Page 35 of Craving Her Cowboy
He was inside her in one smooth motion, the perfect fit. It felt like coming home after a lifetime away. She moved slowly at first, rolling her hips, letting him feel every inch. His hands gripped her waist, her thighs, her ass, any part of her he could reach. She braced herself on his chest, nails digging in, eyes locked on his. The look in her eyes was equal parts hunger and relief.
They rocked together, slow at first, then building. The bed creaked, the sheets twisting under them. He traced her spine with both hands, memorizing the slope of each vertebra, the flex of each muscle. She leaned down, bit his neck, then whispered, “Don’t let go.”
He wrapped his arms around her, rolled her onto her back, drove into her with a need he hadn’t felt since he was twenty and dumb. She matched him thrust for thrust, her legs locking around his waist. The sweat slicked their skin, made every movement louder, more urgent.
She came first with a sharp gasp and her nails clawing at his back. He followed, the release blinding, the world going white for a second. He held her tight through it, afraid she’d vanish if he loosened his grip.
After, they lay tangled on the bed, bodies cooling in the A/C, breath returning to normal. She rested her head on his chest, hair fanned out over his skin. He traced the line of her shoulder, the old scar there, the way her arm wrapped around his waist.
“You’re here for good? You being here means you chose me. Chose this life?”
Nodding, she kissed the bare skin closest to her lips. “I choose you every single time.”
He let out a breath he’d been holding for two weeks, maybe his whole life.
He kissed the top of her head, closed his eyes, and let himself believe that this was what home was supposed to feel like.
“I love you, Asha.” He finally said the words he had been holding inside.
“I know. And I love you right back.”
***
More than a Year Later
Silver Creek Ranch was wrapped in a hard frost and more string lights than anyone would admit to owning. They’d hung the bulbs from every fence post and barn eave, some of them blinking, some just bleeding a dull yellow through the December dusk. Pine wreaths—real, cut from the back acre—hung on every outbuilding, the needles slicked with frozen dew. The only thing more persistent than the winter was the smell of hay and the constant crackle of coffee brewing in the main house.
Gavin stood at the edge of the horse paddock, one hand on the lead of a big bay gelding and the other jammed into the pocket of his parka. He wore work gloves, but his fingers still felt the bite. He liked it. Reminded him to keep moving, to keep his blood up. The gelding snorted, pawed at the packed earth, then followed as Gavin clicked his tongue and led him to the open stable. The animal moved easily, muscles rolling under the glossy winter coat. At the stable door, Asha was waiting, arms folded, a stack of new wool blankets at her feet.
Asha made a noise to get his attention before she set the blankets aside and reached for the horse’s halter, taking the lead from Gavin’s hand. She led the gelding into his stall, talking low and steady to him while she spread out a flake of hay. Gavin watched the routine, the sure way she moved, the easy authority in her voice.
It had been more than a year since they’d first met. Over a year since they’d left the ranch and tried to build a normal life together. Neither of them truly felt the word normal would ever describe them, but they’d nailed the rest. They should never have meshed so well, but somehow they were the missing puzzle pieces the other one needed.
He checked the paddock for stragglers, then turned back. A couple of the veterans on holiday leave were walking up from the bunkhouse, both carrying boxes of decorations and talking loud enough to wake the dead. The porch of the main house was lit up like a signal fire, and every few minutes the door would open, spilling out a fresh wave of laughter and the smell of baking bread.
He let himself stand there a minute, taking in the scene. It was different from last year. Better. Asha reappeared at his side, breath coming in plumes, a hint of cinnamon on her clothes.
“You want to go in?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Eventually.”
She hooked a thumb at the barn. “We’re done here.”
He followed her, boots crunching over the frozen mud. They walked the long way, through the shadowed tunnel between two big barns and up past the line of cabins where the hands still lived. At the end of the row stood the new one they’d helped finish last summer. It was smaller, tighter, but the best built on the ranch.
She nudged the door open with her foot, letting the warmth hit them both in the face. Inside, it was all wood and wool and the thick smell of clean sheets. Asha flopped into the single armchair, boots up, body boneless with the kind of comfort that only came from hard labor and good company. Gavin stood in the middle of the room, hands on his hips, surveying the space as if something might be out of place.
“I have to tell you something,” Asha said into the quiet of the room.
He tensed, but she reached for his hand, threading their fingers together. “Relax. It’s not bad.”
He watched her, searching for a tell.
“I’m pregnant,” she blurted out.
He blinked, once, then twice. The world shrank down to the size of the room.
She watched his face, waiting for him to process. “You gonna say something?”
