Chapter 1: The Claiming Under the Stars
The gravel bit into my bare knees before I even felt the cold. He'd hauled me up over the tailgate like I weighed nothing, like I was something he'd decided to claim and there was no point in pretending otherwise. The metal ridges of the truck bed pressed against my spine through the thin fabric of my dress, and I gasped at the shock of it—that sharp, immediate cold that cuts through the haze of want.
Colt loomed above me, a dark silhouette against the bruised purple sky. The ranch lights behind him cast his face in shadow, but I could see the glint of his eyes, that knowing look that had been tracking me all night from across the bar. He hadn't said much when he'd approached me. Just a slow once-over and a jerk of his chin toward the door. And I'd followed. God help me, I'd followed.
"You're shaking," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the air between us.
I tried to laugh, but it came out breathless. "It's cold."
His mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "That ain't why."
No. It wasn't. I'd never been looked at the way he was looking at me right now—like I was prey and prize all at once, like he'd already decided exactly what he wanted and was simply taking his time enjoying the anticipation. My heart hammered against my ribs. Five hours ago, I'd been sitting in my sterile apartment in the city, scrolling through the same dating app with the same hollow feeling in my chest. Now I was here, sprawled in the bed of a stranger's pickup, my dress already rucked up around my thighs, and I'd never felt more alive.
His hands found the hem of my dress. Calloused. Rough. Sun-darkened skin that had spent years working the land, not tapping keyboards in an office. He tore at the fabric with an impatience that made my breath catch, and the sound of it—that sharp, decisive rip—sent a thrill through me that was almost dizzying.
"Easy," I whispered, though I didn't mean it. I didn't want easy. I wanted exactly this: the feeling of being wanted so badly that someone couldn't wait, couldn't be gentle, couldn't do anything but take what they desired.
Colt paused, his hands stilling on my thighs. His eyes found mine in the dim light, and something flickered there—a question, maybe, or a warning. "You tell me to stop, I stop. But I ain't gonna be gentle, Maggie."
Hearing my name in that gravel voice did something to me. I'd told him my name an hour ago, when he'd first nodded at me from across the room. He'd been leaning against the bar, a beer in his hand, watching me with an intensity that had made me feel like the only woman in the world. And now here I was, about to give myself to him in the back of his truck, and I couldn't summon a single regret.
"Who said I wanted gentle?"
The growl that escaped him was almost feral. He dropped to his knees in the truck bed, the suspension groaning beneath his weight, and hooked his hands behind my knees, pulling me toward him with a single, decisive motion. I fell back against the cool metal, my elbows barely catching me as my head tipped back and the stars wheeled overhead.
"Colt—" The word died in my throat as he buried his face between my thighs.
The first stroke of his tongue was a revelation. Slow and deliberate, a tease that made my hips buck against his mouth. He laughed against my skin, the vibration sending sparks through my entire body, and then he did it again—slower this time, savoring, like he had all the time in the world and intended to use every second.
I fisted my hands in his sun-streaked hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan. The sound rumbled through me, and I felt his fingers dig into the soft flesh of my thighs, spreading me wider, claiming me with a hunger that bordered on worship.
"That's it," he murmured against me, the words barely intelligible. "Let me taste you."
Somewhere in the distance, I heard it—a low hum that grew into the unmistakable rumble of an approaching engine. Headlights swept across the open road, cutting through the darkness, and I froze, my heart stuttering in my chest.
"Colt. Someone's coming."
He didn't stop. If anything, his pace quickened, his tongue working me with a ruthless precision that made my thoughts scatter like startled birds. "Let them watch," he growled, the words vibrating against my most sensitive flesh. "I want every soul on this road to know you're mine."
The headlights swept closer, and I should have been mortified. I should have pushed him away, scrambled for my dignity, hidden my face. But the truth was that his words—that possessive, primal claim—sent a wave of heat through me that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the darkest corners of my desire.
I arched against his mouth, my back bowing off the cold metal as the vehicle passed. The light washed over us for a moment—exposed, unmistakable, wanton—and then it was gone, swallowed by the darkness, leaving us in the quiet hum of the night.
Colt pulled back just enough to look at me. His chin glistened, his eyes were almost black with hunger, and the scar through his left eyebrow caught the moonlight like a mark of something dangerous. "You still with me?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"Good." He lowered his head again, but this time he was slower, more deliberate. "Because I ain't nearly done with you yet."
The gravel crunched beneath his boots as he shifted his weight, and I felt the cool night air on my skin as he tugged my ruined dress aside. His hands found my hips, gripping hard enough to bruise, and I welcomed the ache. It was a mark, a claim, something to prove that for one night, I wasn't just a woman running from her life. I was his.
He paused, hovering above me. The weight of him—that broad, solid presence—blocked out the stars. His breath was warm against my cheek, his voice low and rough when he finally spoke.
"One thing, Maggie."
I could barely think past the pulse pounding between my legs. "What?"
His hand came up to cup my jaw, tilting my face so I had no choice but to meet his gaze. "When I'm inside you, I want you to forget every other man who's ever touched you. Can you do that?"
I should have laughed at the audacity. I should have rolled my eyes and made a snarky comment about overconfidence. But the seriousness in his eyes—the raw, unguarded need beneath the command—stole every ounce of my composure.
"Yes," I breathed. "Yes, I can do that."
Something shifted in his expression. A crack in the armor, a flicker of vulnerability he quickly masked with a rough kiss that stole my breath and my sanity in equal measure. His mouth claimed mine, tasting of salt and want, and I pulled him closer, desperate for more.
The night air was cold against my overheated skin, but I didn't feel it anymore. All I felt was him—his weight, his heat, his hands mapping my body like he was memorizing every inch. The truck bed was hard beneath me, the ridges biting into my back, but I didn't care. I didn't care about anything except the way he made me feel like I was the only woman in the world.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes tracing my face in the darkness. "You're beautiful," he said, and it wasn't a line. It was a fact, delivered with the same certainty he'd use to say the sky was blue or the grass was green.
I opened my mouth to respond, but the words died in my throat as he shifted his weight and I felt him—hard and insistent—press against me. The anticipation was almost unbearable.
"Last chance to change your mind," he said, but his voice was thick with restraint, and I could tell that if I said no, he would stop. He would hate it, but he would stop.
I reached up and pulled him down to me, capturing his mouth in a kiss that said everything I couldn't put into words.
He took that as the answer it was.
The world narrowed to the feel of him pressing into me, slow and deliberate, filling me completely. I gasped against his mouth, my nails digging into his shoulders as he stilled, giving me time to adjust. But I didn't want time. I wanted him to move, to take, to claim.
"Colt," I whimpered, arching against him. "Please."
He let out a shuddering breath and began to move. The first stroke was deep and unhurried, a promise and a threat all at once. The second was harder, his hips slapping against mine with a rhythm that quickly became frantic. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groaned against my neck, his teeth grazing my skin.
The truck rocked beneath us, the suspension creaking in time with his thrusts. Gravel crunched somewhere nearby—maybe an animal, maybe nothing at all—but I couldn't bring myself to care. I was lost in him, in the feel of his body against mine, in the words he growled against my skin between kisses.
"Mine," he said, and the word was a brand, searing into my soul. "Say it."
"Yours," I gasped, the word torn from me like a confession.
He rewarded me with a stroke that made stars burst behind my eyes. I cried out, not caring who might hear, not caring about anything except the man who had claimed me in the back of his truck under the open sky.
And as I shattered beneath him, his name on my lips, I realized that I had never felt more alive in my entire life.
The world swam back into focus in slow, syrupy waves. The stars above were still spinning, or maybe that was just me—my body humming with aftershocks, my skin slick with sweat despite the cold night air. Colt's weight pressed down on me, grounding me, his breath ragged against my throat. For a long moment, neither of us moved. The only sounds were our breathing and the distant chirp of crickets in the surrounding fields.
Then he shifted, pulling out of me with a slowness that made me shiver. The loss of him was almost physical, a hollow ache that settled low in my belly. He collapsed beside me in the truck bed, both of us staring up at the sky, our bodies cooling in the night air.
"Well," I managed, my voice hoarse. "That was..."
"Yeah." He didn't finish the sentence either.
I turned my head to look at him. In the dim light, he was all sharp angles and shadows—that scar through his eyebrow, the stubble along his jaw, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. He was beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with polish or perfection. He looked like a man who'd been carved by life, every edge worn smooth by experience.
And I had just given myself to him without knowing his last name.
The thought should have bothered me. Maybe it would bother me in the morning, when I was back in my hotel room with the harsh fluorescent lights and the echo of my own loneliness. But right now, with the taste of him still on my lips and the ache of him still between my thighs, I couldn't summon a single regret.
Colt propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at me. His eyes traced the lines of my face, and I felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with my ruined dress or my bare skin against the cold metal.
"What?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious.
"Nothin'." He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture was surprisingly tender for a man who'd just taken me like I was the last woman on earth. "Just tryin' to figure you out."
"Good luck with that." I laughed, but it came out hollow. "I've been trying to figure myself out for twenty-seven years."
He didn't smile. His thumb traced along my jawline, sending a cascade of goosebumps down my neck. "You're runnin' from somethin'."
It wasn't a question, but I found myself answering anyway. "I'm running from everything."
He nodded slowly, like he understood, and I suspected he did. There was a weight to him, a weariness that came from somewhere deep. We were both carrying something we couldn't put down, and somehow, in this empty parking lot under a sky full of stars, we'd found each other.
"You wanna talk about it?" he asked, but his voice was careful, like he was handling something fragile.
"No." I reached up, pulling him down to me. "I want to feel something else."
He kissed me then, softer than before, but no less passionate. His hand slid down my side, tracing the curve of my waist, the flare of my hip. I felt myself responding again, the embers of desire stirring back to life.
"Colt," I whispered against his lips. "I don't even know your last name."
"Good," he murmured, his mouth trailing down my throat. "Don't need names for this."
He bit down.
The sharp sting of his teeth on my shoulder made me gasp, my body arching into him. He soothed the mark with his tongue, then bit again—harder this time, claiming me in a way that felt primal, ancient. I cried out, my fingers digging into his back as he worked his way down my body, leaving a trail of marks in his wake.
"Every inch of you," he said between bites, his voice a low growl. "I want every inch of you marked. So when you go back to your city life, you remember exactly who put you here."
The possessiveness in his voice should have scared me. Maybe it did, a little. But it also thrilled me in a way I hadn't felt in years. My ex-boyfriend in the city had never looked at me like this. He'd never claimed me, never marked me, never made me feel like I was something worth fighting for.
Colt made me feel like a prize.
He worked his way back up to my mouth, his eyes dark with intent. "Round two," he said, and it wasn't a question.
I pulled him down to me, kissing him hard. "Round two."
The night stretched on around us, and I lost track of time. We moved together in a rhythm that felt ancient, like we were the first man and woman ever to discover what our bodies could do. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word brought me closer to something I couldn't name—something that terrified me with its intensity.
When it was over, we lay tangled together in the truck bed, my head on his chest, his arm wrapped around me. The sky was starting to lighten on the horizon, painting the darkness in shades of gray and purple and pink.
"I should go," I said, but I didn't move.
"Yeah." He didn't move either.
A comfortable silence settled between us. I listened to his heartbeat, steady and strong, and tried to memorize the feel of him. This wasn't something that would translate into a city life. He was a rancher, rooted in this land, while I was a woman who couldn't stay in one place for more than a few years. We were oil and water, night and day, a collision waiting to end in disaster.
But hell if it didn't feel right.
"Colt," I said, lifting my head to look at him. "What happens now?"
He was quiet for a long moment, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my bare back. Then he let out a breath that seemed to come from somewhere deep.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But I ain't ready for you to leave yet."
It wasn't a grand romantic gesture. It wasn't a declaration of love or a promise of forever. But in that moment, it was exactly what I needed to hear.
I settled back against his chest, closing my eyes. "I'm not ready to leave either."
We stayed like that as the sun crept over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and orange. And for the first time in years, I didn't feel like I was running.
I felt like I was home.