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To everything.

And I find myself scaling that mountain again. I find myself on the verge of coming.

I cling to his shoulders so tightly, so tight that I fear I might draw blood because my nails are digging into his skin but I can’t let go of him, because it’s all too much. And not enough.

It’ll never be enough. That terrifies me. Even as I’m standing there on the edge of the cliff, right on the verge of another orgasm, I’m so afraid. That this won’t be enough, that I’ll never get enough of him, that I will never ever be able to fill the void that’s inside of me. I’m a black hole.

Of all the love that I never got, all the love that I want.

Of the great and terrible need that I have felt ever since I first saw Dallas.

Stay with me. Stay with me.

Love me. Love me.

I cling to him, and I squeeze my eyes shut, and I scream as my orgasm rips through me. And that scream almost turns into a wail, but I catch it.

It’s done. We’ve done it. It’s over.

And I feel like curling up into a ball and sobbing.

I’m half despair and half hope. I don’t know which is worse. The hope, I decide. Because at least despair is something I’m familiar with.

Then Dallas gathers me up in his arms and holds me against him. “Wait here for a second,” he whispers against my temple.

He goes away for a moment, and then I hear water running in the next room. He comes back sans condom, and stands there in the doorway and looks at me.

“God.” He bends over at the waist, hands planted on his knees, and I’m not sure he’s praying or swearing. He’s out of breath like he just ran a marathon. “I think you almost killed me,” he says.

Warmth trickles through me. I almost killed him?

“You sent me to another planet,” I say.

He lifts his head, and grins. And I see him. My friend. My Dallas. Suddenly I feel like everything’s going to be okay. Like it really might be.

“Come here,” he says, not waiting for me to come here, bending over and gathering me into his arms and picking me up.

My skin against his feels so good. He’s got hair on his chest, and it’s a little scratchy against my breasts, and I like it.

His muscles are tight, hard. Beautifully defined.

I lift my hand and touch him, just there on the chest. I want to explore him.

I want to do what he did to me, I want to take his cock into my mouth and swallow him deep.

I want to taste him everywhere. And I hope there will be an opportunity for that. Because I don’t want it to just happen once and then never again.

He carries me into the bathroom, and sits me on the edge of the counter while the bath runs. It’s a deep, clawfoot tub that I haven’t seen before, because I haven’t gone into his bathroom before.

“This is cute,” I say, looking around. There’s a small, square shower in the corner, with glass doors. But it looks barely big enough for one person, let alone two.

“Oh yeah. This bathroom got a remodel a few years ago, but you can only do so much with the room this small.”

I drink his body in as he fusses around with the tub. His thighs are thick and hard, and I never really thought about checking out a man’s thighs, but I’m definitely doing it now.

It takes a while for the tub to fill, and he continues to check the temperature judiciously, before he lifts me off the counter and brings me down into the water with him.

For a moment I wonder if it should be weird to be intimate like this with someone I’ve known for so long. If the change should feel more jarring.

Then I decide I don’t care.

I hum with contentment and lean my head back against his chest.

This feels both entirely new and entirely settled all at once. Like my body recognizes his as home in a way that feels profound.

“So,” I say, putting my hand over his forearm, watching my finger as I trace a line along the dip in his muscle there. “You have a lot of experience. ”

He snorts. “There’s a whole thing. Rodeo groupies. We call them Buckle Bunnies.”

“That feels problematic, Dallas.”

“I think it can be. I definitely think there are issues within that culture. With the way they get treated and how some of the guys see them. But I’m pretty new to the whole thing, I mean, relatively.

And ever since I’ve been in the rodeo, videos and stories about hook-ups with athletes have been going viral. ”

“And?”

“You just have to accept that if you’re going to fuck around, your junk could end up posted somewhere.

Or, the story of what happened. I don’t need that kind of threat to make me a decent guy, but I’m just saying I think that has changed the culture a lot in sports.

It used to be, even the married guys were flinging it around here, there and everywhere, but now, with social media, half the time their wives are as famous as they are.

If they got up to shit, women would just message the wives and tell them.

I think that changes the power dynamic a little bit.

So yeah, I think there’s sort of a cachet thing that comes along with bagging a rodeo rider, and I’m not going to say I haven’t enjoyed that, but I don’t think it’s quite as unsavory as it used to be. ”

“All right,” I say. “As long as everything is sex positive.” I elbow him in the ribs, and he shifts underneath me, and I become deeply aware that his cock is getting hard again. I wiggle against him, and he wraps his arm tightly around my waist, keeping me from moving.

“Stop it,” he says. “You can’t be tempting all that again.”

“Why not?”

“Give your body a chance to recover.”

“Dallas, I’m never going to recover from that. ”

I jump as I feel the sharp scrape of his teeth on my shoulder. “Good,” he says.

My stomach goes tight, my heart thundering hard. I feel marked. Branded. I’m good with that. I really am.

All I’ve ever wanted in my life is to belong to someone who actually wants to care for me.

If his teeth could leave marks that last longer than my trauma I’d be okay with that.

He reaches for a washcloth, gets it wet, soaps it up and rubs it over every inch of my body, taking extra time between my legs.

By the time we get out of the tub, I’m panting, and I’m annoyed at him, because he’s the one who said we couldn’t do it again.

“I think that we should watch the last part of The Hobbit.”

I frown. “I don’t want to watch The Hobbit.”

“Oh no,” he says, reaching up and planting his palm on my forehead. “Are you okay?”

“Stop,” I say, wiggling away from him, and he picks me up around the waist and carries me into the bedroom, my legs dangling as he sets me down, reaches into his dresser, and pulls out that pair of sweatpants that’s exactly like mine.

He hands them over to me. “Wear these. I already know they’re your style. ”

“I could go in the other room and get mine.”

There’s a possessive light in his blue eyes. “I want you to wear mine.”

I put them on, and they’re a lot roomier than mine, so much so that I have to cinch the waist almost all the way.

I’m standing there in pants that are more like balloons, and he throws me a white T-shirt.

I put it on, and I’m deeply aware that my nipples are visible through the fabric.

I can tell by the way he’s looking at me that was the plan.

“So,” I say as he turns away from me and finds another pair of sweats in his drawer. Gray. And when he pulls them on, I still see the muscular, gloriously round shape of his ass through the fabric.

“You were jealous.”

He turns to face me. “When?”

“At my birthday party.”

He blinks. “Yeah. I thought that was clear.”

“You said you were being protective.”

“I lied.”

“Why did you lie?”

“Because I don’t know what the fuck to do with this.”

It’s raw and honest, and it hurts my feelings a little bit.

But I also understand. Because the two of us were like hit dogs yesterday, and that really is a worry.

I don’t think either of us really knows how to conduct a relationship.

I’m not sure if we could even do that. With the two of us.

Because we are already something. Something steeped in… fucked up shit.

I don’t know if something that comes from a desperate, unhealthy attachment can ever become something normal.

I really don’t know if I’ll ever be anything normal. Based on my response to having sex with him, I would say no. Because I wanted him to stay inside me forever.

And now that some of my need has subsided, I can see that my reaction was a little bit over the top. But it lingers.

“All right. Fair enough. I just… I don’t like Colt, to be clear. I mean, I like him, but I don’t… I don’t want him.”

He lifts a brow. “Then what was all that?”

“I just wanted to feel like I wasn’t broken. For a little bit. He’s nice, and it seemed easy. I really would like something easy.” I look at Dallas. “I’m not sure easy is available to me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well. Are we easy?”

He snorts. “No. Definitely not.”

“There you go.”

“You don’t want him,” Dallas says.

“No. I don’t. You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted.”