THIRTY-FOUR

Mel

 

I’ve never a met a person who wants me to cry in despair for them as much as he does. He’s so heartbroken, so lost, and yet he hides the bullshit behind this façade of stupidity.

I honestly thought he’d flunked school, he makes out he’s that simple sometimes. But what I’ve got to know these past days is a man who’s so insightful, so heartfelt, it makes me want to weep for whatever happened after his mom died that left his father so angry with him.

It hurts Dog, the rejection. I can see it. Surely his father can see it too?

I use his sweatshirt as a kind of privacy screen, sitting hunched over as I remove my clothes underneath and leave just my bra and panties on. He’s got another sweater in the bag should he get cold, and besides, the smell of him on me, around me, all over me is comforting. As though he owns me.

And I don’t mind that one little bit.

He moves around outside the tent as I settle down on one of the two bedrolls he threw out, sliding the shared blanket over me. It feels naughty, as though we’re a couple of teens sneaking around, sharing a tent. A smile breaks over my face as I suppress the giggle that wants to break free.

Yet as soon as I feel that joy, that comfort he brings me, I’m instantly reminded of why I felt so vastly different mere weeks ago, why he offered to take me away for a break to begin with.

My heart aches for the loss of my father, for the fact I never got to resolve the tension that stuck between us after the incident with Sawyer. But the person I’d do anything to reach out for is Dana, my sweet baby sister. I lay, staring at the empty space beside me, imagining her face there, looking back at me.

She’d be smiling, if I told her the depth of the feelings I have about Dog. Telling me it’s about time I moved on, let go of my grudge with Daddy and lived a little. She was always the more reckless of the two of us, going wherever her whim took her, pushing the boundaries harder, giving Daddy gray hairs.

I miss that, her shit-eating grin as she’d tell me to “Watch this” and then go get herself in trouble.

Breathing hurts by the time Dog holds the door of the tent open and slips inside. The fire outside has died down, yet the one inside of me burns brighter than ever: with anger, the need for revenge, and despair.

I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep so he won’t talk to me, urge me to voice what I’m feeling. I couldn’t. Putting weight behind the thoughts, turning them into real life issues by talking out loud, would make the pain that much worse. They’re better in my head where I can continue to mold and bend them until they don’t seem real; almost like a bad dream I’m trying to wake from.

He hesitates as though watching me. I steady my breathing, concentrating on not showing any outward emotion despite the fact the girl inside wails as she reaches out for the people she loves. The blanket tugs on my hip and I catch the distinct sound of clothes sliding from skin.

Dana bumps my shoulder in my mind, giddy at the prospect of Dog undressed, beside me, under the same blanket. My fists tightens over the fabric, the tears harder to fight the longer she taunts me with her memory.

His legs bump mine, the blanket a ripple over my side as he adjusts it over himself also. I long to reach out and hold on to something real, to find that anchor. But there’s no need when his body heat envelops me with the same relief. Warm breath fans my forehead, and I visualize him there, lying face-to-face with me.

How close he more than likely is.

How welcome.

The whole situation hits me square in the face when I expect it the least. I’ve cried for my losses, lamented the end they met, and done my best to move on—yet until now I haven’t cried for me. For what I’ve been through. For my own loss.

I lost a life I loved. One I didn’t appreciate enough when I had it; always selfishly assuming I could have better. I had everything I needed, I just couldn’t see that.

I try so hard to hold it in, to suppress the turmoil waging war inside me while I lay there, beside a man who’s shown me no ounce of ill-will the whole time I’ve been back at the club.

And that’s what undoes me.

Dog’s empathy for a girl, no, a brat brought back to earth in the worst kind of way. I learned my lesson about abusing my privilege, not being thankful for what I had, and I learned it the worst way imaginable.

I’ve pretended that being strong was the best way to deal with the grief, but in reality, all I did was delay the onset.

My chin dimples as I roll to my other side, giving him my back. Pain radiates through my fist as I clutch the blanket over me as though it could shield me from everything that I feel, past, future, and present.

“Don’t lock it up,” Dog whispers in the dark. “It ain’t healthy, babe.”

Fuck him. Fuck him and always knowing the right thing to say. Fuck him and this amazing side of him I feel blessed to know.

“Fuck you,” I choke out, my body shuddering with unspent sobs.

“Fuck me?” he echoes. “Why?”

“For being exactly what I need.”

He scoots forward as I sniffle pathetically, trying to get myself back under control. His hips collide with my butt, the evidence that he’s a man pressed undeniably against the small of my back. Dog nudges my head, and I lift it as far as I can to allow him to slide his arm underneath. He settles my temple on his bicep, curling his other arm over top to snuggle me in his solid, yet soothing hold.

The knee-jerk reaction to stiffen, to hole up my weakness and parade as some hard-ass who doesn’t feel, washes over me. The “stiff upper lip” Daddy used to tell us kids we needed to have. Dog’s arm weighs heavy as I suck in a deep breath and focus on shoving my burgeoning breakdown back in the remote corner of my mind it belongs in.

“You thinkin’ about them?” he whispers, his breath tickling the back of my head as he nuzzles in close.

“A little,” I manage to say without losing hold of my wits all over again. “Just hearing you talk about your mom, about how hard your dad was on you …”

He makes an understanding grumble, the kind that says, “I know what it’s like; I’ve walked the path too.” My eyes slip closed as he hinges his elbow, pulling me into his front a little more. The sense of being confined is strangely comforting, as though I could let go and trust him to catch me. As though he’d be there no matter what.

It’s a beautiful lie of a love that could comfort a lost and lonely heart such as mine.

“They loved you,” he mumbles against my hair. “You know that, right?”

And there they go again, the tears, rushing forth like a fire hydrant smashed open on a hot summer day; destructive, yet welcomed for the relief it brings.

“Yeah,” I sob. “I know.”

“You think they’d want you unhappy?”

I twist in his hold, wiping my nose with the back of my hand as I settle on my back, head still on his arm. “What are you saying? That I shouldn’t be allowed to grieve?”

“No.” He frowns, the outline of his face illuminated by the dull glow of the fire through the tent. “Just …” He sighs, clearly exasperated with his inability to find the right words. “I wasted time wishing things weren’t how they were after Mom died, and all I’m sayin’ is that I know in retrospect how much of a waste of time it is dwellin’ on the things you can’t change.” He leans away, running his free hand over his face. “Honor them by makin’ the most of what you’ve got: life.”

“Is that what you do?” I snap, pissed he’s still effectively telling me that my grief has a deadline. “Honor your mom by fucking and bingeing your way through life?”

My head hits the bedroll with an unwelcome thud as he rips his arm free. “Fuck, Mel. Why do you have to be so goddamn difficult?”

The opportunity’s there, laid out before me with flashing neon, to argue this and turn it into one hell of a shit fight just so I can validate my need to push him away. I’m unfairly taking my frustrations out on him, and he knows it.

I know it.

“I’m just saying,” I whisper, “that we all handle things differently.” I roll back to how I was, my hearing attuned to the rapid, yet deep breaths he takes.

“He says I killed her.”

What? “Your dad?” I look up to find him lying with both hands over his face.

“Yeah,” comes his muffled reply. “He said it was my fault her heart gave out.”

“Jesus, Dog.” I push up on one elbow. “Why?”

He drops his hands, rolling his head to face me. Blond lengths stick out at odd angles, highlighted by the amber glow of the fire. “I went for dinner, like I always used to, on a Friday night. I’d go have dinner with the family, and then spend the weekend getting wasted so I’d forget why they were so disappointed in me.” He shrugs. “It was routine.”

I shuffle so I lie on my stomach and rest my chin on the heels of my hands while he talks.

He drops an arm over my back to toy with the ends of my hair and continues. “Mom had chemotherapy a few years before and they say it weakened her heart. She was on medication and stuff, but she’d never been right since. I went there that night and told them I’d been patched in.” He takes a deep breath. “She just stared at me, and I thought she was shocked by what I said, but truth was her heart was failin’ and she couldn’t voice the words to tell us. She’d been sick for weeks, but stubborn as she was she said it was just a virus and that it would pass.”

“That sounds awful.” And explains so much. I nestle in closer, resting my head on his chest.

“Her hand hit the table as she reached out for me, and when I touched her I knew it was bad. Shot out of my chair, laid her out on the floor, and yelled at my brother to call an ambulance.” He snorts, a bitter contempt sound. “Dad didn’t even move. Just stared at her as though he couldn’t believe what was happenin’ at first. I held Mom’s hand until she stopped breathing.” His chest jerks, and as I tilt my head I realize why: he cries. “Fuckin’ stared at me with her lifeless eyes and just went. She looked … it was like she wanted it.”

“Dog, I’m so sorry.” Here I am selfishly wallowing in my own pity, not even thinking that he may have experienced the same or worse.

“Don’t be.” He wipes his eyes clear with the side of his hand and then pats me on the back as though finalizing the conversation for himself.

“Thank you for sharing that with me.”

“Feel better?” He laughs sadly, tucking his chin to his chest so he can look down at me.

I push up on my elbows and stare in his darkened eyes. “Nope.”

“Well, fuck.” He chuckles. “Waste of time that was then.”

I smirk, reaching out to caress the line of his jaw. “I don’t feel better, because I hurt for you. That sucks he blames you for that.”

“He said if I hadn’t broken her heart, it would have kept beating.”

“Do you think you broke her heart, though?” I shift a little so I’m closer.

He stares up at the roof of the tent for a while, his brow twitching in and out of a frown as he works things through in his mind. “I don’t think so. She was the one who encouraged me to go out and explore who I was before I got tucked under Dad’s wing at the company.”

“Your dad wanted an apprentice.”

“So to speak. He wanted somebody to beat into shape who couldn’t just resign and walk away.”

“Harsh.”

“The truth.” He reaches for my hand, pulling it higher to his lips and places a kiss on the back of my fingers. “You feel that way? Being the club princess?”

“Sometimes.” I lay my left arm on his chest, propping my chin on it. “Daddy had strict ideas on how our lives would go. He let us be ourselves, but only as long as that fell within the boundaries of the person he saw us as, you know?”

“Completely.”

“He wanted to pick my husband, somebody to sit to Hooch’s left when he took the gavel. It’s why Crackers and I had that awkward … thing. Why I stormed out the first time.”

“Arranged marriage. That’s some fucked up medieval shit right there.” He smiles and then kisses my fingertips.

“Right?” I smile back, amazed at how he always manages to turn my mood around by just being himself. “I’m sorry I was rude to you before.”

“Water off a duck’s back, babe.”

Maybe. “It’s not your fault though.” I let my head drop to his chest again and relish the feel of his fingers in my hair as he strokes it away from my temple. “It wasn’t so much that I miss them—I mean, I do—it’s more that I feel lost. Like, I don’t know who to be now I’m not ‘Judas’ daughter’ or ‘Mel and Dana’.”

“You’re in charge of your own future for the first time.”

I chuckle. “Stupid, isn’t it, when I spent the last year on my own, that I feel lost.”

“Not really.” His hand stills. “That was different. Being alone physically and mentally are two massively different things.”

I push up again, scooting so I’m close enough to kiss him if I wanted to—which I do. “Why do you hide this side of you?” I ask again.

“What side?” His eyes crinkle at the corners.

“You’re so smart. So … insightful.”

“Ain’t much place for that in an MC club is there, babe?”

The sadness in his eyes slays me. “Who says?”

“The culture. The men who make up our numbers.”

“King’s smart and insightful.”

“And look what that did to him.”

Almost killed him. There’s a certain detachment required if a brother is going to make it at the top, a safety-switch that allows the person to shut off the emotional toll such hard decisions take on a man.

“You have a point. Still …”

“Still.”

“I like this side of you better.”

He smirks, reaching out and twirling a length of my hair around his finger, using it to pull me closer—close enough that our lips brush with his next words. “I wasn’t aware you liked the other me at all.”

“I don’t.”

He hums, low in the back of his throat, and fuck me if that isn’t the sexiest sound a man can make. “Good thing I’m choosin’ to be this version of myself tonight then, huh?”

“Why?” I whisper against his mouth.

“Otherwise you wouldn’t let me do this.” He barely moves an inch, but it’s all he needs to pinch my bottom lip between his and gently tug.

The crackle of the fire breaks the silence between us as he stares into my eyes, silently asking. The heat between Dog and me accentuates the cold night air at my back as I lean down and answer him by returning the gesture. He groans as I take his lip between mine, and run my tongue along the plump flesh before letting it go.

“Are we doin’ this?” he whispers, eyes closed as he battles what goes on behind them.

“I think so.” I shuffle my body over his, rearranging the blanket so it still covers us both.

He sighs as I settle my weight over him, his wide hands moving to rest on my hips. “King said he’d kill me if I touched you.”

“You already have.” I chuckle at his lame excuse, sliding my legs on either side of his. “Besides, since when have you listened to what you’re told?”

“Since it made sense to.” He frowns, eyes still closed as I push both hands down on his chest to sit myself up.

The air is cold between us, the space seeming larger because of it, and yet this is the perfect view. His shoulders are strong, the width of his chest accentuated by the narrow waist between my legs as I eye-fuck the hell out of him. He tips his head back and groans in protest, the cut of his square jaw lickable from such an angle.

“Girl, you’re gonna get me killed.”

“By who?” I sass. “Big brother’s gone home. It’s none of any of their business. Who’s gonna care?”

“Me.” Dog’s eyes finally open, and what I see rips the courage straight from my heart.

He’s telling me the truth; he wants me to stop.

I hold his stare, hoping for a flicker of change as I flare my nostrils and push down the rejection that stings like a hot knife. Yet, he stays steadfast, cold and calculated as his hands slip away from my hips and fall to the tent floor.

He’s pleasured me twice now, and yet he doesn’t want me enough to go the whole way.

I’ve ever felt more stupid in my fucking life.

Not only have I been rejected by the first man who connected with me outside of my status in the club, but also by the known man whore of the Lincoln chapter.

How’s that for harsh?

“I’m sorry I misread things,” I mutter as I shuffle off him and to the farthest side of my bedroll. “I thought that was what you wanted. My mistake.”

“Mel …”

His sweatshirt feels unwelcome against my skin, as warm as it is, so I pull the fabric from my body and throw it aside not giving a fuck that I sit in nothing but my bra. What does it matter when he’s clearly not interested anymore, anyway?

“Put it back on.”

“No.”

He startles me as he jerks upright and reaches to his feet to grab the offending article of clothing. Dog thrusts it at me, the soft fabric slapping me in the chest as he comes short of punching it right into me.

“Put it on. You’ll get cold.”

I stare him down, bleeding every ounce of venom I can into my gaze as I will him to back the fuck off. “What changed? Huh?” I shake my head. “Got what you wanted from me already?”

He moves to his knees, the sweatshirt still thrust at my chest. “Don’t be fuckin’ stupid.”

“What else am I to think? You didn’t care what anyone thought before, so why now?”

I’m suddenly acutely aware of everything around us as the tension intensifies: the crackle of the dying fire, the shadows it casts on the walls of the tent, his breathing, mine, and the undeniable pull that has us leaning into each other despite the fact I’m waiting for one of us to throw the first punch.

“Because,” he pushes out, “maybe he’s right? I’m worried that if I keep rushin’ you along, you’ll just think I’m only after the end goal, babe. I want you to know that I’m serious. I want you to know you’re different.”

His fist full of material hits my chest as I lean far enough toward him, his free hand dropping to the tent floor to steady himself as he tilts off balance. I push back, he leans in, and without another word being uttered we agree on the only logical end to this stand off.

The sweatshirt hits the side of the tent with a rebound, settling on the floor near my knee as I scoot forward and climb onto Dog’s lap. He sits back on his heels, using his large hands to jerk my hips forward, toward his. A gasp leaves my lips as his still hard length presses against me, a wicked grin spreading over his lush lips as he grinds me purposefully against it.

“Show me,” I demand, letting my head drop back wantonly as he runs his nose up my throat. “Show me why I’m different.”

He presses a kiss to my jugular before answering. “Are you sure?” I wilt as he circles his tongue around the same spot. “I don’t want you sayin’ yes just because it’s what I want.” He chuckles. “You know if it were up to me, woman, I’d marry you tomorrow.”

“I want this, too, Dog.” His hair runs like silk between my fingers as I comb through it. “I want you.”

With one strong hand pressed between my shoulders, he arches my body effortlessly, offering my chest up to him to be devoured. And he does, kissing a path from my throat to between my breasts, reaching up with his free hand to release them from the constriction of my bra, only to then feast on the hard nipples with a deft tongue and caressing lips.

My arms drop behind me, my body lax as he rewards me with the kind of touch I haven’t known for years. Straight up adoration.

It makes me hunger to return the favor.

“Lie down, babe.” Dog gently lowers the arm he holds behind me, letting me fall to the floor in a controlled manner as he helps me push up the bed roll to lie out straight. I arch my back as he fiddles with the clasp of my bra, lifting one shoulder and then the other to help him slip it off. He rocks back on his heels again as he sets the black garment aside, his lips curled up on the side as he peruses what’s laid out before him: me.

“I get why your chapter’s so screwed up, babe.” He shakes his head, chuckling. “Would have been fuckin’ torture seein’ you every day and knowin’ I wasn’t allowed to touch—enough to drive any man crazy.”

“Life’s dull without a little madness,” I smirk at him, sure it would have felt the same had the roles been reversed.

He lowers himself over me, propped up on one forearm as he places a kiss to my navel, then another a little higher. All I can do is stare at his mess of blond hair, my hand lifting of its own volition from beside me. I bury my fingers in the lengths, curling them to take hold of his head. Dog’s lips pull at my stomach as he smiles, still kissing his way back up to my neck.

“Bet women tug on your hair all the time,” I whisper as he places a kiss to my throat.

“Yeah.” He pushes hard on the hand that braces him and rises up over me, my fingers falling free of his locks. “But I’ve never enjoyed the pain all that much until now.”

“That so?”

“Mm-hmm.”

I let my eyes drift closed, my lips wide with a smile as he lowers himself again. Hot lips capture mine, his tongue gently stroking across the seam. I tilt my head a little, returning my hands to his head as he does the same, deepening the contact.

The adrenaline takes me by surprise; the elation of having Dog’s lips on mine, his hand carefully stroking my side, and his hips rocking into mine sending my body into overdrive.

He breaks from the kiss and rests his forehead against mine as I slowly open my eyes. Deep chocolate greets me as I meet his gaze and smile, the reaction mirrored in the tilt of his mouth.

“What?” I whisper, conscious of the fact he’s still staring, still smiling.

He blinks a couple of times, and then juts his chin forward far enough to place a chaste kiss to my lips. “Making memories, babe. That’s all.”

My palms skate over his bare back, the heat in my cheeks a dead giveaway of how deeply that simple statement got to me. The truth of how he feels is right there before me if I look for it: if all he wanted was another notch on his belt, he wouldn’t care for sentiments and meaningful looks. I would have been lucky to lose any more clothes before he dove straight to the point of the exercise. Yet, here he is, telling me sweet nothings as he runs a gentle fingertip along the side of my face.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” I push my head back into the bedding so I can see his face clearer.

He looks down, away from my eyes, and smiles. “I wanted the time to be right,” he murmurs, “but I don’t know if it ever will be, if it’ll ever be perfect enough for what you deserve.”

I reach for his face, cupping it in my palms, and run my thumbs over his cheekbones. “Right for what?”

He sucks in a deep breath as I let go of his face, and holds my gaze as he admits, “I love you, Mel. That’s how different you are, how much you mean to me.” He frowns, seemingly unsure of himself. “If you don’t feel the same way, just don’t tell me, okay? Just … I don’t know. Pretend a while longer? I don’t want to lose this just yet.”

I chuckle, tucking my chin up as I look at this vulnerable man who hid behind the lie. “Oh, Dog. I’m sorry.”

His eyes slip closed, the pain so clear.

“I like you, a lot, but I couldn’t love you.”

He tries to move away, yet I loop my arms under his and hold him to me with my hands pressed flat on his shoulder blades.

“Hear me out, please.”

The anguish in his gaze as he reopens his eyes almost has me second-guessing what I’ve said, except he has to know.

“I can’t love you, Dog, because it wouldn’t be fair to Koen.”

His lips twitch in the corners, as though he’s not quite sure whether he should believe what I’ve said.

“I love you, Koen. Even when he’s playing pretend.”

“You fuckin’ devil woman.” He grips my face hard between his hands, his palms covering my ears so tight that my sense of hearing is blocked, heightening the kiss he delivers.

I feel my way along the curves of the muscles in his back, down to the dip before his butt as he pulls back and takes me in with new eyes. He grumbles, deep in his chest, as I circle my thumbs in the dimples at the small of his back.

“I could do this all night, you know.”

“We’ve got all night,” I remind him.

“Enough talkin’ though, babe. Actions, not words from now on.”

I chuckle at the playfulness in his eyes, the rise of his cheeks as he flashes the dashing smile that’s ruined more women than I’d care to acknowledge.

“Okay.”

I let go of his face and hook both thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, then push.

“Yeah,” he grumbles in that throaty way that drives me wild and lifts his hips.

I wrestle them down past his thighs, and then hook a foot in the material to thrust them clear of his legs. He kicks the boxers off, knocking my legs wide as he settles his between them again.

The fire outside is near non-existent; the shadows overtake inside the tent making Dog no more than a silhouette as he retreats to kneel between my ankles, his hands on either side of my thighs. I reach out for his hair again, knotting my fingers in the lengths as he leans down, his strong shoulders arched, and runs his nose up the damp fabric between my legs.

I damn near hit the roof when he drops his open mouth over my panty-clad mound and gusts a heavy breath against the swollen flesh beyond, sucking it back in equally as hard to create a contrast of hot breath interspersed with cool night air.

“Fucking smells like magic,” he mutters, easing the fabric aside with one finger.

I never thought of somebody smelling me would turn me on, but damn, it so does.

The tip of his tongue meets bare flesh, flicking, teasing, taunting. My chest aches with the moan that breaks free as he brings me to the edge. I grip his hair with such conviction I’m sure his scalp must be on fire, and yet he doesn’t seem to mind; it makes him lick faster.

“Fuck, Dog … that’s …”

“Good?” he mumbles around my pussy.

I just about come from the vibrations alone.

“Yeah.” My head drops back, and I run my fingertips around the shell of his ear, along the line of his jaw, and back into his hair as he continues to eat me out like a man who hasn’t feasted for days.

I’m reminded of the reputation he has among the women of the club when he waits until the absolute last moment before I explode, and then slips two fingers inside to finish me off with such intensity I trap his head between my thighs as I cry out my release.

He’s known to be a master in bed, an animal between the sheets, and a guaranteed good time. He’s known for the fact he doesn’t get attached—ever.

And yet here he is, as attached to me as he could get, after telling me that I’m the one for him. It seems as though I tamed the bad boy without really trying. But to be honest, I think he was never that wild to begin with.

Dog raises up on his elbows between my quivering legs to give me a wet grin, and I can’t help but laugh, finishing off with a sigh.

“What?” His smile grows, his eyes wrinkled at the corners as he wipes his mouth with the back of one hand and sits back on his heels.

“You’re mine,” I say, trying not to sound as crazy as I feel. “All mine.”

He eyes me, tipping his head slightly as he takes his erect cock in hand and strokes it slowly. “How did you not know that already?”

I squeeze my thighs one last time at the tingles that still remain and then shift to my knees. “Guess I was too focused on wanting to be yours.”

He chuckles, pulling me onto his lap. “Babe, you’ve been mine since you first stood before me with a bottle of Jack and asked if I wanted a drink.” His eyes grow dark, the hunger as raw as his voice. “I just needed to prove it.”

I loop my arms over his shoulders and shuffle up his thighs, tilting my hips so as to rub the length of him in the process. His fingers bite into my ass cheeks as he takes a firm hold, and lifts me higher to line my pussy up with the tip of his cock.

“We can’t,” I whisper.

He groans, hands tightening to the point of pain. “Why? I thought we went over this shit already?”

“No, I mean I haven’t been on birth control since I left.”

He gently sets me down on his thighs, the restraint a true testament to the man as he leans to the left and snatches the strap of the pack. I watch as he unzips the top compartment, fusses around, and comes out with a condom.

“Really?” I tease. “That confident?”

“I like to plan for the best,” he says with a smile as he tears the foil open.

My muscles clench, watching him sheath that weapon, anticipating what comes next. Sure enough, the second he’s covered himself he lifts me once again and without any hesitation, lowers me over him.

My eyes roll back, my head lolling to the side as he fills and stretches me.

“Okay?”

I nod, wriggling in my seat a little to ask for more.

Dog lifts me and then drops me down again, this time harder. I rest my hands over his forearms, feeling the muscles at work as he sets a punishing pace.

We didn’t stand a chance at making this last. That’s what the second, third, and every time after is for. The first? Let’s just say the two of us have some frustrations to work out.

I cry out as he rocks hard into me with every drop of his hands, moving my own to his shoulders so I can steady myself. Our skin slick with sweat, the air in the tent stifling due to the heat we give off as Dog grits his teeth and groans.

“It’s too …” His words fail him as he stills, and then slams hard into me twice before resuming the frantic pace from before.

He didn’t need to finish what he tried to say because I get it. It is too good. Almost saddening to think we took this long to realize what we have.

I feel him swell inside of me as he murmurs, breathless, “I love you so fuckin’ much.”

My own release follows soon after, intense and crippling as I collapse against him whispering back, “Mine.”