Page 32 of August’s Cowboy Braxton

She opened her eyes and caught me doing it. "Stop thinking."

"That’s not really how I'm built."

Her mouth curved. "Then think about how much I want you."

I groaned and dropped my forehead to hers. "That's not helping."

"It wasn't supposed to." She kissed me again, slow and deep, then whispered against my mouth. "Stop asking and start doing."

So I did. I slid inside her, giving her time to adjust and take me inch by inch. Fuck, she was tight. And wet. And hot. And when she said my name again, there wasn't a damn thing controlled or careful about either of us.

We moved together, setting a rhythm that was painfully slow and too damn fast at the same time. I wanted to last all night, to take her to the edge over and over again. She came apart once, her fingers gripping my shoulders hard enough to bruise. Then she flipped us over, hovering above me and taking control.

I held out as long as I could as she took me deeper and tightened her core around my cock. With her head tossed back and her palms flat against my chest, she was irresistible. As soon as she gave in, I chased after her and we fell together. She was mine, I was hers, and in the moment, nothing else mattered.

Afterward, she curled against my side, her head on my chest, one leg thrown over mine. I traced patterns on her bare shoulder and tried to remember the last time I'd felt this settled.

"That was—" she started.

"Yeah."

She let out a soft laugh. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

"Doesn’t matter. Whatever it was, the answer is yeah."

I could have laid there looking at her all night long, this version of her that belonged just to me. But then her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

"Could be nothing," I said.

"Could be."

But we both knew it wasn't. She reached for it slowly and pulled up the message. Every muscle in her body tensed.

"What does it say?"

She turned the screen toward me.

Don't go looking for the other album. He won't be able to save you.

Only one person knew about the other album.

"Evie," Addison whispered.

"Yeah."

She sat up and clutched the sheet to her chest. "What do we do now?"

"Now we know who. We still need proof and the missing historical material."

"So I still go to the stock office."

"No."

"Braxton—"

"Together," I amended. "We go together. And we go prepared."

She looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. "Together."