Page 65 of Claimed By the Cowboy
“Forget the coffee.” I bury my face in her neck, breathing in the scent that’s pure Kitty—vanilla and wildflowers and home. “I’ve got everything I need right here.”
“I need to finish icing the rolls,” she protests, but her hands are already fisting in my hair.
“They can wait.” I bite down on the sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder, marking her the way I do every morning. “I’m hungry for something else.”
She shivers, nipples hardening against my chest through my shirt. Christ, knowing she’s not wearing anything underneath makes me growl against her throat.
I pull back to look at her—flushed cheeks, lips still kiss-swollen from last night, brown eyes dark with the same need burning through me. “You’re beautiful, Kitty. So damn beautiful I can barely think straight.”
“Even with morning hair?” She tries to smooth down the wild tangles, but I catch her hands.
“Especially with morning hair. You look like you’ve been thoroughly fucked by your husband.” I press my forehead against hers, breathing hard. “Which you were. Twice last night, if memory serves.”
Her cheeks flame red, but she doesn’t look away. Even after six months, she still blushes at my dirty talk.
“You’re insatiable,” she whispers.
“Only for you.” My fingers trail up her bare thighs, stopping short of where she’s already wet for me. “Always for you, Mrs. Sutton.”
Her breath hitches as my fingers skim higher. She arches into my touch, lips parting, and for a second, I forget about cinnamon rolls, coffee, or the rest of the world.
“Tom…” she breathes, voice shaky with want.
I grin, cock throbbing against her soft belly. “Say the word, darlin’, and I’ll take you right here. Counter, table. Hell, under the tree if that’s what you want.”
Her nails dig into my shoulders, her lips brushing my jaw as she whispers, “Much as I’d love to let you ravish me on the kitchen counter, everyone is coming for breakfast.”
That yanks me back a step. “Everyone?”
Her smile is sly as she pushes lightly at my chest. “Which means I need to put on some clothes before your brothers walk in and see me like this.”
I groan like a man on death row. “Cruel woman.”
“Responsible woman,” she corrects, sliding off the counter. The hem of my flannel rides scandalously high as she pads toward the bedroom, throwing me a look over her shoulder that promises I’ll pay for this later—in the best way.
I adjust myself in my jeans, muttering a curse. Cinnamon rolls. Family breakfast. Sure. But all I can think about is getting my wife back in bed and proving how insatiable I am.
After lighting the fire in the livingroom, I turn my attention to the cinnamon rolls, drizzling frosting on the last few on the cooling rack.
Kitty pads back into the kitchen as I finish, hair in a messy knot, wearing jeans and a soft red sweater that saysJingle My Bells.
I smirk. “Is that an invitation?”
She arches a brow, utterly unruffled. “Depends. Only if you think you can keep up, cowboy.”
“Oh, I can keep up.” I lick frosting off my finger suggestively just to see the heat spark in her eyes. Worth it.
“Incorrigible,” she mutters, but she bites her lip as she starts setting out plates.
I snag her wrist and tug her close for a kiss that’s meant to be quick but lingers the second I taste her lips. “Mmm. Sweet as frosting.”
Her cheeks flush as she swats me with a dishtowel. “Behave, Tom Sutton. Your brothers will be here any minute.”
“I’m always on my best behavior.”
She snorts. “Then heaven help us all.”
The words barely leave her mouth before a knock rattles the front door—unexpected because, as we both know, Suttons never knock.
