Page 11 of Wild Skies (Rugged Loners #3)

Then lie entwined together in Greg’s tent, steaming up the small space until condensation slides down the vinyl walls.

Yeah. That’s my new dream.

“So. Good.”

I should’ve known he’d be chatty. This man is a famously good speaker, holding hundreds of students at a time enthralled with his words.

Of course he’s talking even now, muttering filthy praise in my ear even as he thrusts between my thighs, stretching my tight channel around his shaft.

And I love it. Love how badly he wants me, how he worships me with his words.

Love the secret promises he makes and the darker threats of possession—threats that aren’t scary at all.

I’m his.

And the professor is mine .

And when he slides a hand between our bodies to start rubbing my clit, when he sucks on my throat, and growls against my skin, and fucks me into a trembling wreck… there’s nothing else for it. Can’t hold out any longer. Can’t keep the fireworks inside me from detonating.

I let out the world’s tiniest squeak, head thumping back to rest on the door, as a storm of pleasure swirls through my body. My limbs shake and my belly tenses. For a long moment, I stop breathing at all, eyes screwed shut to stop tears from sliding down my cheeks.

Feels so freaking good. So alive.

And the only thing better? When the professor grunts and shoves deeper, his cock swelling before flooding me with wet, sticky heat. It slides down my thighs and drips onto the office floorboards. It makes my chest feel all gooey and warm.

“Oh my god.” After a long beat of silence, I laugh. My voice is all raspy, like I’ve been sobbing into a pillow instead of choking back cries of pleasure. Glancing down at myself, it’s official: I look well-fucked. Flushed and sticky and rumpled.

The professor looks down at us too, mouth twisting, then looks up at me and winks.

“Good thing I’m quitting tomorrow.”

Yep. Then we can start the rest of our lives.

* * *

Three years later

The stars spread out overhead, covering the mountains like a sparkly blanket. The night sky is ink-black, and the moon casts a silver sheen on the clearing where we’ve set up our telescope. The wind is cold and scented with pine, but I barely feel it with my husband braced against my back.

“The meteor shower may not start until tomorrow,” he warns for the dozenth time, his hands stroking up and down my sides through my fleecy jacket. “We could go back to the tent and rest up. Are you tired?”

“Greg, I’m fine .”

Honestly. I’m still in my first trimester, barely showing beneath my clothes, and my husband is already acting like I’m made of glass. It’s equal parts endearing and annoying.

“There’s peppermint tea in the thermos,” he says.

“I know.”

“And I’ve set out some folding chairs in case you need to sit.”

“Yep. I watched you do it.”

There’s a long exhale, then my husband presses his face against my hair. His strong arms wind around me, holding me against his chest, and my brief buzz of irritation melts away.

“Sorry,” he says gruffly, his words tickling my scalp. “I know I’m fussing over you like a mother hen. It’s just…”

“I know.” I pat his hand in the dark, resting my head back against his chest. Already, I regret my briefly snippy mood, because this is our first child. Of course Greg is worried. “But the baby is fine, I promise—”

“No, I know that,” he says, tugging lightly on my braid. “I’ve been to all the appointments. I know our baby is healthy and well. It’s you I’m worried about, Maren. Pregnancy is hard, and you’re going through this for both of us, and Christ, if I could do it for you I would.”

Pressing my lips together to fight a smile, I gaze up at the stars. They wink down at me, so bright and mysterious.

“I can do this.”

Greg sighs. “I know you can.”

I find his hand again, knotting our fingers together. “But you’re sweet to worry about me.”

His laugh is blunt. “I will always worry about you, Maren. You’re my whole damn world. When I go to sleep, I think of you. When I wake up, I think of you. In lectures, at the gym, while I’m writing up papers—it’s you, you, you.”

Me, me, me. What did I ever do to deserve such devotion from such an incredible man? Well, whatever it was, the feeling is mutual.

I’m as obsessed with my husband these days as the first time I saw him. More obsessed, if anything. Any time my mind wanders at my job in the newsroom, it wanders straight to him.

Every time Greg is away from me, I miss him, and when he’s here, I can’t get close enough. Want to crawl inside his skin.

A meteor streaks past overhead, burning a silver trail across the night sky. We both fall silent, gazing up. My husband’s heartbeat booms against my back, steady and strong.

“I’m glad we came back here,” I confess into the quiet. “Back to where it all started.”

“Not where it started,” Greg corrects, rubbing his cheek against my hair. “I was already long gone for you by the time we went on that trip. But yes, this is where it all changed.”

Between the mountains and the night sky, meteors streaking overhead.

Cupping the small bulge of my stomach, I sigh and melt back against my husband.

* * *

Thanks for reading Wild Skies! I hope you loved it. :)

For more pining in the mountains, check out Lost in the Wild . I came out here to interview a cryptid. Now he’s carrying me off to his cave.

And for a bonus instalove story, grab your copy of Something Sweet . I spend every Valentine’s Day baking cookies for my friends and neighbors. But the bad boy who just moved to town? He’s hungry for something else…

Happy reading!

xxx