Page 63 of Not Our First Rodeo
“I want that,” she says.
My heart stops pounding. It stops in my chest, just like my breath, waiting for her next words.
She sighs, the breath catching the bangs that have grown out to her chin now. “I want you, Beau.”
And then she kisses me, and everything in my body roars back to life, like a live wire sparking and catching flame. I think she intends for it to be something soft, sweet, but it changes tempo in an instant when I drag her across the splitting middle seat and into my lap. It’s a tight fit now with the belly, unlike all the times we did this before, but she still fits perfectly against me. She still sighs into my mouth, her hands finding my shoulders and kneading the muscles there like she has a thousand times before.
It feels like a dream, like all the best ones I’ve had the last year, but better. Because this time it’sreal.
“Inside,” she says against my mouth.
I’m nodding, fumbling for the door handle. Warm summer air and the sound of crickets chirping in the moonlight fill the cab a second later. She tries to drop to the ground when I slide out, but I hold her against me, unable to let her go, and I feel her smile against my lips.
“So needy,” she mumbles between kisses.
I pull her tighter against me, her hips locking against mine, and she gasps, sending a bolt of lightning down my spine.
“You have no idea.”
We stumble through the yard and up the porch steps until her back ends up against one of the columns, my mouth trailing down her neck in a way that’s distracting us both. We’re so close to the door, twenty steps from our bedroom, ourbed, but I’m suddenly too impatient for even that distance. Not when she’s in my arms, sighing, her nails raking up and down my back in a way I hope leaves marks that sting when I shower in the morning. Not when her legs tighten around my hips, drawing us impossibly closer, the friction making my breath stutter, my heart hammer. Not when she’s whispering “don’t stop” into my ear as I slide my hand up her thigh and toy with the unbuttoned waistband of her jeans that’s been lingering in the back of my mind all night.
I want to devour her right here on our front porch, but there’s enough sense left in my mind to make me pull back and shake my head against her neck, the spot that smells like vanilla and tastes like sin. “Not until we’re inside, Elsie baby.”
The way she whines has the hair on the back of my neck standing at attention, my mind swirling in a million different directions.
I catch her earlobe between my teeth, promise her something filthy that has her sliding down my body until her boots hit the creaky wooden porch boards. “Let’s get inside.”
My eyes linger on her for a moment longer, unable to look away. Her hair is a mess from my hands, and her shirt has ridden up to expose the unbuttoned waistband of her jeans. Moonlight casts her in silver and the bathroom light from inside bathes her in gold. She looks like something precious. Likemine.
She’s needy, but I want to take my time with her, show her with my body and my words how much I love her, in a way I haven’t been able to in a year.
My boots thud against the porch boards as I close the distance between us, slow and purposeful. My hands find the sides of her neck, thumbs brushing against the delicate skin at the base of her throat. Her lips are swollen, her cheeks mustache-burned.
“I love you, Elsie.”
My words calm the hungry, frantic look in her eyes, make them soften. Her palms slide up my chest, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. It’s too dark to make out the shades of blue in her eyes, the white flecks that are only visible up close, but I can see enough to know they’re intense, blond lashes framing them, kissing her cheeks as she blinks.
She doesn’t look away when she says, “I love you too, Beau. I never stopped.”
My lips find hers, slow, tasting, determined to break her down the way she’s just done to me. I feel raw, exposed, one spark away from catching flame.
She must open the door, because a moment later, we’re walking through it, our hands and mouths never leaving each other. I kick it shut behind me and kick off my boots as she does the same. Then we’re making our way down the hall, closing the distance between our bedroom and the front door in meandering, sloppy steps.
And then we’re at the bed. My hands tremble with anticipation as she lowers herself onto it, body moving with the grace of a dancer, eyes never abandoning mine. For a moment, I just stand there, chest heaving, looking at her under the moonlight cascading through the windows. It makes her skin look silver, her eyes dark as midnight. Just the sight of her makes my heart ache and the palms of my hands itch with the need to touch her.It’s been too long, and I want to make this last. I want to make this good.
I move in slowly, erasing the distance between us, one hand falling to her hip, the other tilting her head up at the angle I want. My lips find her, soft and urgent and filled with all the wanting that’s been coursing through me for months. A year. Too long. Too damn long.
Her breath hitches as my hands wander, as they push up the hem of her shirt, my mouth following the same trail. Her skin burns beneath my lips. It’s soft, delicate. The feel of it has always driven me nuts. Sometimes I’d wake up from dreams, the palms of my hands tingling, and I could swear I was just touching her, feeling her, loving her, only to realize I was alone.
But not right now. This is real.She’sreal.
“Elsie,” I murmur into her skin.
She shivers as my mustache scrapes over a ticklish spot. I can’t say anything else. Her name just slips from my lips over and over again like a prayer, an enchantment. Something special, something precious. My entire world in one little word.
She squirms beneath the light touch of my mouth, and I can sense her getting frustrated. It makes a smile pull at my lips, and I press one more kiss to a sensitive spot beneath her belly button before she pulls me up until my mouth is on hers. My weight presses her down into the mattress, and she sighs against my lips, hands tightening on the sheets.
When I palm her hip, knead it, a switch in her flips, and her hands start fumbling at my clothes, exposing skin like she’s on a mission, tugging and pulling, knuckles scraping against muscles. She’s needy, restless, urgent, but I indulge her for only a moment before stilling her hands, pulling back until all I can see is her face in the moonlight.
