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“No,” I gasp. “Don’t stop.”

“You don’t come until I say.” He stands, and I hear the crinkle of a condom wrapper. “Not yet.”

He notches himself at my entrance, and I push back, desperate to feel him inside me. He grabs my hips and holds me still, making me wait, making me feel every inch as he sinks in slowly, torturously.

“You feel that?” His voice is rough, strained. “Feel how deep I am?”

“Yes,” I breathe. “God, yes.”

“This is where I belong. Inside you. Buried so deep you’ll feel me for days.” He pulls back and thrusts hard, and I scream, the sound lost to the desert wind. “This is what you were thinking about at that bar. Not the drinks. Not the dancing. This. My cock splitting you open.”

“Yes,” I moan. “Yes, fuck, yes.”

He sets a brutal pace, each thrust punctuated by the slap of skin against skin. His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise, and I know I’ll wear those marks tomorrow like jewelry. His thumb finds my other entrance, pressing against the tight ring of muscle, and I clench around him.

“Relax,” he commands. “Let me in.”

I force myself to relax, and he pushes inside, just the tip of his thumb, and the dual sensation of his cock and his thumb sends me spiraling. I’m shaking, gasping, clinging to the ledge as he takes me apart piece by piece.

“You’re mine,” he growls, driving deeper. “Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Walker. All of me. Only yours.”

He reaches around, fingers finding my clit, and that’s it. The spring snaps. I come so hard my vision whites out, and I’m screaming his name into the night, body convulsing around him. He follows seconds later, a guttural roar torn from his chest, hips slamming into me with desperate, jerking thrusts.

We collapse against the ledge, both of us breathing like we’ve run a marathon. His forehead presses between my shoulder blades, and I feel his heart hammering against my back, a counterpoint to my own racing pulse.

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. The Vegas lights blur below us, and the desert wind cools our sweat-slicked skin. I feel him soften inside me, and he pulls out carefully, tying off the condom and tucking it into his pocket because even in the afterglow, Walker Creed doesn’t leave evidence.

He pulls my jeans up for me, turns me around, and cups my face in both hands. His thumbs trace my cheekbones, and his expression, when I meet his eyes, makes my chest ache.

“Don’t do that again,” he says quietly.

“I won’t.”

“I mean it, Poppy.” His voice is raw, stripped of its usual control. “I can handle a lot of things. I can handle guns and knives and men who want me dead. But losing you ... that I can’t handle.”

I raise my hand to his face, tracing the scar beside his mouth. “You’re not going to lose me.”

“I almost did tonight. I looked up, and you were gone, and for three minutes, I thought...” He stops. Swallows. “Three minutes doesn’t sound like much, but it’s enough time to imagine every worst-case scenario. Every way I could lose you.”

“Walker...”

“I’m not good at this.” He leans into my touch. “I’m not good at words or feelings or any of the shit normal people do. But I know when you weren’t there, my heart stopped. And I know that when I found you, it started again.”

My throat tightens. “That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.”

He kisses me, soft this time, slow and deep and tasting of everything we just shared. When he pulls back, I see the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Raven and Harper are going to be insufferable about this,” I murmur.