Page 51 of Cowboy Bull's Promise

“Kian,” she moans my name, and it hits me like a lightning strike straight to the chest—hot, electric, and all-consuming.

It’s not just a sound.

It’s a goddamn symphony.

Fuck that. What do I know about symphonies?

That sound is like the best fucking rock ballad of all time.

And I want to hear it again. And again.

On constant repeat in surround fucking sound.

Mine.

I crush her lips beneath mine, pleading entry so I can drink in her sweet nectar like the desperate beggar I am.

Like I’ve been starved for her my whole fucking life.

And maybe I have.

She stumbles back, and I follow without hesitation, pressing her against the wall, my body hard and unyielding against her softer curves.

She fit against me like she was made to be here.

Like this was always meant to happen.

Yes. Mate. Mine.

My Bull is riding me hard, and for the first time, I am in complete agreement with him.

Arliss is mine.

She is Mo Chroí. My heart.

My fingers skim her waist, up her sides, and fuck, she feels like silk under my calloused hands.

Every inch of her lights me up, burns through the fog of doubt trying to creep in.

I know I’m not good enough for her.

Not even close.

But I don’t care.

I can’t stop.

I won’t.

My Bull roars inside me.

Wild, restless, already aching to claim.

To mark.

To make sure no one ever forgets that she’s mine.

Thoughts claw at the edges of my mind—warnings, fears, all the reasons I should slow down.

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