The radio crackles. Static. Then the driver’s bored voice cuts through the midnight air.
“Sorry, ma’am. Can’t get that specific gasket out tonight. Store’s closed. Truck’ll be here by six a.m.”
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone. Cold dread pools in my stomach.
Six hours. Outside. In the dark. With the wind biting through my thin jacket.
Colt watches me. His eyes are dark. Heavy. Unblinking.
He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t tease.
He just steps closer. The air shifts. Thick. Electric.
“You’re staying here,” he says. Low. Final.
“I—” My voice cracks. “I can’t just wait outside.”
“I know.”
He turns. Moves toward the heavy metal door behind the counter. The kind that leads to the inner sanctum of a place like this.
“Back room’s clean. Bed’s made. You rest. I’ll be out front if you need me.”
My brain screams *run*. This is bad. This is reckless. Strangers aren’t safe. Gas stations at midnight aren’t safe.
But when I look up at him, his jaw is locked. His gaze drags down my body like a physical touch. Hot. Possessive.
He already knows I’m staying.
He already knows I’m his.
The thought should terrify me.
It doesn’t.
I step across the threshold.
He holds the door. The hinge groans. Warm air spills out, smelling of leather, sandalwood, and something deeply, unmistakably *him*.
I should say no. I should thank him, walk back to my car, wait in it, sleep in the parking lot.
But my feet don’t move on their own.
They follow him.
The back room is small. Dim. One heavy desk, a worn couch, a narrow bed against the far wall. Filing cabinets. A single overhead bulb throws long shadows that cling to the corners.
He locks the door behind me. The click echoes in my ribs.
“Sit,” he says. Nods toward the desk.
I don’t sit. I stand. My hands shake. My pulse hammers in my throat.
He closes the distance in three long strides.
One hand cups my jaw. The other slides down my spine, pressing me flush against him.
I gasp. Heat. Weight. Power.
“You’re freezing,” he murmurs. His thumb strokes my cheekbone. “My sweet baby.”
The word hits me like a live wire. *Baby.*
He’s already claiming me. Already wrapping his arms around my soul.
“Colt—”
“Shh.” His lips brush my temple. “You’re safe with me. You hear me? Safe.”
I nod. I don’t trust my voice.
He turns me. Guides me backward until my knees hit the edge of the desk. Paperwork slides to the floor. A lamp crashes. He doesn’t care.
His hands are everywhere. Rough. Demanding.
He yanks my jacket off my shoulders. Lets it fall. Then my hands go to his belt.
“Let me,” he growls.
He pushes me down onto the wood. It’s hard. Unforgiving. Perfect.
I arch my back. Look up at him.
He’s already unbuttoning his shirt. The fabric parts. Muscle. Dark hair. The hard line of his chest.
My breath hitches.
“Fuck,” he curses. His eyes darken. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
He kicks my boots off. Then my jeans. They pool around my ankles.
His hands slide up my thighs. Push the fabric of my underwear aside.
I’m already wet. Dripping. Soaked for him.
He groans. Low. Rough. A sound that vibrates straight down my spine.
“God, you’re perfect.”
He strips the rest of his clothes. Jumps his boots. His boxers.
And then he’s bare.
Thick. Heavy. Veined. Hard as stone.
I reach for him. My fingers wrap around his cock. He’s hot. Pulsing. Already leaking pre-cum.
He hisses. His hips buck into my hand.
“Look at me,” he commands.
I do.
His eyes are black with hunger. With something deeper. Something ancient.
He lines himself up. Presses the broad head against my pussy.
I break. “Colt, please—”
“I’ve got you.”
He pushes in.
I cry out. Stretch. Fill. Every inch of him.
He’s so deep. So perfect.
He stills. Letting me adjust. Letting me take him.
His hand cups my throat. Not to choke. To claim. To anchor.
“You feel like heaven,” he rasps. “Like you were made for me.”
He starts to move.
Slow at first. Deep. Deliberate.
Then he picks up pace.
The desk groans. Paperwork slides further. My head falls back.
He’s fucking me like he’s been starving. Like I’m the only thing keeping him alive.
Every thrust hits that spot. That deep, sweet place that makes my toes curl.
I wrap my legs around his waist. Pull him deeper.
“Harder,” I beg. “Please, Daddy—”
The word slips out. Unfiltered. Raw.
He snaps.
“Fuck.” His grip tightens. “You called me that.”
I nod. Tears prick my eyes. “I need you. I need you inside me. Breed me. Keep me.”
He curses. Swears my name.
Then he’s pounding into me.
Raw. Unrelenting.
The desk shakes. The wall shakes. My whole world shakes.
He’s hitting my cervix. Deep. So deep I see stars.
“Mine,” he growls. “You’re mine now. Say it.”
“Yours,” I sob. “I’m yours. Only yours.”
He groans. A sound of pure worship.
“Good girl. Taking it so well. My sweet, perfect baby.”
I’m unraveling. Tangled in his scent. Drowning in his rhythm.
His hand slides down. Fingers finding my clit. Rubbing. Circles. Pressure.
The friction. The stretch. The sheer *him*.
I shatter.
My orgasm rips through me. Violent. Total.
I clamp down around him. Screaming his name.
That’s his undoing.
He drives in deep. Holds it there.
“I’m cumming. I’m filling you.”
He erupts.
Hot. Thick. Relentless.
He pumps load after load deep inside me.
Each spurt makes me shudder. Makes me cling to him.
He groans my name like a prayer.
“Take it. All of it. You’re carrying me now.”
I feel it. Every pulse. Every drop.
He’s breeding me. Claiming me. Marking me from the inside out.
He stays buried. Breathing hard. Forehead pressed to mine.
His hand slides up my stomach. Rests over my lower belly.
“Already growing on you,” he murmurs. Voice rough. Satisfied. Possessive.
“Colt,” I whisper.
“I’ve got you,” he repeats. “Always.”
He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t clean up.
He just holds me. Lets me feel every throb. Every aftershock.
His lips find my hair. My neck. My lips.
A kiss that tastes like salt and devotion.
“You’re staying,” he says. Not a question. A vow. “When my truck comes, you’re riding with me. You’re moving in with me. We’re doing this right. You, me, and whatever’s growing inside you.”
I should be afraid.
I’m not.
I press my hand over his on my stomach. Feel the warmth. Feel the life already threading between us.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Take me home. Make me your wife. Make me your baby.”
He growls. Low. Satisfied.
“Already have you.”
He finally pulls out. The wet sound echoes in the quiet room.
I shiver. Miss him already.
He grabs his shirt. Wraps it around my shoulders. Then lifts me like I weigh nothing.
Carries me to the bed.
Lays me down. Covers me with his body.
His arm bands around my waist. Pulls me against his chest.
I listen to his heartbeat. Slow. Steady. Mine.
Outside, the wind howls.
Inside, I’m safe.
I’m claimed.
I’m carrying his child.
And I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.
He presses a kiss to my forehead.
“Sleep, baby,” he murmurs. “I’ll be here when you wake up. Always.”
I close my eyes.
Dream in his scent.
And wait for the life he planted to take root.