Page 16

C asey’s breathing is shallow.

Not panicked—but close.

I try to make myself smaller. To not overwhelm her with my obsession.

But I am so fucking aware of her.

It’s not even subtle. It’s full-body, soul-deep obsession.

Every flutter of her impossibly long eyelashes? I track it like the predator I am.

Every soft sigh that escapes those full, kiss-bruised lips? It brands itself into my brain like scripture.

The way her body moves— lush, confident, utterly unaware of just how badly it wrecks me —is driving me out of my goddamn mind.

My dick is in a perpetual state of hard as fuck.

She’s wearing capris today.

That stretchy kind of material that hugs her hips and thighs like it was custom-molded just for her.

Like it worships her curves the way I want to. The way I plan to.

And the top? Some flimsy little tee that clings to her tits like it knows it’s playing with fire.

Every step her mount takes, they bounce.

And every bounce? Is a personal test of my fucking self-control.

I’m rock-hard just watching her sitting atop that horse, crossing the dusty trail like she was born to do it. And suddenly I can see us both here, every weekend, going for a morning ride and fuck, I want that.

One second she’s smiling at something private, the next she’s tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with this quiet, distracted little frown—and I swear to every god that ever breathed fire, I feel it.

Every expression. Every flicker of thought across her face.

She doesn’t know what she does to me.

Earlier— when she was wrapped in nothing but that towel, wet from the shower and glowing like something out of a fever dream —she looked at me like she thought I didn’t want her.

Like I was put off .

Fuck, no. That wasn’t it.

I was possessed .

I didn’t want anyone else seeing what should only ever belong to me. That softness, those curves, her warmth— that’s mine .

She doesn’t know it yet. Doesn’t know what it means to awaken a Dragon, to belong to one.

To be treasured like fire in the cold.

But I’ll show her.

I’ll show her how goddamn beautiful she is. How no one else can ever compare.

Because she’s not just sexy— she’s sacred.

Es meus.

And this ache in my chest, the one that won’t go away unless I’m touching her, kissing her, claiming her?

It’s only getting stronger.

Her fingers clutch the reins like she’s expecting the gentle horse I saddled for her to take off at a dead sprint, which honestly, Peanut wouldn’t do if I paid him in sugar cubes and moonshine.

Still. She’s tense.

I ride slow, keeping my own mount close beside hers, every part of me tuned to her energy.

The little squeaks she makes when the horse shifts under her? I hear every single one.

The way she shifts in the saddle, trying to look casual while clearly bracing for death? It’s adorable.

And also— yeah —turns me on more than it probably should.

“You’re doing fine,” I murmur, keeping my voice low and steady. “Peanut’s trained. He’s easy. Gentle.”

She glances at me, eyes wide. “Easy for you to say. You look like you were born on a horse.”

“Not quite.”

“So, where’d you learn? I’m guessing you’re not originally from New Jersey.”

I smile. “Good guess.”

She raises a brow. “Let me guess. Texas?”

I snort. “Nope.”

“Montana?”

“Colder.”

“Wyoming?”

“Keep going.”

“Okay, I give up. Where are you from?”

My smile fades slightly. Not because I don’t want to tell her, but because how do I tell her?

How do I explain that I’ve never belonged to any one place?

That I was born into fire and exile and clawed my way across decades, trying not to become the kind of monster I saw in my own bloodline?

“Everywhere,” I finally say. “I’ve moved around a lot. Stayed long enough to learn a few things. Ride. Build. Fix what’s broken. And then, moved on.”

She studies me. “Sounds lonely.”

I shrug. “It was.”

I don’t add that it still is. That even with the Motley Crewd and their chaos and loyalty, I still feel like I’m one wrong move from being on the outside again.

She doesn’t push, but I can feel her watching me, sensing the gap in what I’m giving her.

Smart girl .

I like that about her.

We ride for another ten minutes in easy silence until I spot the old oak tree near the south pasture—the one with the split trunk and perfect dappled shade.

I guide her toward it and swing down first, holding Peanut’s reins as I reach up to help her dismount.

A couple of ducks are wandering out of the small creek that runs behind the ranch.

Technically, it’s on Max’s property, and sometimes I go swimming in it.

But not right now.

Now is for other things.

“Dismount,” I say, hands reaching out towards her.

She hesitates. “I don’t think I can do that without falling on my face.”

My lips quirk, but I fight my grin.

“Then fall on me.”

I slide my hands up her hips to her waist, then I lift her down.

The moment her body presses against mine, the air thickens.

Her breath catches.

My hands linger.

I let them.

Then, I step back and grab the cooler I packed with our food.

We settle under the tree, sitting on a blanket I keep in my saddlebag. The picnic cooler sits between us, and Casey folds her hands on her lap and bites her bottom lip.

So damn cute.

I carefully unpack the sandwiches and salads, some fruit and a couple of brownies I hid at my place just in case my girl had a sweet tooth, which she totally does.

She teases me about baking brownies, and my heart skips a beat. I can’t help it, I love her sass.

“What kind of rough, broody cowboy makes brownies from scratch?” she asks, when we finish the savory foods, and she takes a big bite of gooey chocolate goodness.

“Are you trying to seduce me with baked goods?”

“Is it working?”

She pauses. Smirks. “Maybe.”

The laughter fades for a beat. Her gaze drops to my mouth, then back up. We’re both still, both quiet, both waiting.

And then she leans forward just a little— just enough.

I meet her halfway.

The kiss is slow.

Sweet .

And then it’s not.

It’s hungry. Dirty. And I want more.

I shift closer, my hand sliding into her hair, tilting her head back as my mouth deepens the kiss.

Her fingers curl into my shirt, her soft gasp sending heat flooding through me.

My Dragon stirs, starving for her.

Es meus , my beast growls. Claim her.

Not yet.

I pull back, barely. “Casey?—”

Her lips are swollen.

Her eyes are glassy.

“Yeah?”

“Tell me if you need me to stop.”

She searches my face for a long moment, then shakes her head.

“Don’t stop, Zeke. Please don’t stop.”

I kiss her again, hard this time. Once. Twice.

Then a sharp voice cuts through the field.

“HEY LOVEBIRDS!”

We both jolt.

Casey blinks, turning toward the sound. I groan, recognizing Kian’s grinning menace from a hundred yards away.

“POOL TIME!” he shouts. “EVERYONE’S WAITING!”

Casey covers her face. “Oh my god.”

I stand, dragging a hand through my hair, trying not to punch air.

“Sorry,” she says, cheeks red. “I guess we should?—”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Let’s go before he comes back and starts throwing things.”

She snorts.

I help her back onto the horse, and as we ride toward the main house, I swear I can still taste her on my tongue.

And it’s not nearly enough.

But I can be a patient hunter. Especially when my prey is so damn delicious.

The rose over my heart pulses and heats, and I press my hand to it as I watch her move ahead of me.

Casey is more than prey to me.

So much more.