Page 5 of Falling for the Sheriff

Alice

Tonight has been a dream. This guy has seen me double-fisting onion rings, and he hasn’t stopped smiling at me since.

Can I ask for a better man? Doesn’t help that I’m fighting not to pull my hand from his as I can feel it growing clammy in his warm, steady grasp.

I’m terrified he’ll notice the nervous sweat and be disgusted, but he just laces his fingers tighter through mine, like he has no intention of ever letting go.

The night air has turned sharp and cold, a stark contrast to the warm buzz of the bar. A shiver wracks my frame, and instinctively, I press closer to his side, seeking his warmth.

He doesn’t miss a beat. He gently untangles our hands, and before I can mourn the loss, he guides my hand to the crook of his arm, tucking it firmly against his side.

My fingers curl around the solid muscle of his bicep, even through the tough leather of his jacket, and I can feel the undeniable strength there.

A traitorous voice in my mind reminds me just how strong he is, and I remember exactly how he looks without all these clothes on.

Heat floods my cheeks, a warmth that has nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the solid, real man walking beside me.

I suck in a deep breath, but all it does is leave me feeling dizzy.

The combination is too much—his strength under my hand, the intoxicating memory, the intimacy of walking like this through the quiet, sleeping town.

My heart is hammering against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that I’m sure he must feel if not hear.

“We should probably head back,” I suggest, my voice coming out a little too breathless. “It’s getting late.”

I feel the rumble of his agreement in his arm before I hear it.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice a low, warm sound in the darkness. He doesn’t sound disappointed, just… thoughtful. He places his hand over mine, where it rests on his arm, anchoring me there. “Let’s get you home.”

* * *

The rumble of the truck’s engine cuts out, leaving a sudden, thick silence in its wake. We’re parked outside my apartment, the dim glow of the porch light washing over the dashboard.

Neither of us moves. It feels like a rule has been silently agreed upon—the first one to move makes this a true ending, a final goodbye, and neither of us seems to want that.

“Tonight was great, Alice,” he says, his voice a quiet rumble in the dark cab.

I nod, my throat almost too tight to speak. “It was,” I agree softly. “Really great.”

So great, I want it to keep going.

Another patch of silence stretches between us, but it’s not uncomfortable.

Finally, with a soft sigh that seems to decide itself, he moves. He pushes his door open, the interior light flooding on, and circles the truck to open mine.

The old-fashioned courtesy makes my heart squeeze once more. I take the hand he offers, his grip firm and sure as I step down onto the pavement.

We walk to my door, our footsteps unnaturally loud in the quiet night. I fumble with my keys, the jangling sound absurdly loud, before finally managing to unlock the door.

I turn to him, my heart thudding against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. “Thank you, Atlas. For…everything.”

He’s closer than I expected. He’s looking down at me, his eyes unreadable in the shadows, but his expression is soft.

I stare up at him, waiting. My mind is a mess, but my body already knows what it wants. It’s a truth as certain as my own heartbeat. Even if it’s a terrible idea, a complication I can’t afford right now, every fiber of me is already leaning in.

He sees it. He sees the silent invitation, the slight tilt of my chin, the way my gaze keeps flicking to his mouth. He brings a hand up, not to pull me in, but to gently brush a stray strand of hair from my cheek, his thumb lingering for a breathtaking second on my skin.

I close the final, tiny distance between us, rising onto my toes as my eyes flutter shut. My hand finds the cool leather of his jacket for balance, and then my lips are on his.

It’s not a hungry kiss, not at first. It’s a question, a test, a soft and searching press that tastes like a favorite old memory. It’s a perfect, devastatingly sweet end to a perfect night. Except…it doesn’t have to end.

Pulling away, I look deeply into his green eyes and search for something concrete. Something that tells me that if I feed into this, cave to the weight of what I want, will I regret it?

The last three months were lonely and filled with a longing that no one should experience.

“I want you,” I confess through a whisper. “I really want you. But not just for tonight, Atlas. I want—”

His mouth cuts off my confession as he swoops down to kiss me all over again. This time, I feel his hunger, one that’s even greater than mine.

The gentle question is gone, replaced by a deep, claiming answer. His hand slides from my cheek into my hair, tilting my head back as his lips move over mine with a desperate intensity that steals the breath from my lungs.

This is no longer a goodnight kiss; it’s a way to sate a long-lasting craving.

His tongue tangles with mine, and a low groan vibrates in his chest, a sound of pure, unrestrained want that I feel deep in my core. The taste of him is as good as I remember.

Deep down, a part of my brain that’s not overwhelmed by the taste of him flickers with a pang of panic—the neighbors. This complex has way too many people who could easily catch a glimpse.

The sheriff of this small town, where everyone talks, pinned against my front door, devouring a poor woman alive…

The thought is enough. My hand, which had been fisted in his jacket, releases its grip and scrambles blindly behind me. My fingers find the cold, familiar brass of the doorknob. I twist it, pushing the door open without breaking the seal of our mouths.

I stumble backward into the dark entryway, and he follows without hesitation, a predator answering its prey’s unspoken invitation.

His arms wrap around me, one hand splayed against the small of my back to keep me from falling, the other still cradling my head as our kisses turn frantic, deep, and endless.

The door swings shut behind him with a soft, final click, plunging us into a private darkness lit only by the faint moonlight filtering through the blinds. We are finally alone.

The outside world, the neighbors, the entire town—it all disappears, leaving nothing but the two of us, the ragged sound of our breathing, and the profound, undeniable truth of what happens next.

As soon as we part ways to fill our burning lungs with air, I’m fumbling for the switch on the wall, turning on a soft light just in time to see him shrugging off his leather jacket.

Just like that, I’m seeing those trunk-like arms, and my legs tremble beneath me. Another memory flashes, the easy, staggering strength with which he’d lifted me before.

Can he pick me up now with that same effortless power? The thought alone sends a shiver of pure want through me.

The night I lost my virginity to him, things were a messy, frantic collision of two desperate adults who both needed something only the other could give.

The hunger between us made desperation claw at the surface.

There was no time for conversation, no time for tenderness, no time for anything but feeding the frantic, blinding need.

“I wanted to win your heart the right way.” His voice is gravel-rough, strained with the effort of holding back.

As his jacket drops to the floor, the same raw hunger I remember burns in his gaze, but it’s banked by a tenderness that makes my chest ache.

“But I’m a weak man, Alice. One look at you, and I want you as much as I did back then.

” He takes a step closer, and gravity feels heavier.

“My feelings haven’t gone away. Rather, they’ve grown. I don’t just want your body. I want…”

I nod, my throat too tight for words, my heart hammering against my ribs. I know. I know. I want it all, too.

He closes the distance between us then, but his movement is agonizingly slow.

He doesn’t grab me. He lifts his hand, and with a reverence that steals my breath, he carefully sets his palm flat against my stomach.

The heat of his touch sears through the fabric of my sweater.

His eyes hold mine, fierce and unwavering.

“Whatever you want,” he says, his voice low and absolute, a vow spoken in the quiet of my entryway. “Whatever you need, I’ll be there. I want to be.”

The words dissolve the last of my fears. I surge forward to meet him as he kisses me again, a deep, soul-searing kiss that tastes of forgiveness and a future I’d almost stopped dreaming of.

In one fluid motion, his arms slide under me, and he lifts me against his chest as if I weigh nothing at all. A gasp of pure delight escapes me, my arms looping around his neck, holding on as he carries me further into my apartment.

Between desperate, searching kisses, he manages to find his way to my bedroom, like he’s already been inside one of these apartment layouts. My mind, hazy with desire, snags on a mundane, embarrassing detail.

“I’m sorry for the mess,” I breathe against his lips. Outfits scatter the floor from my earlier dilemma, and I’m sure the pile of dirty clothes tucked in the corner can’t be too appealing.

He doesn’t even glance around. His eyes are locked on mine, filled with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “You’re the only thing I can look at right now.”

A giggle escapes me, and I feel even lighter in his arms.

Ever so carefully, like I’m made of the most precious glass, he sets me down on the edge of my bed.

Towering over me, I drink in the sight of him.

There’s no denying the evidence of his arousal; the strained fabric of his jeans hardly hides the hard, thick curve beneath the teeth of his zipper.

The sight sends a fresh, liquid heat pooling low in my belly.

Fueled by a boldness he inspires, I reach for the hem of my sweater. My eyes never leaving his, I pull it up and over my head in one fluid motion, letting it fall forgotten to the floor.

The reaction is instantaneous. Atlas’s next breath hitches, catching in his throat with a sound that’s half-groan, half-reverence. His gaze is a physical touch, scorching a path over my skin, from my bare shoulders down to the lace of my bra.

Then his eyes drop lower.

His expression doesn’t change, but I see the exact moment he registers it. The slight, firm curve of my stomach. The undeniable swell of the baby bump that is somewhat hidden beneath my clothes.

All my boldness evaporates. A cold wave of self-consciousness crashes over me. This part has definitely changed since the last time he saw me so bare.

For a terrifying second, he is utterly still. Then, he moves.

He doesn’t rush. He sinks to his knees in front of me on the floor, his eyes now level with my stomach. He reaches out, his hands hovering for a moment before he gently brushes my stomach with his thumbs as he looks up at me, his gaze fierce with an emotion so raw it makes my eyes sting.

“Look at me, Alice,” he commands, his voice low and unwavering. “You listen to me. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my entire life.”

He leans forward and presses a soft, lingering kiss right over the swell of our child. The gesture is more intimate than anything I could have ever imagined. It’s not a kiss of passion, but of devotion. A silent vow.

When he looks back up at me, his green eyes are blazing with a truth that erases every last shred of my doubt. “Every part of you,” he whispers. “Especially this. I’ll say it over and over until you grow tired of hearing it. I want you, Alice. All of you.”

That’s all he has to say before I’m ready to just give him that.