Page 93 of The Cowboy and the Stray

I couldn’t stop myself. I turned and put my lips on his. He didn’t pull away. It started soft, then ramped up. Suddenly, we were clinging to each other like the only way to breathe was by touching each other.

He lifted me up, carried me back to his bedroom, laying me down on the bed.

The sex was different this time. Not rough, not angry, not about pretending the world didn’t exist. It was slow, like he was memorizing every inch of me. He kissed my mouth, my neck, the scar on my knee. I ran my hands over his back and counted the old wounds. I wanted to crawl inside his skin.

He took his time with my shirt. Peeled it up and off, mouth on my ribs, fingers skimming every edge of me. He tasted every inch of me, hands bracketing my hips while his tongue circled my nipple, pulling it into his mouth until I arched up. I clawed at his back, dragged him closer, let him grind against me through my shorts until I was quivering.

He pushed them down slowly. I kicked them off, not caring where they landed.

He moved down and licked a line from my navel to the inside of my thigh. Then he just paused, staring at me. His fingers slid up, gentle, stroking me open, and I almost lost it right there.

“You okay?” he said.

“Yeah,” I managed. “Just do it.” If he stopped now, I’d kill him, in his fur or his skin.

He grinned, and then he put his mouth on me. It was better than before, which I wouldn't have thought possible. He was patient, relentless, taking his time with every flick and swirl, teasing me with the tip of his tongue and then flattening it, licking me open until I was shaking. He slid a finger inside, curled it up, and I saw stars.

I came hard, thighs clamped around his head, hips bucking up like I was trying to ride him. He didn’t stop, not until I begged him. When I could see straight again, he moved up and kissed me, slow and deep, and I tasted myself on his tongue.

I pushed his shorts down, got my hands around his cock, and stroked him. He was so fucking hard, and I wanted him in me, wanted him to fill me up and wipe out every memory I’d ever had of being alone.

He slid inside, slow, holding my hips steady. The first thrust punched the air out of my lungs. The second set my nerves on fire. He fucked me hard, but not rough. Just steady, deep, rolling his hips against me like he was trying to fit us together permanently.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down, skin to skin. I buried my face in his shoulder. My second orgasm hit before I could brace for it. I bit his shoulder, hard, and he groaned, shoving in deeper.

He kept going, like he was never going to stop, and when he finally came, it was with a shudder that made the whole bed shake.

We lay there, tangled together, both of us sweating and worn out. The fan rattled overhead. I could feel his heartbeat through my chest.

After a while, he stroked my hair and kissed my forehead. I didn’t say anything, just curled in closer.

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to run.

I wanted to stay. I’d wanted to stay for a while now, but this time, I thought I actually might be able to.

43. CALDER

I don’t usually get nervous. Not the regular kind, anyway. Fights, I can do. Angry cows, feral pigs, even wolf fights. All just regular Tuesday. But setting a picnic out on the upstairs balcony for a woman? That nearly finished me.

The sun was going down slowly, burning up the last of May’s patience. It was hot enough that every surface on the ranch sweated with me, and the sky was a shade of pink I didn’t know the name for. I wiped my hands on my jeans and told myself I didn’t care if this went bad, but my hands didn’t get the memo.

I’d spread the blanket over the little iron bistro table, but the wind kept flipping it up and trying to choke me with it. Oh, damn it. I should’ve let Midge set this up. Or even Ash. But I’d wanted to do it myself. I needed it to be real, not staged. Tess would see through anything else.

She came out just as I was losing the battle with the blanket. She’d just showered. Her hair was damp at the ends, dark red, and sticking to her neck. She wore a dress I was pretty sure Midge gave her. It looked like it came out of a charity bin from 1994. It was shapeless and yellow, but somehow it made her look like summer. Absolute perfection. She had bare feet, one still bandaged, and she moved carefully, not limping but not trusting the ankle yet.

She stopped in the doorway, squinted at the setup, then at me.

“This is either a date or a hostage situation,” she said.

“Little of both,” I told her, then tried to get the blanket to settle. It snapped up and smacked me in the face again, and Tess snorted.

She picked up the corners and tamed it with two of the plates from the basket. “There. Now it won’t kill us before the food does.”

She sat across from me, knees drawn up, toes wiggling under the chair. She didn’t look scared. She looked… expectant. Hopeful.

That’s a hard thing to face.

I got the food out. Sandwiches, cut on the diagonal like Midge does for Noah, plus a plastic tub of potato salad and a bag of off-brand corn chips. I’d tried to get wine, but there wasn’t any in the house, so it was lemonade or nothing.