Page 17 of Curvy Girl and the Grumpy Cowboy

"Making a mistake?" I ask, reaching up to gently touch her cheek. "I don't think so. But I've been wrong before."

A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "About Seattle rain and mountains?"

"About thinking I could live without this," I murmur, and then I close the final distance between us.

The first brush of my lips against hers is gentle, questioning. A moment suspended in time as we both remember what was and consider what could be. Then Sarah sighs, a soft sound of surrender, and kisses me back.

It feels like coming home. Like finding something precious I thought I'd lost forever. Her lips are just as soft as I remembered, but there's a new confidence in the way she kisses me back—not tentative like before, but sure. Knowing exactly what she wants.

My hand slides into her hair, careful not to disturb the elegant updo too much. Her arms wind around my neck, pulling me closer until I can feel the warmth of her body against mine.

When we finally break apart, both slightly breathless, I rest my forehead against hers.

"Well," she whispers, her eyes still closed. "Some things definitely haven't changed."

Chapter 6 - Sarah

He lays me on the bed with a gentleness that contrasts with the hunger in his eyes. Moonlight spills through curtained windows, silvering his shoulders as he moves above me. Seven years melts away like snow in spring.

"I've dreamed about this," I whisper as his hands trace my sides. "About us."

His smile is tender, almost reverent. "Me too. Every night."

When he kisses me again, it's with a patience that wasn't there before. As if now that he has me beneath him, he wants to savor every second. His lips travel slowly from my mouth to my jaw, then lower to the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder.

I shiver, arching against him. "Jackson..."

"Shh," he murmurs against my skin. "Let me take care of you."

His hands are calloused from years of ranch work, but they move with surprising delicacy as they slip behind me to unfasten my bra. When the fabric falls away, his half-lidded eyes stare at me.

"Perfect," he whispers, lowering his head to press a kiss to the curve of my breast. "Even more beautiful than I remembered."

I should feel self-conscious—my body bears the marks of seven more years of living—but the genuine awe in his expression banishes any insecurity. To him, I am beautiful. I always was.

His mouth continues its journey downward, leaving a trail of heat across my stomach. My fingers tangle in his hair as he reaches the edge of my underwear.

"May I?" he asks, hooking his fingers in the waistband.

The formality of the question makes me smile even as desire coils tighter within me. "Always the gentleman."

"Only with you," he replies, his voice rough with want.

I lift my hips in answer, and he slides the last barrier down my legs. For a moment, he just looks at me, and I see seven years of longing in his eyes.

"I've missed you," he says simply, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh. "Every part of you."

His hands gently part my legs, and then his mouth is on me, warm and sure. I gasp, my back arching off the mattress. He remembers exactly how to touch me, as if he's carried a map of my pleasure in his memory all these years.

"Jackson," I breathe, one hand still tangled in his hair, the other gripping the sheets beneath me.

His tongue traces patterns that make me tremble, building a rhythm that has my thighs tensing around his shoulders.

Time dissolves into sensation—the heat of his mouth, the pressure of his hands holding my hips, the rasp of stubble against sensitive skin. My world narrows to this moment, this man, this pleasure building like a wave.

"I'm close," I warn him, though I know he can tell from the way my body responds to him.

He doesn't pull away—just increases his focus until I shatter beneath him, his name a prayer on my lips as pleasure crashes through me. He stays with me through each aftershock, gentle now, easing me down from the height.

---