Page 90 of Bucked Hard

A potent mixture of fear and arousal pulses through me as he stops dead in his tracks.

He lifts me tighter against him. My nose is an inch from those lips that hang slightly open as he exhales, and I hold tighter, wishing to never be anywhere but right here. Feeling this.

This possession. A minute goes by. Maybe more. Maybe a lifetime. But I’m lost in the thumping of my heart and the way I cannot imagine a moment without him touching me. Holding me like this as though he never intends to let go.

His voice hardens along with his eyes. “Those lips are not saying what I need them to say. Do. You. Want. Me?Answer me.”

My ovaries are shooting off like Roman candles.

All I can manage to say is, “Yes.” And the moment the word is out of my lips, I see desire wash over his face.

He kisses my forehead, then moves his lips to the shell of my ear. “Yes.” He draws out the word as though he’s savoring it. “It’s my new favorite word.”

His mixture of sweetness and confidence is a powerful elixir.

He kicks open the door to a bedroom, lit by a soft lamp in the corner. Quilts cover an enormous bed, along with six black cowboy hats hung in a perfect row on one wall, each one exactly the same as the last. The opposite wall seems to be made entirely of glass, and the patter from the softening rainstorm provides the perfect backdrop for what is about to come alive between us.

His eyes are trained on me as he steps forward, moving us to the bed. The tightness in my chest quickens my heartbeat. As he lowers me down, his lips are on mine, but the kiss isn’t soft.

He’s nearly snarling as his tongue plunges deep, laying me down and then bracing his body over me. The T-shirt rides up my thighs as our mouths gain a rhythm. Wetness gushes between my legs, and waves of lust crash over me until I’m drowning in him.

His kiss is more than a kiss. It feels like he’s claiming me. Mating me with the crazed intensity of what’s happening. My body flushes with heat as he shifts, knocking my legs apart with his hips.

When he does, a bass growl rumbles from him, and that same fear and trepidation launch through me again.

What am I doing here? Why am I allowing this?

With a man I don’t even know.

In nothing but a T-shirt.HisT-shirt.

“I’m hungry.” That growl again and my heart stops. In that moment, he answers my questions for me. I do know him. Somehow, I do.

Rough fingers grip just above my knees, making me gasp as he spreads my legs. There is no hint of ceremony in his actions. The folds of my body simply peel apart as soft punches of desire hit me from my chest to my thighs, leaving me melting into the soft bedding.

“God.” It’s the only word I can find, and his eyes narrow as he pushes those hands, the hands of a working man, farther up, up, up. The T-shirt slides over my bare skin along with them, exposing my flesh an inch at a time.

“Not God.Ranger.” His voice lowers. “But give me a minute, and you might find those two names interchangeable.”

A second later, I’m a believer.

His mouth.

Oh myRanger.

I alternate lifting my head as best I can to watch the magnificence of what he’s doing between my legs, then dropping it back and arching my back as I squeal, lost in sensations that can’t be legal.

I hear my voice rising, then halting in silence, then crying out as his tongue and lips do things to me that should never stop.

Never. Ever.Stop.

He licks me up and down, up and down, until my breath is in time with his movements, before focusing on my hard nub, sending my body into orbit. The muscles in my back seize, and my hands tear into the quilt below me.

My throat hurts from the raw screams that are coming out of me.

Screams. Yes.

My thighs clamp shut against the rough scruff on his jaw.

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