Page 52 of Cowboy Bull's Promise

The Rut weighs heavily in the back of my consciousness, but tonight I push it aside.

I don’t listen.

I’m deaf, blind, and utterly lost to the woman in my arms.

“Too many clothes,” she breathes, tugging at my shirt like it offends her.

I break the kiss only long enough to tear it off, flinging it somewhere behind me in a blur.

Her shirt is next. Then our pants. By the time I am finished, I am naked as the day I was born and she’s in nothing but her panties.

Black. Cotton.

Thank you, Fates!

I need her hands on me. Now.

“Fuuuuuck,” I groan when her fingers trail over my abs, nails grazing lightly, teasingly, like she knows what she’s doing to me.

She moves up, palms flattening over my chest, to my throat, my jaw—her touch is reverent and wild all at once.

Then she pulls me down for another kiss.

And I go.

Gladly.

Eagerly.

If she told me to set the world on fire, I’d ask her where to light the match.

This kiss.

God, this kiss.

It’s fire and hunger and surrender.

It’s the hottest, most soul-wrecking kiss of my entire fucking life.

And that’s saying something.

I should stop.

I know that.

I know I’m probably all wrong for her.

What if I lose control one day?

What if the Rut hits, and I’m not strong enough to hold it back?

So many things could go wrong.

So many reasons to walk away.

But life doesn’t come with guarantees.

And maybe that’s exactly why I don’t stop.

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