Page 45 of Swift and Saddled

Wes was still in the kitchen—I could feel him—so I stayed facing the counter instead of turning back to look at him.After a few seconds, I heard his boots make their way toward me, and then I felt his hand trail over my shoulder and move my hair to one side of my neck, and a shiver rocked my spine.

Then I felt his lips on my shoulder. “Is this okay?” he murmured. It was actually a miracle that I could hear him, considering how loudly my heartbeat was echoing in my ears.

“Yes,” I breathed. He kissed my shoulder again, and then my neck. I heard him take a deep breath.

“Why do you always smell so fucking good?” he asked. I didn’t think he was looking for an actual answer, so I stayed quiet. “My truck smells like you,” he said. “And now I take my life into my hands every time I drive because you are all I can think about. This”—he brought his arm around me and pulled me to him, leaving no space between us—“is all I can think about.”

He moved my hair again so he could give the other side of my neck some attention, and when I felt his lips on my throat, I dropped my head back onto his shoulder and couldn’t help but let out a small moan.

“I like you, Ada.” His hand was under my shirt now, pressed against my stomach, and I ached for it to go lower, but my insecurities were starting to shout at me. Wes was a good guy. He was kind and thoughtful, and I had no clue why he would be interested in a woman like me. I’d spent my entire marriage basically begging my husband to notice me, see me, love me—todosomething.

He never did.

When you’re treated a certain way for so long, you start to believe that’s how youshouldbe treated. It left me feeling like there wasn’t anything about me that someonecouldlove.

And now, there was Wes. He was all these wonderful things that sometimes I wished I could be: chatty, charismatic, and deeply thoughtful.

I was cynical, shy, and I didn’t reallylikethat many people. Wes seemed to like everyone, and everyone seemed to like him—including me. I didn’t understand how we could fit.

I lifted my head from his shoulder and looked down at the floor. “I don’t know why you keep doing this, Wes,” I said quietly, still looking down at the floor. “I don’t know why you want me. I’m not…nice.”

“Ada,” he breathed. He used the hand that was on my stomach to turn me around to face him. The familiar buzz of electricity that appeared when he came near me hummed. I felt his finger under my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “You are earnest and talented, tenacious and funny.” I couldn’t have looked away from him if I’d tried. His green eyes gripped me and wouldn’t let go. “I would never insult you by calling you something as generic asnice.”

It wasn’t his words that got me—it was his eyes. From the first time he looked at me until now, I felt Weston Ryder saw me, no matter how hard I tried to hide.

“Kiss me,” I whispered. “Ple—” I didn’t get to finish asking, because his mouth was on mine in an instant.

Kissing Wes was the closest thing I’d ever had to a religious experience. It felt like the sky opened up and stars started falling around us, like lightning struck every place where our skin touched and like my heartbeat had turned into a thunderstorm.

One of his hands cupped the back of my head and the other was around my waist, holding me to him, but I couldn’tget close enough. I put my hands under his shirt and he sucked in a breath. “Your hands are fucking freezing,” he said against my mouth. I giggled like an idiot and brought them around to his back, clutching him to me.

He used the arm that was around my waist to lift me onto the counter. I wrapped my legs around him, and his hips rolled. I could feel his hardness pressed against my center, and I wanted more. I started tearing at his flannel shirt, pulling it down his arms, and he threw it to the floor.

One of his hands skated up my bare thigh until he reached the hem of my shorts, where he stopped, but only for a second. He moved his hand up to cup my ass, and I moaned into his mouth.

When was the last time I’d done this? I couldn’t remember.

When was the last time I’d felt anything near what I was feeling right now? Never. I knew that for sure.

I bit his lower lip and he moaned too, rolling his hips into mine again. “More,” I pleaded, but it didn’t work. He pulled back, and I wanted to scream.

A smirk was playing at his lips. “More?” he asked. His voice had taken on a playful tone. I nodded. He brushed the hand that was in my hair across my collarbone—his featherlight touch driving me to the brink.

“These are the silliest straps I’ve ever seen,” he said, snaking one of his fingers under the spaghetti strap of my tank top before gently pushing it off my shoulder. He leaned in and put his mouth where my strap used to be, and I clutched at his hair. I moved my other hand between us, being more bold than usual, and cupped him through his jeans.

He groaned against my neck, and I felt it all the way through my body. “Christ, Ada.” I loved the way he said my name. He pulled back again, and since my other hand was no longer holding him to me, I brought it to his belt so I could start undoing it, but before I could get very far, one of his big hands covered mine.

“Slow down, sweetheart,” he breathed. “Do you like seeing what you do to me?” I looked down at his dick straining inside his jeans. I nodded, and he put pressure on my hands and groaned again. “I want to feel what I do to you,” he said, touching his forehead to mine.

Oh.Oh.

“Touch me,” I whispered. I normally didn’t like this part. I always got embarrassed. Was I too wet? Not wet enough? It was usually the second one. Sometimes my body didn’t like to cooperate. But still, I wanted this. I wanted him to touch me. His fingers were drawing circles on my thigh—inching closer and closer to where he wanted to be—where I wanted him to be. I opened my legs wider, inviting him in.

Our foreheads pressed together, both of us watched as his hand slipped under my shorts and between my legs. I gasped at the sensation of his finger sinking inside me.

“Fuck, Ada,” he growled. I watched his finger slide in and out of me, slowly. “Still want more?” he asked. His voice was lower.

“Yes,” I moaned, and he added a second finger.

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