Page 29 of Lost in the Wild

And whatever I pictured while lying all those nights alone in bed, the real thing is hot and blurry and frantic. There’s a rough edge to Rowan’s thrusts; a meanness that makes my belly clench in the best way, especially when he soothes it over with filthy praise and searing kisses. Like he wishes he could be gentler right now, but his most primal instincts are riding him too hard.

He wants me so badly. Needs me so badly. It’s clear in each desperate thrust, each grunt and groan, and the way he tilts his head up to the cave roof, eyes slipping closed, like he wants to commit this all to memory. Like he’s praying to me, making an offering with every punch of his hips.

I love him.

Love this.

Never want it to end.

But tension throbs and twists in my low belly, and my thigh muscles begin to tremble where they clutch Rowan’s waist. When I clamp down on him, squeezing my inner muscles around his shaft to see what that feels like, Rowan roars and pounds a fist against the cave floor, thrusting harder and faster until the pelt skids along the stone ground.

I gasp and grin and squeeze him again for good measure, clinging onto his shoulders for dear life by my fingernails. And when he throbs inside me, his shaft swelling even bigger, Rowan curses and shoves a hand between us, searching out my clit.

He rubs harsh circles, coaxing me on with filthy praise.

There’s no need. I’m already stiffening beneath him, back arched and lips parted. Already spasming around his cock, blood flashing molten in my veins, as pleasure pounds through me in tumultuous waves.

And when Rowan grunts and wedges deep, when he roars his own release and fills me up with hot come, I cry out in hoarse approval. Yes. I want it. Want it all.

For a moment, I’m gone. The cave disappears; the sounds fade away. There’s nothing but static in my eyes and ears, like I’ve been whisked up to the clouds on a mountain breeze, and it feels so good that it almost hurts.

So. Good.

Then I collapse back against the pelt, panting like I’ve run a marathon, and my surroundings fade back in. The crackling fire; the drumming waterfall. The taste of wet stone on the air, and the tickle of fur against my sweaty back. The pleasure and pain where our bodies meet.

And Rowan. Breathing hard above me, frowning down like he doesn’t even want to blink. Still twitching and throbbing inside me, coming in drawn out spurts.

Rowan.

The world settles back on its axis.

Rowan.

My fingertips trail through his dark, shorn hair, and I smile up at him. I’m home.

* * *

One year later

Voices drift on the mountain air, and a burst of laughter leads me through the trees around to the front of our cabin. For the last year, this place has been a haven for my new husband and I. A cozy, quiet haven with a log burner and a beautiful deck, where we could build our lives and settle down together, all while he readjusts to life back in the real world.

It hasn’t been easy every day. There’s no denying that. Sometimes, when we’re in the grocery store and a crowd of folks roll in, Rowan gets that pinched look on his face and grips onto the cart too hard. Sometimes, we need to leave. He’ll never be a lover of busy spaces, and our dates will probably always mean mountain hikes and secret dips in hot springs rather than loud bars and restaurants.

That’s fine.

After all those years in the city, I like the peace and quiet too.

And I love having Rowan all to myself. My wounded warrior has fought so hard to overcome his demons and build a life with me, and if that means dipping out of a crowded store now and then? No problem.

He worries about that sometimes, I know, but he doesn’t realize—Rowan is the ultimate prize. Everything else is mere detail.

Dried leaves crunch under my feet, the reds and yellows of fall so bright all around. The wooden steps up to our deck creak gently under my feet, and I’m already smiling as I reach my husband and our guest.

Tess.

Rowan’s little sister—the woman he tried so hard to stay close to, even as he suffered alone in his cave. They look so similar, both dark haired and tall with the same gray eyes.

Tess is bundled up in a fluffy blanket on one of our deck chairs, sipping a hot chocolate and chatting to her brother. She’s so thrilled to have him back in her life—she’s squeezed my hand and whispered that fact to me dozens of times over the last year, thanking me again and again—and Rowan is delighted too. He’s fiercely protective of his little sister.

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