Page 33 of Ranger's Honor
She’s sprawled in the center of the bed, one arm above her head, lips parted in sleep. The soft light from the hallway gilds her skin in warm gold, shadows tracing the slope of her shoulder and the curve of her thigh beneath the sheet. She’s mine—marked, claimed, fated—and nothing in this world will ever change that.
I stand there a moment, letting the sight of her burn into me. I don’t hesitate, don’t question. She’s the anchor I didn’t know I needed, and I’m done pretending I can keep my distance.
Three strides carry me to her side. I kneel, my hand trailing slowly down her arm, savoring the heat of her skin under mypalm. Her breathing changes, lashes fluttering, and I feel the bond between us tighten, unbreakable. Whatever storms are coming, we’ll face them together—because she’s already mine, and I’m never letting her go.
"Dalton," she whispers.
I lean down, pressing my lips to the bite mark on her neck. My claim. My mark.
She sighs, turns toward me, fingers finding mine beneath the covers.
"Mine," I murmur against her throat.
She moves, eyes barely open, but I can see the mischief dancing there. "Finally. But Gideon’s going to kill you."
I smile, brushing a thumb over her cheek.
"You’re worth dying for... besides, you’re assuming your brother would win that match."
Her laughter is soft. Her grip, tighter.
The bond is already there—hot, fierce, undeniable—settled between us the moment my teeth broke her skin. It thrums through me now, as steady as my own heartbeat, a living thing threaded into bone and blood. My skin prickles, breath catching as her pulse answers mine, a rhythm that seals what’s already done. Heat builds low in my spine, sharp and consuming, searing through muscle and bone until it brands me from the inside out.
Every heartbeat hammers the truth deeper—there’s nothing gentle in this. Nothing sweet. It’s primal, unrelenting, a surge of need and possession and ironclad certainty carved into my marrow. Her scent wraps around me, intoxicating and absolute, tightening the bond until it feels like my blood knows her name. Whatever comes next—whether it’s blood, fire, or war—it changes nothing. She’s mine. And I will burn the world to ash and cinder before I ever let her go.
I rise and strip off my clothes, every movement slow and deliberate, letting the weight of anticipation build. The air in the room thickens, heated by the shared silence, the weight of what we both know is coming. I slide beneath the sheets, the warmth of her skin calling to mine. She stirs, turns into me, and when my chest presses against her back, a soft gasp escapes her lips.
"Dalton," she breathes, voice husky with sleep and something deeper.
I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against me, letting her feel the full length of my arousal pressed to the curve of her backside.
She lets out a breathy moan, pushing into my touch. I roll her onto her back, slow and deliberate, savoring every second. My mouth finds the slope of her neck, lips grazing the line of the bite mark before I drag my tongue over it, claiming her all over again.
Her body arches, instinctive and eager, as I trail kisses across her shoulder. My hand slides up, fingers splaying across her ribs, thumb brushing the underside of her breast.
My mouth closes around her nipple, sucking gently, tongue flicking, teeth nipping just enough to make her cry out. She tangles her fingers in my hair as I trail lower—torso, navel, hip—my mouth mapping every inch of her like scripture.
"Dalton..." Her voice breaks as I slide my tongue along her inner thigh.
But she grabs my shoulders, pushes me back with a wicked grin. "My turn."
I groan as she straddles my hips, kissing down my chest, tongue flicking over each scar like she’s cataloging what made me. When her lips close around my cock, I curse low and sharp. Her mouth is wet, hot, perfect—working me with the same relentless precision she uses to craft the sex scenes in her novels.
I’m close. Too close.
"Stop," I rasp, dragging her up before I lose it. "Not like this."
She laughs breathlessly as I roll her to her back again, the sound warm and open, pulling something primal from deep in my chest. Her legs part for me without hesitation, knees drawn up, heels pressing into the backs of my thighs as I settle between them.
Her skin is hot against mine, slick with need and anticipation. Her hands frame my face for a beat, eyes locked to mine—wide, luminous, unguarded—as I thrust into her. Slow. Deep. A claiming. A tether. A silent promise that everything outside this moment can wait.
Her mouth parts on a gasp, head tipping back, body arching as I move inside her with a rhythm that speaks only of us—of everything we've been and everything we’re becoming.
She gasps, wraps around me, nails scraping down my back. The rhythm builds, each movement deliberate, reverent, our bodies finding the truth our mouths haven’t spoken.
Until now.
Her hands cradle my face as she pants, pupils blown wide, lips trembling. "I love you."
