Page 14 of Oops I Fell For The Cowboy Next Door

He climbs the steps. Two at a time. I stand, and the mug of wine gets set on the porch rail, and then his hands are on my face. Both hands. Rough, warm, cupping my jaw. Tilting my chin up. Those hazel eyes burning gold in the dark.

"Piper." My name. Rough. Wrecked. "If I come inside, I'm not leaving."

"Good."

"I mean it. I don't do casual. I don't do one night."

"Neither do I."

"If I touch you, you're mine. I don't share. I don't play games."

"I'm not playing."

His mouth crashes into mine.

This isn't the kitchen kiss. This is three days of silence and restraint and firewood left in the dark. His tongue sweeps against mine and I grab fistfuls of his jacket, pulling him closer until there's nothing between us but fabric. His hands slide from my face to my waist, gripping, fingers digging in. My back hits the cabin door.

I reach behind me, turn the knob, and we stumble inside.

The fire's down to embers, casting the room in orange light. He kicks the door shut without breaking the kiss. His hat comes off, tossed somewhere. My jacket slides down my arms and lands on the floor. His follows.

"Bedroom," I manage against his mouth.

"Where?"

"Down the hall. Left."

He picks me up. Just lifts me, one arm under my thighs, the other across my back. My legs wrap around his waist. His mouth moves to my neck, teeth scraping my pulse point, and I gasp as he carries me down the narrow hallway like I weigh nothing.

The bedroom is dark. Cold. The bed is unmade from this morning, sheets twisted. He sets me down on the edge and stands between my legs, looking down at me with an expression that makes my whole body clench.

"Take off your shirt."

Not a question. I pull the flannel over my head, then the tank top underneath. No bra. His eyes drop to my breasts. His throat works on a swallow.

"Jesus, Piper."

His hands find my ribs first. Rough thumbs sliding up until they graze the underside of my breasts, so slow I arch into his touch. He cups them both, full, heavy in his palms. His thumbs brush across my nipples, back and forth, and the sound I make is embarrassing. Needy. Loud in the quiet room.

He bends, takes one nipple into his mouth, and sucks.

My fingers grip his hair. His tongue circles, flicks, teases until I'm squirming against the edge of the mattress. He switches to the other breast, giving it the same slow, thorough attention while his hands work my leggings down over my hips.

Cool air hits my bare legs. He kneels. Kneels on my bedroom floor and pulls my leggings and underwear off together, tossing them behind him. His hands grip my thighs, spreading them, and he looks at me. Takes his time looking.

"You're so fucking beautiful."

Then his mouth is on me.

His tongue drags flat against my pussy, one long stroke from entrance to clit, and my hips buck off the mattress. His arm locks across my stomach, pinning me down. The other hand grips my thigh, holding me open. He licks me with a patience that borders on cruelty. Slow, deliberate circles on my clit. Dipping lower to push his tongue inside me, then dragging back up. Building me in layers until my thighs are shaking against his ears.

"Tate." My voice doesn't sound like mine. "Please."

He groans against me. The vibration shoots through my core. Two fingers slide inside, curling forward, finding the spot that makes the room go white at the edges. His mouth seals over my clit, sucking in rhythm with his fingers.

The orgasm tears through me. Sudden, devastating, my whole body locking tight. I cry out, hand fisting the sheets, back arching off the bed. He works me through it, slowing his tongue but not stopping, not pulling away until the last wave rolls through.

I'm still trembling when he stands. Pulls his shirt over his head. His chest is broad, muscled from twelve years of ranch work. A faint scar runs along his ribs. He unbuckles his belt, and the sound of the leather sliding through denim loops makes me clench.