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Goddamn that hair. That body. This girl. This fucking girl who’s healed my wounds, my nightmares, this last year.
I’m a soldier. A man of rules. Secrets. But when it comes to Dakota McGraw, I’ve broken every single one of them.
Tonight, she’s mine. I’m taking her. Let her go into the world smelling of my cum and knowing I’ve been the last one to touch, to taste her.
“Baby, you won’t be able to crawl.”
My heart hammers, and I look to the window like I can stop the sun from rising. At dawn, she’ll be gone, and there’s not a thing I can do about it.
want you to take these,” I order. Almost hesitantly, she fingers the tag. “Remember, Koty, you need anything, you call me.”
“I mean it. Anytime you ask, I’ll be there. Five seconds, five minutes, five lifetimes. I will always come for you. No matter what.”
Fuck. If Dakota’s in trouble, it means I’ll kill someone. Again.
“You came,” she says, sighing into my chest. “You called.” I exhale, tension leaving my body as I wrap my arms around her.
“Who did this, Dakota?” I demand, fighting to keep my voice controlled even as my breath comes out in ragged pants. “Who. The fuck. Did this?”
I can’t decide if I’m going to kill him slow or kill him fast. Break his knees or break his fucking neck.
Duty means keeping her safe. Discipline means keeping my fucking hands off her.
Fuck it.
“I’m not your hero,” I tell her and she casts me a sideways glance in the dark. “You’ve always been able to save yourself.” I pull her closer. “But I am your anchor. Because I will always be there when you need something to ground you.”
“But…” My mind cartwheels. “Everyone will know, Davis. Everyone will think you’re the father.” I rapidly blink against the warm sear of tears, Davis’s possessive arm around my waist. “Oh my God.” Davis curls one hand around the cart handle and guides us forward. Amusement creases his handsome face. “That’s kind of the point, Cupcake.”
A wave of primal protection crests over me. In a single action, I’ve claimed her. And her baby.
I’ve accepted his words for what they are—a claiming. Some tentative, happy, love-drunk space.
I want all of your years, Dakota. I lost six of them. I won’t lose any more.”
“We got shit to celebrate, don’t we? Babies, bakeries, bulls. Let’s put the wild in this west.”
