Page 20 of Cowboy Stalker
She swallows and puts her hand on my chest. “I like the way you see me.”
“I’ll spend the rest of my life telling you how amazing you are,” I promise, meaning the words. When I told her over dinner that I didn’t plan for her to be a single mom too much longer, I wasn’t lying.
The only thing standing in our way is her past. Once the men who are after her are in jail, I’m going to tell the world she’s mine. I’ll slide my ring on her finger and pound on my chest in front of our family and friends as the pastor tells them what I knew since the moment I laid eyes on her: this girl is mine.
Cupping her face, I press my lips to hers. She’s sweet tea and precious innocence. I’ll protect her for the rest of my life. It will be my greatest mission and my highest honor, caring for this woman.
She shifts, moving to put her knees on either side of my thighs. When she does that, she pulls away from my kiss. “Seatbelt.”
I blink, sucking in oxygen and trying to figure out what she’s saying.
She giggles, her breath stirring my beard. She tugs on the belt across my chest. “Take this off.”
I yank it off, my fingers brushing against the soft skin of her legs. How is she so soft and lush everywhere? I’m going to have to resign from the department and stop working the farm. I’ll spend my days in bed, doing dirty things to my angel. I’ll make her sigh in bliss every day, bring heaven right to her door. She’ll want for nothing as I wait on her hand and foot.
I groan. “You’re going to destroy me, honey.”
She goes for the buttons on my shirt, yanking it open to reveal the white muscle shirt underneath.
“Why so many clothes?” She protests with an adorable pout to her voice. I never knew that sound could be sexy.
“Right back at you,” I whisper as I slide my hands up her legs and underneath that silky slip so I can touch her curves. I love the way they fill my hands. I can’t wait to watch them shake and shudder when she’s in my bed, feeling me pleasure her.
“Not there. I’m self-conscious about my belly. Too many stretch marks,” she tells me, pressing a hot kiss to my neck. Her lips are an inferno, stoking the fire burning in my body even hotter.
“This belly carries nutrients for your body. It gives you energy to do all those things I love watching you do, like singing under your breath and reading your favorite steamy books. It’s carried the little one I want to call my own. This belly deserves nothing less than my complete respect and devotion.” Since we’re in my truck, I can’t reach down and press kisses to her precious belly so I kiss my palms instead and rub them over her skin.
She whimpers my name. “That’s really…I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
I kiss her again, sweeping my tongue into her mouth as my fingers continue to dance across her skin. I cherish the lumps and bumps, the cellulite and the silvery stretch marks.
It amazes me that warriors are taught to celebrate their scars as proof they lived, and women are taught to diminish their stretch marks as though there’s something shameful about their survival. There is nothing shameful about my woman’s body. Every inch of it is beautiful, and I can’t wait until the moment I can stretch her out in my bed and examine it properly.
She pushes herself against me, her chest bumping mine. I love the weight of her breasts, the way I can feel every heaving breath. The way she gasps into my mouth when my fingers go beneath her belly, cupping her feminine heat. She grinds against my hand, seeking the friction she so desperately needs.
I play her body slowly until she’s writhing against me, finding her release. It’s the most sacred experience of my life, feeling her fall apart in my arms and knowing I caused it.
When she slumps against me and buries her face in my neck, contentment thrums through my veins. Yeah, I made a mess in my pants while making sure she got what she needed. It was still the best moment of my life.
The windows of the truck are fogged, and the air is filled with the smell of her sweet nectar. I’m dying for a taste, but I want it straight from the source.
I hold her as her breathing evens out. When it does, I feel her smile against me. “Do we have to rush back?”
“We have as much time as you need,” I reassure her. As long as no one calls to say there’s trouble at my aunt’s house, I have no intention of ending this night early. I’ve wanted her for too long to give her back now. If that makes me selfish, I don’t care.
“Then can we go to your cabin?”
“You want to see where I live? It’s hardly anything. It’s a little shack that needs updating and more than a few modern amenities. I’m lucky there’s hot water,” I admit in case she has any vision of my place being something she sees featured in those farmhouse magazines with matching throw pillows and a sleeping dog on the front porch. That’s the life I want to give her.
“I want to be in your bed,” she huffs out.
It dawns on me that she’s not all that curious about my place. “You want to be in my bed the first time I make love to you.”
“That’s exactly what I want.”
“I’m warning you now. Once you climb into my bed, I’m not letting you up until I’ve fulfilled every fantasy I have of you. That’s going to take the next four decades, give or take the occasional leg cramp.”
She giggles. “We’ll have to massage those out very slowly.”
