Page 42 of Dirty Cowboy

Eric.

His hand wrapped around his thick length, pumping deliberately slow strokes. His muscles flex and jaw clenches, as his hips thrust into his palm and my name ghosts from his lips.

A sharp spark of heat ignites inside me, sending a shudder through every nerve.

I slide my hand down, skimming over my breasts, teasing the sensitive peaks until a whimper slips free. The ache builds, and intensifies, pulsing between my thighs, and demanding attention until I give in.

My fingers dip lower, my thighs parting as I press into my slick heat, my body arching to meet every slow, tantalizing stroke. My hips move of their own accord, chasing pleasure, and grinding into the rhythm my body already knows by heart.

Eric.

His name spills from my lips in a whispered plea.

I imagine his mouth on me, tasting, teasing, and owning my skin. His hands gripping my thighs, holding me down as his tongue traces every aching, throbbing inch of me.

Pleasure coils tight, winding, twisting, and ready to snap. My body trembles, teetering on the edge?—

And when I finally shatter, his name plays on my lips like a prayer.

Eric.

* * *

The sun slicesthrough the window, bright and unrelenting. A rooster crows in the distance, like a damn cliché, while I groan and bury my face in the pillow. I barely slept.

Across the hall, Eric is probably still sleeping like a rock, completely unfazed, while I tossed and turned, replaying every humiliating second of last night.

I drag myself out of bed, bleary-eyed, stretching as I walk to the window. The scent of damp straw and fog drifts in when I push it open, crisp and earthy, calming in a way I didn’t expect. No honking taxis, no sirens, no morning rush of grumpy pedestrians pushing past each other.

It feels...nice. Too nice.

But what the hell happened last night?

First, I caught Eric in the barn, his hand wrapped around his cock, lost in the rhythm of his own pleasure. Then, he kissed me like I was his, like Ihadbeen his, like I alwayswould behis.

I shiver, dragging my hands down my arms, my body still buzzing from the memory.

It was just a kiss.

Except it wasn’t.

I shake it off, changing into jeans and a flannel shirt, and tiptoe past his bedroom. No movement, no sound. Either he’s sleeping or avoiding me, and I don’t know which one irritates me more.

Downstairs, I find a note on the kitchen table, his familiar scrawl catching my eye.

Emma,

I’m sorry I had to leave on your first morning in Lords Valley. Hope the coyotes didn’t keep you up last night. I went to assist Blake with a foal. Grandpa is excited for your visit this morning, and I can’t wait to catch up with you later today.

Your fiancé,

Eric

I snort, muttering, “Sure, it was the coyotes that kept me up.”

I remember my own hand between my thighs, the way I imagined him there instead, and shake off the heat curling low in my belly.

Focus.

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