. Whiskey. It burns.

I burn.

But I can’t give in. Not yet.

But my body does. Wyatt thrusts hard, deep, and my entire body seizes. I release a deep moan as the orgasm hits. Wyatt’s moans mingle with mine. He pulses into me, gathering me deeper into his muscled frame.

Then, with one hand on my hip and the other in my hair, he sets me on my feet. Quickly, he zips his jeans and I readjust my dress.

Breathing heavily, Wyatt touches his brow to mine. “You okay?” he asks. Sweat dots his brow. “I didn’t hurt you?”

My hand holds his bicep. Steady. So steady and safe with Wyatt. Shaking my head, I pull back to look at him. “No. I’m—”

“Perfect.” His gaze inhabits mine, drinking me in.

“Yeah,” I breathe. “That.”

I stare at his rugged face in the moonlight, my insides twisted from all these stupid, lovely feelings. Then I grin. “You still owe me a dance.”

Achorus ofoooo’sripples through the bar when Fallon and I storm inside. Beef shoots us a smug look like he knows exactly what we’ve been up to. He slides two shots across the bar, and Fallon and I take them in succession.

Fallon’s nostrils flare, one corner of her mouth lifting into a smirk. “Everyone will talk,” she murmurs.

“Good.” I hope the entire fucking town is talking about the fact that Fallon McGraw’s my wife.

I should have put that asshole’s head through the fucking wall. Instead, I took Fallon out back and fucked her. If I have my way, no other man but me will ever touch her again.

My hand on the small of her back, I guide her to the dance floor, meeting the eyes of a few cowboys gawking at Fallon. I glare at them, and they quickly turn back to the bar.

Not that I blame them. She’s fucking gorgeous. Disheveled from our time in the alley, her golden-caramel hair cascades over her shoulders. That blue denim mini dress shows off every muscle, every curve. With her red-painted, feline smirk and kohl-lined eyes, she’s a smoke show.

Watching Fallon dance with that asshole had my head such a fucking mess that all I saw was red. All I saw was a future without Fallon. Those sharp lips callin’ another man’s name. On her ranch, riding with someone else. Fucking someone else.Givin’ someone else her secrets and her smiles. Those hazel eyes lighting up for the cowboy she chose.

I saw what she wanted earlier. No doubt about us. She wanted to know she was mine. That I’m in it. Thank Christ I didn’t make the same damn mistake. Not fucking this up again. Not fucking up anything between us. No pretending tonight. She’s mine, and I’m hers.

“No more games,” I demand. “Dance with me.”

I offer a hand, and she takes it. Eyes locked on her face, my hand slides around her waist. Fallon lifts an eyebrow. “Don’t fuck it up, asshole.”

Though her words are light, the meaning hangs heavy between us.

Bootsteps quicken over the hardwood floor, the music bright and boisterous. Even with her limp, she’s graceful. Her hair tumbles around her as we spin faster to the music. My arm’s an iron band around her waist. I won’t let her fall. Never again.

“Spin?” I murmur. “Can you handle it?”

Her hazel eyes gleam. “You’re the one with two left feet.”

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