Page 40 of Rough Cowboy
“Try what?”
His torso traps my feet against his lap. Not that I’m putting much effort into escaping his grasp.
“A foot massage.” He picks up my bottle of lotion and squirts a good amount in his hand.
“My foot massage was just fine.” Sammy sounds disgruntled.
“You didn’t even use lotion.” Silver’s callused palms lather the lotion. My skin tingles with memories of his touch. His rough hand palming my breasts, my ass, every last inch of me.
“I don’t need another foot mass—” Silver’s greasy fingers slide over my entire foot, and all other thoughts vanish.
I hear the small gasp of pleasure leave my lips. I’m lost in his touch.
Memories flood.
Butterflies explode.
My core tenses.
Damn him for having this effect on me—any impact on me. I blame it on my underlying daddy issues. I’m drawn to the worst men.
I watch him angle his body, resting one bent leg on the chaise, twisting to face me. His hands firmly hold my foot while his eyes firmly hold my gaze.
His fingers start at the top of my toes, slowly run to my ankle, and then back again.
“One out of ten,” I tease, trying to sound casual and carefree instead of the lust building up inside me. “Sammy’s foot rub was ten out of ten.”
“Hold on now; I’m just gettin’ started.” He brings my foot up to his chest.
I swallow hard, trying to ignore the rushing memories of his mouth sucking each of my toes.
He rubs and kneads the underside using his thumb and knuckles from my heel to the ball of my foot. The pressure of his thumbs on my arch sends warmth flowing through me. One thumb moves clockwise. The other thumb moves counterclockwise. Up and down.
Each stroke stirs twitches in my core. It throbs from my pent-up arousal. It’s been weeks since I’ve had any release and watching the Wilde twins strutting the property in cowboy boots, shirtless and sweaty, flexing muscles that dip past the waistband of their denim jeans. And don’t even get me started on the Stetson.
But it’s not the Wilde twins who had me permaroused for two weeks. It’s one brother: Silver.
It’s the way his smell lingers in the house long after he’s left. It’s the sound of his voice when he thinks I’m sleeping. It’s the longing to hear his laughter rumble from deep in his chest. And I miss our banter more than I’d like to admit.
I know he’s bad for me.
I know he doesn’t care.
But every time I close my damn eyes, I see him. I’m drawn to him. I want him, and at the same time, I want nothing to do with him.
“How’s this?” My heart flutters at his husky voice.
His thumbs walk up my foot and then slide down.
“It’s alright.” My lie comes out in my husky whisper and garners his lopsided grin.
“Ten out of ten?” His soft, kissable lips barely move with his inquiry, but my skin burns and tingles, recalling how his tongue swirled over my collarbone, breasts, thigh—and then my sex.
Every touch, slide, and rub is incredible to the point everything around me has vanished. The living room, Sammy, and the television. I’m in a bubble with Silver alone.
No baby.
No baggage.
