I kept Graham on because the ranch needed another pair of hands, not because his quiet obedience made my chest tighten every time he said yes, sir. The October lien sits on the table like a threat, and the neighbors already whisper about two men sharing a roof too long.
Still, when the wind pulls our shirts tight on the porch and he waits with that yielding look, I know what comes next. My orders turn to correction, bare skin under my palm, the kind of discipline that leaves him marked and me wanting more than I can admit.
The first strike hangs in the air between us. One fall of my hand and the ranch could burn, our partnership could break, yet the need to claim him this way grows louder than every danger circling our door.
