Page 22 of Protected By the Single Dad Sheriff

"Jake," I whisper against his skin, feeling something building inside me, a tension coiling tighter with each movement. "I think I'm going to—"

"Let go," he murmurs into my hair. "I've got you."

His thrusts increase in speed and intensity, hitting that perfect spot with unerring accuracy. The pleasure builds to an almost unbearable peak before crashing over me in waves. I bite down on his shoulder to stifle my cry, my entire body pulsing around him as the orgasm sweeps through me.

Jake groans low in his throat, and his hands grip my thighs hard enough to leave marks as he makes one final, deep thrust. I feel the pulse of his release inside me, his body shuddering against mine.

For several long moments, we stay perfectly still, our ragged breathing the only sound in the room. I remain draped against him, boneless and overwhelmed, his arms wrapped securely around my waist. When he finally eases me back onto the bed, I feel the loss of connection like a physical ache.

Jake disappears briefly to the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth. With tender care, he cleans between my thighs, his touch gentle on sensitized skin.

"Are you okay?" he asks, voice full of concern as he settles beside me. "I didn't hurt you too much?"

I shake my head, suddenly shy despite the intimacy we've just shared. "It was perfect," I tell him honestly. "I wouldn't change anything."

He pulls me against his chest, tucking my head under his chin. "I didn't plan for this to happen," he says softly. "Not that I regret it. Not for a second."

"Me neither." I trace patterns on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm.

"I think you're extraordinary, Isabella. And I think we both felt something neither of us was expecting."

"What happens now?" I ask, voicing the question that's been hovering at the edges of my mind.

Jake's hand strokes gently up and down my spine. "That depends on what you want. You said you needed time to figure things out, to breathe. I don't want to complicate that for you."

"You already have," I admit with a small laugh. "In the best possible way."

"I'm serious, though," he says, shifting to look at me. "You ran away from a life that was suffocating you. The last thing I want is to trap you in another situation before you've had a chance to figure out what you really want."

His consideration touches me deeply. "What if what I want is to stay? At least for a little while?"

Something like hope flickers in his eyes. "In Cedar Falls?"

"Yes. It seems like a good place to... breathe."

"It is," he agrees, a cautious smile forming. "But Isabella, I need to be clear about something. I have the girls to consider. If you stay, if we... explore whatever this is between us, I need to know you understand that they come first. Always."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," I tell him, meaning it completely. "They're wonderful, Jake. And they need stability."

He nods, relief evident in his expression. "So we take things slow? See where this goes?"

"Slow," I agree, then can't resist adding, "Starting tomorrow?"

His laugh rumbles through his chest beneath my ear. "Starting tomorrow."

We talk late into the night, sharing stories and secrets in the darkness. I tell him about my childhood in Boston's elite circles, about the pressure to be perfect, about my dreams of becoming an artist that were systematically discouraged. He tells me about growing up in Cedar Falls, following in his father's footsteps, meeting Claire in high school and building a life with her that ended far too soon.

There are tears—mine when I describe my mother's coldness, his when he recounts telling his daughters their mother wasn't coming home. But there's laughter too, and a deepening connection that feels both exhilarating and terrifying in its intensity.

I fall asleep curled against his side, more content than I can ever remember being.

Next Day

The sound of giggling wakes me.

I blink against the morning light streaming through the blinds, momentarily disoriented until I feel the warm weight of Jake's arm around my waist, his steady breathing against my neck.

More giggling, then a small voice: "They're sleeping like in the fairy tales, Emma!"

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