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18

Jackson

Moonlight creeps through the barn’s broken boards, painting unfamiliar shadows across rough wooden beams. The hay loft still holds traces of smoke and storm, but Shiloh’s body draped across my chest keeps me warm. It’s the soft curve of her mouth, completely unguarded in sleep, that makes my chest tight.

Each small movement presses her more firmly against me, a reminder of how perfectly she fits against my larger frame. Outside, the storm has gentled to lazy rainfall, but in here, time seems suspended, measured only in her quiet breaths against my skin. Below, the rescued horses shift and settle, their earlier panic soothed by her expertise and care.

At some point during the night, I’d gathered more blankets, wrapping her against the chill that seeps through the damaged roof. Now I trace one finger along a bruise blooming on her shoulder, expecting her to tense even in sleep. She makes a small sound of contentment and presses into my touch, like a cat seeking warmth. The unconscious trust in that gesture hits me hard.

My darling hellcat, who fights me at every turn, who challenges me with that sharp mind and sharper tongue, who makes me earn every inch of submission—seeking my touch without prompting. Something primitive and possessive roars to life in my chest, but it’s tangled with an unfamiliar tenderness that threatens my careful control.

Her eyes flutter open, and for one heartbeat there’s no wariness, no walls—just drowsy heat as she arches against me. “Jackson?”

“Right here.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. I slide my hand into her hair, gripping just tight enough to remind her who she belongs to. But when I tilt her head back, it’s to study her face rather than claim her mouth. “Sleep well?”

“Mmm.” She stretches against me like a cat, all soft curves and sleep-warm skin. My cock hardens against her hip, but I hold myself still, curious what she’ll do without my command. Her hand traces idle patterns on my chest, and that small liberty—taking pleasure in touching me without being ordered—makes me throb.

The events of last night flood back—her competence during the fire, the way she commanded my ranch hands—and me—without hesitation, saving the lives of both horses and men. That brilliance, that strength, they should have threatened my control. Instead, watching her had only fed my need to possess her completely.

I tighten my grip in her hair, pulling until she gasps. The rough blanket beneath us catches on my calluses, a reminder that we’re miles from my usual calculated control, completely isolated in the predawn. “Good morning, hellcat.”

Her pulse jumps beneath my other hand where it rests on her throat. But instead of tensing, she angles her head further, offering more access. God, her willing submission frays the edges of my control. Her lips tilt up into a smile that makes me want to drop to my knees and worship her. “Good morning.”

Fuck it.

I give into the impulse. “Tell me what you want, little hellcat.” I scrape my teeth along her thundering pulse, marking her again because I can’t help myself. Because she’s offering instead of fighting. Because that’s what I want more than anything else in the world right now. “Tell me how to please you.”

Her breath catches. “I thought Jackson Hawkins takes what he wants.” But she smiles as she teases me, and I realize I’d do anything to keep that sweet affection in her expression.

“I do.” I roll us until she’s pinned beneath me, the sweet-scented hay crackling under our weight. Her curves yield to my hardness, but the heat in her eyes is new. Willing. Eager. “And I want to watch you fall apart. Over and over and over again.”

“You’re still trying to own me.” But her voice catches as I drag my free hand down her side, mapping curves I intend to memorize.

“I already own your pleasure.” I slide my hand between us, finding her already wet, my words at odds with the reverent way I touch her. Through the gaps in the floorboards, a horse stamps restively, but her attention is focused entirely on my touch. “And I’ll prove it.”

She gasps at the first ruthless glide of my fingers. I keep the pressure maddeningly light, circling her clit with barely-there strokes until she’s fighting not to arch into my hand. When she finally breaks and rocks against me, seeking more friction, I pull away completely.

“Patience.” I drop my head to her breast, replacing fingers with tongue. Her gasp as I suck her nipple hard makes my cock throb. The hay loft’s shadows paint her skin in patterns of gold and shadow as dawn strengthens. “We have all morning.”

I take my time with her breasts, alternating between gentle and rough until she’s writhing beneath me. Only then do I slide lower, mapping her ribs, her stomach, the curve of her hip with my mouth. Each kiss brands her. Each bite marks her as mine.

When I reach the apex of her thighs, I pause, letting my breath tease her. “You’re so wet for me already.” I trace one finger through her folds, barely touching. “So ready.”

The first swipe of my tongue makes her whole body jerk. I hold her hips down with one arm across her pelvis, forcing her to take what I give her, to let me devour her, worship her, even if she’ll never know that’s what I’m doing. Each slow stroke winds her tighter, but I pull back every time she gets close, switching to gentle kisses on her inner thighs until she’s trembling.

“Jackson—” Her hands fist in my hair, trying to direct me where she needs it most.

I lift my head, drinking in the sight of her spread out before me. “Yes?”

“Don’t stop.” The words catch in her throat as I slide one finger into her, so slowly she can feel every inch.

“Like this?” I curl my finger, finding that spot that makes her see stars. When her back arches, I withdraw completely, returning to those teasing licks that never quite give her enough pressure.

She growls in frustration, the sound turning to a gasp as I slide two fingers into her this time. But I keep the pace torturously slow, watching her claw at the blankets as I build her up again.

“Please—” She breaks off as I scissor my fingers, stretching her.

“Please what?” I brush my lips over her clit, barely touching. “Use your words.”

Her walls clench around my fingers as I find that perfect spot again. But I keep the pressure just shy of what she needs, bringing her to the edge over and over until she’s incoherent with need.

“Damn you.” She tries to rock against my hand, but I use my greater strength to hold her still. “More. I need?—”

I reward her with a third finger, stretching her slowly as I return my mouth to her clit. But just as she starts to crest, I pull back again, replacing my tongue with the lightest brush of fingers.

Higher and higher, I work her, letting her feel a fraction of my strength in how easily I control her body. “Show me how much you need this.”

She fights it—of course she does, my beautiful, stubborn hellcat. Each time she gets close, I change the rhythm, the pressure, the angle, until she’s shaking and swearing.

“Look at me.” I command, and those gold-flecked eyes meet mine, dark with desperate need. “Tell me what you want.”

“You know what I want.” But her voice shakes as I curl my fingers again.

“I want to hear you say it.” I press my tongue flat against her clit, giving her just enough pressure to make her sob. “Tell me exactly what you need.”

Her only response is another frustrated moan as I deny her release again. My jaw clenches. Why is she being so stubborn? I lick at her folds, her sweet taste honey on my tongue, wishing I understood this beautiful, generous woman a little bit better.

“Jackson,” she whines.

“Tell me, hellcat.”

“I can’t,” she sobs, and it hits me like lightning. Will she trust me enough to let me give her what she needs?

Standing, I survey the hay loft’s shadowed interior, my eyes landing on a length of soft rope coiled nearby. Perfect.

“Don’t move.” The command in my voice makes her shiver as I retrieve it. The well-worn hemp is soft in my hands. “Arms up.”

Her eyes widen as she realizes my intent, that familiar defiance warring with naked want. “You think I’ll let you tie me up?”

“I think you’re desperate enough to let me do anything.” I trace the rope down her throat, between her breasts, watching goosebumps rise in its wake. “And I think you want to find out what happens when you truly let go.”

For a long moment she’s still, pulse racing beneath my fingers where they rest on her throat. I swallow, wondering if she’s about to refuse me, and I know it’ll break me if she does.

Then, slowly, she raises her arms above her head.

“Good girl.” I bind her wrists to one of the support beams, using knots that will hold but not mark, using the movement to hide how my hands are shaking. The sight of her spread out beneath me, bound and wanting, makes my cock throb painfully. “Now let me see you fall apart.”

I start again with barely-there touches, mapping her body with fingers and tongue until she’s arching against the restraints. When I finally return my mouth to her core, she’s so sensitive that even the lightest contact makes her cry out.

“Please—” But I pull back before she can finish, watching her clench around nothing.

“Not yet.” I slide three fingers into her again, curling them just right while my thumb barely grazes her clit. “Not until you tell me exactly what you want. In detail.”

She strains against the rope binding her wrists, but I’ve done this before. Every move only drives her constraints deeper into her awareness. “I hate you.”

“No.” I withdraw my fingers completely, making her whimper at the loss. “You hate how much you need this.” I trace one finger through her wetness, so light it’s barely a touch. “How desperate you are to come.” Another feather-light stroke. “How much you want me to fill you up and fuck you until you scream.”

Her whole body shudders at my words. When I press my mouth to her inner thigh, I can feel her trembling.

“That’s it, little hellcat.” I work my way up her thigh with small bites, each one harder than the last. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need—” She breaks off with a sob as I finally reach her core, giving her one long, slow lick before pulling away again. “Damn you, Jackson, I need to come.”

“How?” I slide two fingers back into her, keeping them perfectly still. “Like this?” I curl them slightly. “Or like this?” I drag my tongue against her clit, giving her just enough friction to wind her higher without letting her fall.

The rope creaks as she pulls against it. “Please!”

“Please what?” I maintain that maddening rhythm, never quite enough. “You know what I want to hear.”

“I need—” She breaks off again as I add a third finger, stretching her. “God, I need you inside me. Need you to fuck me. Please, Jackson, please?—”

I lift my head, watching her face. She’s magnificent like this—flushed and desperate, still fighting even as she begs. “I need—” Her voice breaks as I curl my fingers again. “Please, I need you inside me. Need you to fill me up. Need your cock, need you to fu—” She breaks off with a cry as I withdraw completely.

“Keep going.” I position myself at her entrance but don’t push in. “Tell me exactly what you need.”

“You!” The word bursts from her like I’ve torn it loose. “I need you, Jackson. Please.”

I need you too, sweetheart. I drive into her in one hard thrust, swallowing her cry with my mouth. She’s impossibly tight, still clenching from denied release. When I start to withdraw, her legs wrap around my waist, trying to keep me deep.

“That’s it, little hellcat.” I set a punishing pace, feeling her body yield to me completely. “Take what you need.”

Her wrists strain against the rope as she meets each thrust. Every move drives her higher, closer to the edge I’ve kept her from for so long. When I feel her start to tighten around me, I slide one hand between us to circle her clit.

“Come for me.” I bite down on her throat, marking her. “Now.”

She shatters, screaming my name, her whole body convulsing as pleasure finally breaks through her control. I fuck her through it, prolonging her release until she’s sobbing with oversensitivity. Only then do I let myself follow her over the edge, emptying myself deep inside her with a growl of possession.

After, I untie her wrists with careful attention, absurdly pleased to see the red marks on her skin. “Easy, little hellcat.” I press my lips to each wrist, tasting her pulse. “Let me take care of you.”

She curls into my chest without prompting, still trembling with aftershocks. The sight of her like this—guard completely down, seeking comfort in my touch—makes something fierce and protective surge to life in my chest. I gather her closer, wrapping the rough blanket around us both.

“Drink.” I hold a canteen to her lips, supporting her head as she sips. Water trails down her chin, and I catch it with my thumb. The small intimacy feels like a victory.

Her eyes are heavy with exhaustion, defiance finally giving way to the need for rest. She settles back against me with a soft sigh that unravels something tight in my chest. I drag my fingers through her tangled hair, noting every mark I’ve left on her skin. Each one is a claim, a reminder that for these precious moments, she trusted me.

Outside, the ranch will eventually wake up, but here, time seems suspended. I map Shiloh’s body with possessive touches, gentler now but no less claiming. Each sweep of my hands tells her she’s safe, protected, mine. Even if this trust is as fleeting as the storm.

She drifts toward sleep under my ministrations, her breathing evening out. Only then do I let myself acknowledge the truth—that I need her trust as much as I need her submission. That watching her yield to pleasure was devastating but watching her seek comfort in my arms might destroy me completely.

“Sleep, little hellcat.” I press another kiss to her temple, tightening my arms around her. “I’ve got you.”

Her answering murmur might be a curse or an endearment. Either way, I hold her closer, committing every detail to memory. These unguarded moments are as precious as they are rare, and I’m not foolish enough to think I’ve won anything but temporary peace.

Tomorrow she’ll be back to fighting me, and god help me, I’ll want her even more for it. But right now, as she sleeps in my arms, I let myself imagine a future where she gives me everything—not because I’ve forced her to, but because she’s chosen to stay.