Page 74 of Drifter’s Heart

I laugh, ferreting about for real water, and swap the bottles out for her. “Only Levi would do that for you,” I assure her. “Look, it’s even got your name on it.” Sure enough, the bottle with the white wine is labeled Winnie’s Emergency Stash. I have no idea what I need to have done on a date to earn that, but it’s hers, anyway.

“Wait, what did he give to you?” she asks, wiping her eyes.

I hold up two craft beers. “Mine’s been West-proofed.”

“Uh-huh.” In no way does Winnie sound impressed.

Her dinner passes without further choking incidents, and the wine makes it down safely after that. The food is perfect in its proportions. Enough to fill, not enough to gorge on. Levi is excellent as always, and he refused to take payment for his work. I pack up after we eat and tuck everything away, batting Winnie’s fussing hands aside.

“This is my treat,” I remind her.

She only grumbles a little, and those noises stop when I slide around behind her, easing Winnie in between my legs. She curls comfortably in the space between. “I can see you out in a place like this, you know. Wilder West, frontier man.”

I snort. “Do you also watch John Wayne movies and put my face in cardboard cutouts over them?”

“Nope. I prefer martial-arts ones, instead.”

“That’s flattering.” I brush her hair back from her face and tilt her chin up.

“It is, actually,” she says seriously, before I kiss her.

This time there’s no one to stop us or interrupt our intimacy. Our kisses aren’t forced, and she settles into my embrace easily, parting her lips and letting me in. Her warmth surrounds me, the sweetness of her natural scent mixing with the sharp pine of the forest that lifts as the dew point hits. I tug at her shirt when she mewls, gliding my tongue into her mouth, deepening the kiss.

Urgency slams into me, but I rein back on my need. We have all night and I don’t intend to let my girl get much sleep. We have tomorrow’s daylight hours for that.

“West,” she whispers breathlessly when I draw back to pull her shirt over her head. “Is this a typical second date with you, or a reason to come out here and seduce me?”

I laugh against her mouth, claiming her the moment her skin is bare to my hands. I cup her breasts through the lace of her bra, kneading and tweaking until she sighs, already so close to the edge of her own control. “I brought you out here because I promised you a moonlight picnic. And even though I fucked up the dates and there’s barely a moon to be seen, it is dark, we have a picnic, and you told me that you wanted to be fucked all night long. So that, Winnifred Rand, is what you’re getting. Now lie back and let me worship your beautiful body.”

The moan that leaves her sends blood rushing south in milliseconds. My cock stands hard against my zip, straining for release. I palm myself, knowing she can see the outline of what I’m doing, showing her my need, what she does to me.

“That’s… raw,” she whispers, reaching back to unclip her bra. The lace cups loosen, and her hands drop, trembling. “I’m still not used to this.”

“You’ll get used to it,” I promise her.

A sound that might be a sob or could be a moan tears from her. Winnie launches at me, her arms latching around my neck as her mouth crashes against mine. This kiss is far from controlled, and it’s not gentle. This is rough and passionate and all the things that she is.

And it’s perfect in its imperfections.

I cup the back of her neck, letting her explore while I hold her in place, tugging the bra straps down her arms and off one at a time as she lets me. Then I lay her back, pushing her arms above her head.

“You’re not gonna move for me. Those arms stay right there, Winnie. You don’t touch me.”

“But—” Her protest starts almost immediately.

I silence her with a hard look as I unbutton my shirt, arching over her, and once I’ve shucked that off, I start on my jeans. Her eyes track the movement and she licks her lips, the damn flirt. I undo my belt, and her eyes stay locked on that. Ah. Maybe we have a spanking date with that leather. But later. Not here in this place. I don’t want to find out if the damn dire wolf takes exception to a man with his woman over his lap, even if it is for consensual fun times.

I smirk, dropping my hands. The disappointment in her eyes is fucking stunning. “Easy, Winnie. We can play like that another night. I promise.”

Her gaze lifts to mine, dark and full of need. Her fingers flex over her head, and her hips wiggle.

The hint is clear. She’ll have to wait.

I press one palm to her stomach, gliding my other up and down her inner thighs over her jeans. Her soft, frustrated mewls are our soundtrack as her nipples pebble and stiffen.

“What would you do if I didn’t touch you at all?” I murmur.

Her shuddering breath is a torturous joy, her hips rising in protest. I push down gently on her stomach, just enough to keep her pinned. My cock responds, straining in my pants. Precum leaks from the head. I push my hand inside my jeans as she watches, her lips parting, and fist myself leisurely. Each pump is perfect. I imagine spilling myself over her breasts, giving in to the need to come to the image of her spread out before me. Fighting back the urge to tease the fuck out of her and edge her for hours, I push my jeans down, shove my own desire back, and then lean in and kiss her mouth.