Part 14: The Cowboy's Castration Anxiety The GMC Yukon Denali ate up the final stretches of the mountain road, its powerful engine a loud, aggressive metaphor for the man driving it. Shawn, perched behind the wheel, was a study in taut, forced control, his whole persona—from the tight cobalt-blue polo to the muscular arm thrown possessively over Sabrina's shoulder—designed to project absolute dominance. The air in the cab was thick with his expensive cologne and the aggressive thump of Beyoncé's "Run The World (Girls)." Sabrina, nestled against his chest, had to fight a visceral, electric hormonal surge. She knew this physical intimacy was a carefully calculated weapon, and for a terrifying second, she felt the pull. But her intellect was her shield. She reached up, her small hand deliberately tracing the tight denim of his thigh, then let it rest there. “Wow, you’re different today,” Shawn purred, the sound rumbling in his chest. He dropped a heavy kiss o...