Page 19 of Dirty-Talking Cowboy
I rolled her onto her back, cutting off her challenge with a kiss. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m going to enjoy proving I’m not all talk. But first, you’re going to rest. And then I’m going to feed you, because you need your strength.”
“For?”
“For everything else I’m planning to do to you tonight.” I nipped at her bottom lip. “Now close your eyes. Rest. I’ll wake you up in a bit.”
She snuggled against me, her breathing evening out almost immediately. I held her, watching her sleep, and felt something settle in my chest. Something possessive and protective and a hell of a lot deeper than just physical satisfaction.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Maggie
I woke up sore.
Not just a little sore—the kind of sore that made itself known the second I tried to shift positions in bed. Between my thighs, in muscles I didn’t even know I had, everywhere Rhett had touched and claimed and made his own.
I also woke up alone.
The bed beside me was empty, the sheets cool, and for a moment panic fluttered in my chest. Had he left? Had last night been some kind of mistake? Was he regretting—
“Morning, sleepyhead.”
I turned my head to find Rhett leaning against the doorway, wearing nothing but low-slung jeans, his hair damp from a shower. He was holding two mugs of coffee, and the sight of him—all that bare chest and smug attitude—made my body quicken despite the soreness.
“Morning,” I managed, pulling the sheet up higher over my naked body.
His eyes tracked the movement, and his mouth curved into a knowing smile. “Little late for modesty, don’t you think? I’ve seen and tasted every inch of you.”
My face went hot. “That was different. That was—”
“That was last night. This is now.” He pushed off the doorway and walked to the bed, setting both mugs on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the mattress. “How do you feel?”
“Sore,” I admitted.
His expression softened. “Yeah, I figured you would be. First time usually leaves you feeling it the next day.” His hand came up to brush hair back from my face. “You should have told me to slow down.”
“I didn’t want you to slow down.” It was true. Even now, sore and uncertain, I didn’t regret a single second of what we’d done. “It was perfect.”
“It was.” He leaned down and kissed me softly. “But you’re going to need a day or two to recover before we do that again.”
Disappointment curled through me. “A day or two?”
“Well, before we do most of that again.” His smile turned wicked. “But there are other things we can do. Things that won’t make you more sore. Things that’ll make you feel very, very good without any discomfort.”
Heat pooled low in my belly despite the soreness. “What kind of things?”
“Let me show you.” He stood up, held out his hand. “Come on. We’re taking a bath.”
“A bath?”
“Hot water will help with the soreness. And it’ll give me an excuse to get my hands on you again.” He waggled his eyebrows, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“You don’t need an excuse to touch me.”
“No, but I like having one anyway. Now come on, before the water gets cold.”
He led me to his bathroom—which showed off just how wealthy he was. It was marble and glass a far cry from the small bathroom from the one in my house. A shower big enough fortwo was on one wall, while a large tub was on the other, already filled with steaming water. Naturally, there were jets on the sides.
He helped me in, then climbed in behind me, settling me between his legs so my back rested against his chest.
