Page 70 of Taming the Billionaire Cowboy
His answer is to guide me backward until I feel the edge of a workbench against my thighs. In one swift motion, he lifts me onto it, stepping between my legs.
His hands work quickly at my belt and jeans, and I lift my hips to help him slide them down. He follows the fabric with his mouth, pressing kisses to the newly exposed skin of my thighs.
By the time he’s kneeling in front of me, I’m down to just my panties. He hooks his fingers into the sides, looking up at me for permission. I nod, lifting my hips again as he pulls them down, leaving me completely exposed to his gaze.
He takes his time looking at me, and I feel a blush spreading across my chest and face. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, his hands caressing my thighs.
Then his mouth is on me, his tongue finding that spot that makes me see stars. I cry out, my fingers tangling in his hair as waves of pleasure begin to wash over me. He works me with his mouth and fingers until I’m teetering on the edge, my thighs trembling either side of his head.
“Oliver,” I gasp. “I need you inside me. Now.”
He rises to his feet, his eyes wild and intense. His hands go to his belt, and I watch hungrily as he undoes his jeans andpushes them down along with his boxers. He’s as magnificent as I remember, hard and ready for me.
He positions himself at my entrance, his eyes locked with mine. “I love you,” he says again, the words sending a rush of warmth through my chest.
“I love you, too,” I whisper back, the admission easy and natural, like I’ve been saying it all my life.
He pushes into me slowly, both of us groaning at the sensation. When he’s fully inside me, he pauses, his forehead resting against mine, our breath mingling.
“You feel like home,” he murmurs, and the simple truth of it brings tears to my eyes.
Then he starts to move, his thrusts deep and deliberate. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him. Our bodies move together in perfect rhythm like we’ve been doing this dance for years.
The pleasure builds steadily, each thrust bringing me closer to the edge. Oliver’s breathing grows ragged, his movements more urgent. I know he’s close, too.
“Come with me,” he whispers, his hand slipping between us to where we’re joined, his fingers working magic.
It’s all I need. The pleasure crests and breaks, washing over me in waves as I cry out his name. He follows a moment later, his body tensing as he finds his own release.
We stay like this for a long moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, our bodies still joined, hearts beating in tandem. Neither of us wants to break the spell.
Finally, Oliver pulls back just enough to look at me, his expression serious. “I meant what I said. I’m not going anywhere.”
I lean forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Good. Because you’re stuck with us now.”
He laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
And as I look at him, this man who gave up everything to be here with me and my son, I know he’s telling the truth. I know that this is the beginning of something real and lasting, something worth fighting for.
And for the first time in a very long time, I let myself believe in happy endings.
EPILOGUE
OLIVER – ONE YEAR LATER
The sun isn’t even up yet, but I’m already awake. It’s become a habit over the past year — rising before dawn to enjoy a few quiet moments before the day begins. I carefully slide out of bed, trying not to disturb Carly, who’s still sleeping peacefully beside me.
I pause to look at her, hair splayed across the pillow, soft lips slightly parted. Even after a year, I sometimes can’t believe this is my life.
After pulling on jeans and a flannel shirt, I make my way downstairs, the old wooden steps creaking beneath my feet. The ranch house feels different to when I first bought it — warmer, homely. Carly’s sketches hang on the walls alongside Bradley’s school artwork. Photos of the three of us are everywhere — riding horses, at the Fourth of July parade, and at Bradley’s eighth birthday party last month.
Home. It’s a word that used to mean nothing more than an expensive piece of real estate where I rarely spent time. Now it means everything.
The coffee machine hums to life when I press the button, and I breathe in the invigorating scent of morning time. While it brews, I check my phone. There’s an email from Dave about quarterly reports, but it can wait. My stake in the company ensures I’m kept in the loop, but the day-to-day operations aren’t my concern anymore.
I’ve found other concerns — better ones.
Cup in hand, I step out onto the porch and settle into the swing Carly and I installed last summer. The pre-dawn air is cool, carrying the scent of distant rain. Clucks and crows come from the chickens, and an occasional neigh leaves the stable.
