Page 15 of Dirty-Talking Cowboy
“Yes. I can do that.”
“Good girl.” The praise made warmth bloom in my chest, and his smile told me he knew exactly what effect those words had on me. “Now, I’m going to undress you. Slow. And I’m going to tell you exactly what I’m thinking while I do it. Alright?”
“Okay.”
His hands moved to the top button of my dress, and he worked it free with practiced ease. “I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “About getting you out of your clothes. About seeing all these curves you keep hiding from me.”
Another button. Then another. His knuckles brushed against my skin with each one, sending shivers racing through me.
“You have no idea how beautiful you are,” he continued, his eyes following the path his hands were making. “How many times I’ve imagined this. How hard it’s been to keep my hands to myself when all I wanted was to touch you, taste you, make you mine.”
The dress fell open, and cool air hit my skin. I was wearing simple underwear—nothing sexy, just plain cotton, because I hadn’t exactly packed lingerie when I moved to a ranch—and I felt a flash of embarrassment. He probably expected something better, something—
“Perfect,” he breathed, and the raw want in his voice stopped that thought in its tracks. His hands came up to push the dress off my shoulders, letting it pool at my feet. “Fuck, Maggie. Look at you.”
I wanted to cover myself. I wanted to hide the softness of my stomach, the thickness of my thighs, all the parts of me I’d spent years being self-conscious about. But the way he was looking at me—like I was something he wanted—made me freeze.
“Don’t,” he said, catching my wrists before I could cross my arms over my chest. “Don’t hide from me. I want to see all of you.”
“Rhett, I’m not—I know I’m not—”
“Not what? Not perfect?” He pulled me flush against him, and I could feel every hard plane of his body through his clothes. Feel the evidence of how much he wanted me pressing against my stomach. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re exactly what I want. These curves, this softness—do you have any idea what you do to me?”
His hands slid down my sides, over my waist, my hips, squeezing gently. “I want to put my mouth everywhere. I want to taste every inch of your skin. I want to make you come so many times you forget your own name.” He smiled. “Maybe even mine.”
“As if that could happen,” I murmured. Heat flooded through me, pooling low in my belly, and I felt an ache between my thighs that I’d only ever felt alone in the dark, touching myself and imagining something I’d never thought I’d actually experience.
He laughed. His hands were on my hips kneading my flesh. “Tell me what you want, Maggie. Use your words.”
My face went hot. “I don’t know how to—”
“Try.” His hands gripped harder, his fingers biting into my flesh. “Tell me what you’ve been thinking about.”
“Your hands,” I managed. “I’ve been thinking about your hands on me. About what it would feel like when you—when you touch me.”
“Touch you where?” He was pushing, I knew he was pushing, but something about the way he demanded honesty made me want to give it to him.
“Everywhere.” My voice came out barely above a whisper. “I want you to touch me everywhere.”
“Good girl.” He kissed me then, deep and thorough, his tongue sweeping into my mouth like he owned it. Like he owned me. And God help me, I thought maybe he did.
As his mouth took mine, he reached behind me, and I felt the clasp of my bra give way. He pulled the straps down my arms slowly before breaking off the kiss. The bra fell away, and I was bare from the waist up. My first instinct was to cover myself, but his hands caught mine again.
“Let me look,” he said, voice strained. “Let me see you.”
I forced myself to stay still, to let him look his fill, even though every insecurity I’d ever had was screaming at me. My breasts were large, heavy, and I’d always thought they were too much. Too big, too—
“Perfect,” he breathed again, and then his hands were on me, cupping my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples, and I gasped at the sensation. “So damn perfect.”
He dipped his head, and then his mouth was on my breast, hot and wet, and I made a sound I’d never made before. My hands flew to his hair, holding on as he sucked and licked and used his teeth in ways that made pleasure spike through me.
“Rhett—oh God—”
“That’s it,” he murmured against my skin. “Let me hear you. Let me know I’m making you feel good.”
His hands were everywhere—on my breasts, my waist, my hips—and I was drowning in sensation. In the feel of his mouth on me, his hands claiming every curve, his body solid and strong against mine.
He walked me backward until my legs hit the bed. Then before I could react, he lifted me under my arms, and tossing me into the center. He followed me down, covering me with his body. The weight of him, the heat of him, it was overwhelming in the best possible way.
