Page 99 of The Rancher Married the Wrong Sister
His hands frame my face as he deepens the kiss, and I hear myself make a sound that should probably embarrass me. Instead, it seems to snap the last thread of his control. He pulls back just far enough to look at me, his breathing harsh.
“Tell me to stop.”
“No.”
“Wednesday—”
“Please.” The word comes out broken, needy. “Please don’t stop.”
The conflict in his eyes transforms into pure, predatory determination. When he kisses me again, it’s different. This time it’s slower, more deliberate, like he’s memorizing the taste of me.
His mouth trails down my throat, finding that sensitive spot where my pulse hammers wildly. “You’re trembling,” hemurmurs against my skin, and the vibration of his voice makes me shiver.
I’m dimly aware that he’s being careful with me, his touches gentle but sure as he maps every inch of exposed skin. When his fingers find the buttons of my nightgown, he pauses, looking into my eyes.
“Tell me if you want me to stop.”
I shake my head frantically. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
He makes quick work of the buttons, but then slows down again, his hands reverent as he pushes the fabric aside. The way he looks at me like I’m something miraculous makes me feel beautiful instead of embarrassed.
“So damn perfect,” he breathes, and I believe him completely.
His mouth follows the path his hands have traced, pressing kisses to my collarbone, the valley between my breasts, the soft skin of my stomach. Each touch sends sparks through my nervous system, and I’m already trembling before he’s even really begun.
“Gavine,” I whisper, not sure what I’m asking for.
“I know, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.”
And he does.
Oh, he does.
His hands and mouth work in perfect harmony, building a tension inside me that I didn’t even know was possible. Every caress is deliberate, designed to drive me higher, and when hisfingers finally find that most sensitive part of me, I cry out in shock at the intensity.
“Easy,” he soothes, his voice rough with desire. “Let me get you ready for me.”
Ready for what, I want to ask, but then his fingers move in a way that has my back arching off the bed, and coherent thought becomes impossible.
He takes his time preparing me, building me up and bringing me to the edge again and again until I’m sobbing his name and clinging to his shoulders. Only then does he position himself above me, his eyes never leaving mine.
“This is going to hurt,” he warns, his jaw tight with the effort of holding back.
“I don’t care,” I manage to say. “I want this. I want you.”
He enters me slowly, so slowly, giving my body time to adjust. There is pain, a sharp, burning sensation that makes me gasp, but it’s overshadowed by the incredible feeling of being joined with him, of belonging to this man I love so desperately.
“Breathe for me,” he whispers against my ear, holding perfectly still. “Just breathe.”
I do as he says, and gradually the pain fades, replaced by something else entirely. Something that makes me want to move, to take more of him.
“Better?” he asks, and I nod.
That’s when he begins to move, each thrust careful and controlled. He watches my face intently, reading everyexpression, adjusting his rhythm until he finds what makes me gasp with pleasure instead of discomfort.
“Fuck, you feel incredible,” he murmurs when I arch beneath him. “So tight around me.”
The raw words combined with his wicked mouth on my throat has me crying out his name. The feeling builds again, different this time but even more intense. I can feel myself climbing toward something incredible, something that makes my entire body sing with anticipation.
