Page 45 of Dump Tackle My Heart
“Breathe for me,” he murmurs. “That’s it, Sweetheart.”
His voice.That voice.
It wraps around me like velvet and gravel and fire.
I obey. I breathe.
And then—slowly, deliberately—he starts to push in.
My fingers curl into the rug. I don’t realize I’ve made a sound until he groans behind me.
Not just from thefeelingof it.
But from the intimacy.The depth.
It’s not just about bodies.
It’s about the way we fit.
About how right this feels.
Like maybe this was never supposed to be casual.
“Fuck,” he hisses, holding himself still when he’s all the way in. “Why do you always feel so fucking good? Just like heaven.”
I let out a shuddering breath, and I believe him.
Because I feel it too.
The stretch. The closeness. The overwhelming heat.
He leans forward, his chest brushing against my back, and his lips find the shell of my ear.
“You okay?” he asks, voice raw.
I nod. “Better than okay.”
I tilt my hips back, seeking more, and hear him curse again.
“Yeah?” he rasps. “Then hold on, Dani. 'Cause I’m not gonna last long. Not with you like this.”
He starts to move.
Each thrust controlled, careful, reverent.
And I can’t stop shaking.
From pleasure. From emotion. From everything I’ve kept bottled up since the first time he touched me.
He holds me like I’m breakable.
And he’s loving on me like I’m his.
I don’t know what’s going to happen when we go back to Consequence.
But in this moment, in this little snowy cabin with firelight dancing on the walls—I belong to him. To Hudson “Tank” Jackson.
And maybe—maybe he belongs to me, too.
