Page 69 of Wren's Winter

He set my stuff down on the floor beside the door and turned to me. “Do you want something to eat? I could make something if you’re hungry.”

I shook my head, stepping close to him and wrapping my arms around his waist. His shirt smelled of cedar and soap. Of him. Closing my eyes, I savored the moment, the fabric soft against my cheek and the strength of his forearms holding me tight. “You called me your girlfriend,” I murmured into his chest.

I felt his lips on my hair, then his cheek. “I did. Is that okay?”

Nodding into him, I breathed him in one last time before pulling back to stare up at him. “The word doesn’t feel right, boyfriend, girlfriend, for us. But it will have to do for a while.”

A mischievous grin lit up his face. “A short while.”

Snap, snap, snap. Inside my chest were the last tenets of hesitation. I laid my hand against his cheek, rubbing a thumb over the edge of his bruise.

“Take me to bed.”

Leaning down, his lips stopped a breath away from mine. His words soft. “I will. But first, can you take back the curse you put on me? I’d like to keep my cattle.”

It took me a few minutes to understand his question before I recalled my angry outburst the night before. My face breaking into a grin, I nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. No guarantee about the lightning strikes, though.”

His lips found mine, beseeching as his kiss deepened. My hands in his hair. The hat tossed to the floor. My shirt, his pants, his shirt, my bra. Once we got to the foot of his stairs, we were half naked, our hands raking over each other. One backward step up, and he was grabbing my naked thighs, pulling me up until my legs were wrapped around his waist. The core of me rubbed against his hard length with every step he took to the bedroom. Sizzling with need, by the time we reached the landing, I was ready for him. A pulse beat inside me, echoing louder as he gently laid me on the bed. Reaching down to my ankles, he placed them on the bed, my legs splayed open. Over my body, his hand wavered, as if in a trance.

“Somehow, you’re better each time I see you like this. Open for me, wet, mine.”

“Yours,” I echoed.

Gently, his hand slid under my ass, pulling my thin lacy thong down over my legs until I was bare for him. His mouth found the apex of my thighs, parting me with his tongue. My hips bucked off the bed, meeting him with a clash. The things his tongue was doing to me, I was edging closer with a few well-placed swipes and hums. His fingers held onto my ass, digging into the flesh to bring me closer to his mouth.

“My sweet, good girl. I thought I’d never see you again, to taste you. So sweet on my tongue as you come.” Between words, he licked up my seam, circling my clit. “The feel of you under me, so soft, ready. Mine.”

With his own possessive words, I buried my hands in my hair, holding him closer. He found the center of my desire, working his tongue around it, circling and dipping. First slow and languid, then faster as I thrashed against his mouth.

“This cunt is mine. This skin is mine. No one else’s.”

“No one’s,” I echoed back. “Only you.”

With a smile on his face, he sucked my clit into his mouth, sending me crashing over. Swirls and stars and the fog of explosions behind my eyes. I held him tight to me as I rode the climax down.

“I need you now.” Reaching up, I wound my arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. “I need you bare inside me. I need you to be mine.”

Cupping my face in his palm, his gaze grew tender. “It’s always been you. Even before I met you, some part of me knew. From the moment I saw you standing on the wrong porch, I can’t fight it, I can’t stop it. I’ve always been yours.”

“Make love to me.”

This kiss was tender—silk and sugar. As our bodies came together, it was absolution from all that was before each other. There was only him and I. Only this kiss, the expanse of his back under my hand, and the slide of his skin as he covered my body with his.

His hands gripped mine, pulling them above my head to grip his headboard. “Keep your hands up,” he ordered, his tone soft but firm. “No moving them until I tell you to.”

His first thrust into me had me gasping, pleasure rocketing through my body. His hands on my hips, his teeth on my collarbone, the rough scrape of his beard on my breast.

“Look at you taking me. You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? Taking my cock.” He stared down between us, at where we were joined. “Taking me so well. You were made for me.”

His dirty words were heaven to my ears, spurring me on to move with each thrust. My fingers dug into the wrought iron above me, my muscles tight. “I need to hold you. Let me touch you,” I begged.

“Yes, touch me. Love me.”

Letting go of the headboard, my hand skated down his back, holding him closer. My legs wrapped around his waist, and I brought my mouth to his. A beautiful agony of wanting more and more to find it all in his touch.

We came together, our eyes open. Each thrust was a possession, mine, mine, mine. I met him each time, our eyes locked. Ours, ours, ours.

This climax was different, softer, somehow. A low ache that built into an expanding chasm inside my chest that only his touch could fill. The blinding light of it arcing through me. It was warmth, safety, and trust. It was love.

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