Eloping with the Cowboy Fireman Bonus Scene

“Wow,” I mutter, rolling onto my side to face him. “So, I just accidentally married a stalker. Good to know.”

“Careful,” he says, voice dropping. “You say that like you didn’t chase me right back.”

I scoff. “I did not chase you.”

“Mmhm.” He shifts closer, the denim of his jeans brushing my leg. “You kept looking at me.”

“That’s called observing.”

“That’s called wanting me.”

Guilty as charged. Heat climbs up my neck.

“And last I remembered you paid a whole five hundred dollars just for the pleasure of my company.”

“Don’t fool yourself,” I whisper dark and seductive. “I paid for muscle and safety. Kind of like a bodyguard, remember?”

“And how have I done with your body so far?” he murmurs.

“Quiet one,” I snort. “Dallas should’ve billed you as the naughty one.”

“Only with you,” he says, slow and sure. “You don’t seem bothered by it, though.”

“How can you be so sure?” I ask, shifting closer, hungry for his warmth.

“You’re still here.”

I open my mouth to argue… and pause. Because he’s right. I am still here. In the back of his truck. Under a sky full of stars. With a man I definitely didn’t mean to marry… and somehow don’t regret.

Not even a little.

“That doesn’t prove anything,” I say, but it comes out softer than I intend.

“Proves enough.” His big, warm hand finds mine where it’s resting between us.

My breath catches just a little. It still surprises me sometimes. How steady he is. How easy it is to… lean into him. “You always this confident?” I ask.

“Only when I’m right.”

“And you think you’re right about me?”

His thumb brushes slowly over my knuckles. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I do.”

Something in my chest tightens… dangerous in a completely different way than what I’m used to.

I swallow. “That’s a bold claim for a man who married me after knowing me for, what, six hours?”

“Didn’t take six hours.”

“Oh my God,” I groan, dropping my head back against the truck bed. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.”

“I tolerate it.”

His hand slides from mine, settling at my waist, pulling me just an inch closer. Just enough to remind me I’m here… with him.

“You keep telling yourself that,” he murmurs.

My pulse kicks. Annoying. Very annoying.

I open my mouth, ready with a comeback but stop short. Because he’s closer now. Much closer.

Close enough that I can see the shift in his expression. The humor fading just a notch. Something deeper taking its place.

“Well,” I say, because apparently, I’ve lost all ability to form coherent thoughts, “this feels like a trap.”

His mouth curves. “Yeah,” he says. “It is.”

My pulse stutters. “Donovan—”

“Phoenix,” he corrects softly.

I narrow my eyes. “We are not doing nicknames right now.”

His thumb brushes my hip, slow, deliberate. “Feels like we are.”

“That’s not—” My breath hitches when his hand tightens just slightly. “That’s not fair.”

“Didn’t say it was.”

I push at his chest, but there’s no real force behind it. Not when he’s looking at me like that. Not when my body’s already betraying me in a hundred tiny ways. “You’re very sure of yourself,” I manage.

“Not about everything.”

“Oh?” I challenge. “What aren’t you sure about?”

His gaze drops to my mouth. “Whether you’re gonna keep talking,” he says quietly, “or finally let me kiss you.”

“That’s—” I swallow. “That’s a loaded question.”

His hand slides higher, fingers tightening just enough to pull me closer until there’s barely any space left between us. “Then answer it careful, Burgundy.”

“Maybe,” I murmur, “I’m waiting to see if you’re worth it.”

His mouth curves, slow and dangerous. “Yeah,” he says.

It comes out on a sigh. “You are.”

Then he kisses me, slow and deliberate. Lips moving with that easy talent that puts a throb between my legs. His hand comes up, angling my head, deepening it. My fingers grip his shirt before I even realize what I’m doing, and a low moan escapes my lips.

His hand squeezes my waist—grounding and steady—while his mouth moves against mine like he’s already memorized me. Like he’s not guessing. He knows.

I make another soft sound—half protest, half something else entirely—and he pulls back just enough to look at me.

“Still tolerating me?” he murmurs.

I blink up at him, breathless. “Barely.”

“Liar.”

“Arrogant—”

He kisses me again, cutting me off, and this time I don’t even pretend to resist. Because there’s something about him—about this—that feels less like falling… and more like landing exactly where I was always meant to be.

When he finally pulls back, my lips are tingling, my head a little light, my thoughts completely gone.

“Truck bed,” I say faintly. “Stars. Questionable life choices…”

“Speak for yourself.” His thumb brushes my bottom lip, slow and thoughtful. “Best one I ever made.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “We’ll see.”

His eyes darken just a fraction. “Oh,” he says, voice low, certain. “You will.”

He leans in again, close enough that I feel the heat of him, the promise of him, the certainty of what comes next.

“And explain how that works?” I sigh, watching his fingers take their time, slowly unbuttoning my shirt. My breath quickens when his calloused hand slides beneath, then hitches in my throat as his thumb swipes over my pebbled nipple.

“Oh, you like that?” he asks darkly.

“You know I do.”

“I know what else you like…” He palms my cheek, lifting my face until my eyes meet his. “Wife.”

One syllable. Too much heat to process.

Instead, I feel it. Let it unravel me as his hands keep working, stripping me down until I’m trembling on the blankets.

“Cold, yet?” he asks, lips descending to kiss along my collarbone, down one shoulder. Then, repeated on the other side.

“Hardly,” I manage between pants.

His calloused hands come up, cupping my breasts, thumbs doing their magic all over again until he replaces one with his mouth. I gasp at the soft, slick heat, arching into the feeling of his tongue swirling around me.

He sucks and teases, a growl rumbling up from his chest as his hands move lower. I squeeze my legs together, frantic for friction. He slides a knee between them, making room. Claiming his territory.

When he thumbs open my jeans, unzipping them devastatingly slow, my eyes dart to the dark, distant woods.

“But what if somebody sees us?” I ask, voice breaking at the end as his finger slips beneath the lace of my panties.

“Nobody out here but you and me and these stars,” he says, looking up. He brings some of their fire and heat with him when his gaze fixes on me again.

His lips are on mine, hands sliding deeper with each pass. Awakening every inch of me.

“Need another taste. Been thinking about it all day.”

“You have been?”

His head darts up, face mischievous. “Think about you more than I should at work. About nights like this, when I can show you how I really feel beneath a country sky.”

He pulls my jeans down in one efficient move, then kisses the front of my panties, tongue darting out. “Nice and juicy, just the way I like you.”

“Good,” I gasp at another swipe of his tongue. “Because thinking about you… does crazy things to my body.”

“Like what?” he asks, a naughty finger tracing the side of my panties down to the spot where I need him so much I can barely form a sentence.

“Makes me—” I moan. His finger slides back and forth along my folds, teasing me. I can’t help it, hips shifting incrementally toward him. “So wet, cowboy. Makes me drip.”

The panties disappear. Then, he slides into me slow and easy, first one finger then two. They work rhythmically, right where I need him, merciless. Until my hand is in his hair, and I’m begging.

“Tell me what you need, Burgundy. I want specifics.”

“I need your lips on me.”

“Yeah, and what else?”

“I—I,” my head lolls back, his strokes too perfect… downright dangerous. I tighten around him, tension coiling. “Need you to kiss me down there. Suck me. Tongue me.”

His fingers move again, finding that spot that unravels me. His movements are steady, sure. And so unfair. Expert pressure and pace to make me come undone.

“Please, husband,” I add.

That’s all it takes. His head disappears between my legs, and I squeeze my eyes shut. But I still see stars—bolder now, more vibrant. He circles and laps me, sucks and teases with his teeth.

Not stopping until I’m floating away with those stars. Flying among them. My walls spasm around him, heart racing. His tongue flicks and teases me. Then, he sucks me again, rhythmic, paced for total wreckage.

My fingers tangle in his hair, hand pressing him greedily against me. And that’s when he replaces his fingers with his tongue. Thumb moving over my swollen clit now, thick warmth penetrating and taking, curling and teasing.

I fracture hard, gasping and bucking my hips. He never stops, teasing and talking me through it. Taking his time. Only when I lie boneless in the thick layer of blankets does he finally let me catch my breath.

I gaze up at the night. A falling star streaks past. I close my eyes, not wishing. Thanking the universe for what I’ve already got. All I need.

His fly zipper whirs, and desire throbs through me again. Ravenous. Feral.

He leans against the back window of the cab, grabbing my hips and pulling until I straddle him, palms pressed into his shoulders.

He plops the Stetson on my head. “Riding lesson,” he growls. “It’s all about the hips… and the rhythm.”

My mouth goes pouty, and his eyes drop, simmering. “That’s not all,” I whisper against his ear, lowering myself slowly over him. Taking him inch by inch. “It’s about control, too.”

A desperate groan sticks in his throat, hands squeezing my hips as he guides me now, slow but insistent. Sweet torture.

“Best bad decision of my life,” he grunts, breath rising and falling with each sway of my hips, each downward thrust until we breathe and move as one.

Lost in the same pleasure.

Buried beneath the stars.

And somewhere between the way he moves… and the way he says my name, it hits me.

This isn’t something I fell into.

It’s something I chose.

Him.

And God help me… I’d choose him again.

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