Page 33 of Bucked Hard

Not Chad.

He’s rapt. Absorbing every word like he’ll be taking a final exam on the subject matter that falls from my lips.

We talk about art, my writing, the chickens, even about Jessie. He asks me what I dream of when I think about my future. He asks me what I think about kids, and when I answer that being a good mom is one of my dreams, the way he smiles makes me want to fling myself on the ground in front of him, my ovaries exploding like tiny atom bombs.

I stay away from any of the ugliness in my past and he glazes over most of my questions for him. He’s so intent on me that I’m willing to ignore his clipped answers. After all, who doesn’t have a past they’d rather forget about?

The fire turns to flickering low flame, then glowing coals. The breeze turns the temperature down, sending cooler air over the standing hairs on my arms.

The surge of tension between us is growing as the fire dies. He lifts my hand, pressing my fingers into his palm and squeezing. We are connected again and the moon shines out from behind a cloud like it’s been waiting for this moment just like me.

It’s the line, we’ve crossed it, and now I only need to follow along.

“I’m going to kiss you, Rachel. I’m not asking, I’m letting you know. And it won’t be the last time either,” Chad whispers, interrupting the self-doubt inside my head. His voice is deep with smoke from the fire.

“What are you waiting for?” I tilt my head, soften my lips.

Surprising myself with how forward I am, I grab his head and twine my fingers in the soft, dark hair at his neck, nearly knocking his cowboy hat from its perch. When our lips meet I feel his breath but he holds us there for a million years, his hand on my cheek, his thumb circling the flushed skin. My heart races, my thoughts spin. For a split second, I’m engulfed in that same fear of being the butt of some joke.

Too late, the softness of his lips as they graze mine and all bets are off. It’s like tiny electric shocks shooting into my brain and down my chest and I’m one of those lucky girls in one of the hundreds of books I’ve read. He presses harder, with more urgency. I part my lips as his tongue is warm and nudges forward, not asking, needing more.

He moves between my lips, over my teeth until our tongues collide. He swoops up and down, around like he’s corralling me with this kiss.

He tastes like wine and lust and man. His body moves closer, his long arms reaching around to my back, running down from my shoulder blades to the indent above my waist and then pulling me closer as his mouth captures mine.

Our faces move over each other, he angles his face so he has deeper access. Swirling desire and passion building inside me.

He’s a perfect kisser. Soft and warm, full and urgent but not self-centered. Not greedy.

I want to kiss him all night. And from the way he’s kissing me back, I’m hoping like heck he feels the same way.

We kiss for a long time and the word “nice” just isn’t enough to describe it.

After what feels like a beautiful hour of making out, the fire is a few glowing embers and his hand caresses my back, moving up, winding his fingers into my hair. Wherever he touches, I’m alive. Surges of nerves and tension pulse through my body like waves hitting a beach.

I pull my body to his, my breasts pressing hard against him. Again I’m surprised at my own willingness to give this much. To be so out there with what I want.

My nipples tingle and pull together. I feel the faint pump of his heart through his chest wall and into the sensitive flesh of my breast. I wonder if he can feel mine. My heart is breaking ribs inside me; my pulse is in my throat, my temples and between my legs. I’m exhilarated…but terrified.

How could he want me? Rachel Sweeting, the fat girl? The ‘cow-girl.’

A tiny moan escapes my lips despite my efforts to hold it back. I want this kiss to last forever, this moment, this perfect moment. But, I swear I’m in heat, I want more. I want to feel his hands on me.

All the slick, dirty, moaning feelings. I want them all. With him.

The sounds from deep inside me seem to release a fire inside Chad. His lips move harder on mine, his hand lowers from my waist, feeling its way down into the space in my jeans just above my round behind. His fingers tease at first, stopping just a moment before he’s inside my panties and grabs a handful of my ample backside.

He’s waiting for my reaction. I kiss him harder, feeling the tingle of my skin under his fingers. He answers my kiss by plunging his hand even lower inside the back of my pants

“Oh God.” He breaks our kiss as his hand envelops me under my jeans. “You feel so good.”

There is no denying the distinctive tingle between my legs, fighting to break free. I press my thighs together, waiting for the tension to unfold, forcing it, wanting it. But he stops, pulls his hand away and sits back.

I look up, my breath coming in pants, and Chad lifts an eyebrow. He looks like a lion staring down a lamb.

My survival instincts kick in. “I should go in I guess.” My voice is a scratchy whisper.

The image of Leander when he slipped his hand down the back of my pants flashes in front of me. The memory of that humiliation creeping up my spine like a hundred spiders.

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