Page 55 of Swift and Saddled

He knotted his fingers in my damp hair and pulled my head back slightly, using his extra leverage to tangle our tongues together. I was desperate for him. I wanted to be closer. I pushed up on my tiptoes, and Wes dragged one of his hands down my body and over my ass. I lifted my leg, and he grabbed behind my thigh and hitched it up over his waist.

“Take me to your room,” I said against his mouth.

His hand tightened in my hair and his hips rolled. “Are you sure?” he breathed.

“Yes.” I don’t think I’d ever been more sure of anything. I tried to bring down the leg that he was holding, but instead, Wes hoisted me up, and my legs instinctively wrapped around him.

He carried me out of the bathroom and down the hall. I kissed and sucked at his neck as he walked. I heard him open a door, and even though it was dark and I’d never been in here before, I knew we were in his room.

It smelled like him. Like cedar.

Instead of taking me to his bed, which is where I was desperate to be, he set me down and stepped back a bit. He put his hand to my face, then moved it to my neck, then down over my breasts and stomach. His touch was so light that it made me want to scream.

He stopped at the hem of my shirt. “Can I?” he asked.

“Please,” I breathed. He gripped the bottom of my shirt with both hands and gently pulled it over my head. I was grateful that I’d put on one of my not-trashed black bras today. His nostrils flared as he took in the sight of me.

I didn’t even want to know what I looked like—probably a drowned rat—but I didn’t care, and apparently he didn’t either.

Wes tossed my shirt aside and knelt. He put his hands on my hips and kissed my stomach as he started to pull my leggings—torturously slowly—down. I was less lucky with the underwear—there were definitely a few holes in the ratty black thong—but he didn’t seem to care about that either.

I put my hands on Wes’s shoulders for balance as hehelped me step out of my leggings. He tossed them on top of my shirt and looked up at me. This man was on his knees and looking up at me like I was the most precious thing in the world. He was touching me that way too—dragging his fingers up and down my thighs, over my hips, and under my thong. “You’re beautiful,” he said, then kissed each of my hip bones and got to his feet.

His words hit me just right. It’s not like I thought I wasn’t pretty, but I would be lying if I said my self-esteem hadn’t taken a hit after everything with Chance—especially in the bedroom. Chance and I had been together—a term I’m using loosely—for two years, then married for three and a half months. We had sex maybe ten times during that two-and-a-half-year period. When we were just dating, that didn’t really bother me, but after we got married, it started to take a toll on my self-esteem. I felt like I grossed him out, like he didn’t want me, and whenever I tried to tell him that I wanted to feel like he wanted me, he shrugged it off.

There was no doubt in my mind that Wes wanted me as much as I wanted him, and it made me feel free and bold and excited.

So I kissed him again. I wrapped my arms around him, wanting as much of our skin touching as possible. He held me tight, lifted me off the ground, and took me to his bed. When he laid me down, he did it gently. No one had handled me with such care before—not just during sex, but ever.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about this since the night at the bar,” Wes whispered. He was hovering above me. “Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if we hadn’t got caught?”

I nodded. I’d played that fantasy in my head over and over again the past few months.

“I wanted to fuck you against that wall.” Wes bit my neck softly. “When we got caught, I was just about to tell you my name because I wanted to hear you moan it over and over again while I was inside you.” He licked up my neck, and I drew a sharp breath. “And then you showed up here, and for the first time in my life, I felt lucky.”

I let out a breathy laugh. “I’m sorry I was so mean to you.”

“Don’t be,” Wes said as he rolled his hips into mine, and that made us both groan. “It weirdly turned me on.”

“Wes…” I said, suddenly nervous. “Before we do this, I—I—” I stumbled over my words, trying to get them out as quickly as possible because I didn’t know how he was going to react. “Sometimes it takes a while for me to get wet, and it’s not because I don’t want this or because I’m not attracted to you, because I do and I am—it’s just my body.” He didn’t respond right away, he kept biting and sucking at my neck.

Then he whispered against my skin, “Sometimes it takes a while for me to get hard because of my antidepressant, and it’s not because I don’t want you. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more.”

This moment felt raw and vulnerable and important. I wanted to see him. I knotted my fingers in his hair and pulled his mouth away from my neck, forcing him to look at me. “So,” I said, “we’ll get there together, then?” He swallowed and nodded.

“Tell me what you like,” he said.

I thought about it for a second, because what I’d liked in the past really didn’t matter—only Wes did now. Everythingwas different with him. “I like kissing,” I said, which won me one of his big-dimpled smiles and, of course, a kiss.

“Noted,” he said.

“And I like it when you talk to me,” I continued. “And when you bite me.”

Wes dragged one of his hands down my body—over my breasts, down my stomach, until his pinky skated under my thong. Heat followed his trail. “Should I tell you about how I almost came in my jeans in the kitchen? Just from touching you?” He brought his mouth down on mine and forced mine open so his tongue could make its way in. “Should I tell you about how I had to get in the shower and fuck my fist to the thought of you writhing on the counter?” Wes started to pull my underwear down. “Or should I tell you that your pussy felt so good on my fingers that I would literally die to know what it feels like wrapped around my cock?” He rolled halfway off me so he could drag my thong all the way down my legs and throw it across the room. Then he pulled me on top of him. “Should I tell you that I felt like I could taste you on my fingers for days?”

Jesus Christ.Not only did Wes ask me what I liked in bed, but he also followed through. This man was something else. I leaned down and kissed him. Hard. My hips started to roll of their own accord. Wes’s large hands were kneading my ass, guiding me to grind on his jeans. The pressure felt so good. He felt so good.

I could feel my body reacting to him—like lava rolling down my spine and pooling between my legs. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he said against my mouth. “Take what you need.”

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