Page 46 of Branded By the Cowboy

The moment crackles like a dying fire roaring back to life.

My gaze continues its journey, following the dusting of dark hair on his chest as it trails down his stomach to the waistband of his jeans—where I know he’s thick, ready, and straining for me.

He stands quickly, working fast—boots kicked off, jeans peeled down in one rough motion—and then he’s standing there in his briefs, cock straining, the fabric barely containing him.

He climbs back over me, tugging my sweatshirt off and sucking in a breath when he sees I’m bare beneath. “So damn perfect,” he murmurs, brushing his nose along the curve of my breast. “God, I’ve missed these,” he adds before he captures my nipple between his lips.

I gasp and arch into him, tugging on his hair. “You’re going to make me come too soon, cowboy.”

He lifts his head and grins, but it’s dark. Wicked. Possessive. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m gonna make you forget your own name. I’m gonna fuck every thought out of your pretty head until all you can say ismy name.”

I whimper. Heat pools low in my belly.

He kisses a trail down my stomach, pausing to lick the curve of my navel. “Your skin’s so soft here,” he says like I’m sacred and it would kill him not to worship every inch.

When he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my sweatpants, I lift my hips to help him, shameless and aching.

“Spread for me,” he murmurs, settling between my thighs.

I hesitate, glancing toward the door. “Angus… what if someone hears us?”

He looks up, eyes dark and full of filthy promise. “Then they’ll know who’s making you moan. Let ‘em. You’re my wife. My cunt. My noises.”

My cheeks burn at his filthy words, but the throb between my legs is anything but shy. My legs fall wider.

He groans as his gaze fixes on my sex. “That’s it. So ripe and ready for me.”

And then he’sthere, tongue dragging up my slit, licking and sucking with greedy, hungry noises that make me writhe.

When he slips a thick finger inside, curling just right, I cry out and grab a fistful of sheets.

“That’s it. So fuckin’ tight. So good. You want another?”

“Yes. Please.”

He gives it to me. Two fingers now, scissoring, opening me up, tongue still flicking my clit.

“God, I love watching you fall apart. You gonna come on my face, darlin’? Gonna make me smell like you for the rest of the night?”

I nod frantically. Dear God, where has this dirty-talking man come from? Isthiswhat happens when a man of few words decides to use them all at once?

My whole body trembles, pleasure coiling so tight I can’t speak.

And then he stops.

“Angus,” I gasp, dazed and needy. “Why did you?—”

“I want to comeinsideyou,” he growls, climbing up my body again. “I want to come where I belong.”

Nowhe decides to wreck me with his words? Our heart-to-heart has unleashed a word monster. A walking, grunting sexual thesaurus.

I blink up at him, breathless. “You do realize you’ve said more in the last five minutes than in the first two weeks of our marriage, right?”

He smirks as his cock brushes my entrance. “Turns out I have a lot to say when I get you naked.”

He kisses me, dirty and deep, and I taste myself on his tongue. Then he pushes his boxers down and his cock springs free—thick, flushed, leaking.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he rasps, lining up at my entrance. “Say it again.”

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