Page 22 of Dirty-Talking Cowboy
I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t stop watching the way his hand moved, the way his jaw clenched with pleasure, the way his free hand gripped the sheets.
“Come closer,” he commanded, voice rough. “Touch me. Touch my chest, my stomach, anywhere you want.”
I did, my hands tentative at first, exploring the planes of his chest, the ridges of his abs. His skin was hot under my palms, and I could feel his heart racing.
“That’s it,” he groaned. “Your hands feel so good. So soft. Makes me imagine them wrapped around my cock, stroking me.”
“Can I?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.
His had stilled. His eyes locked on mine, dark and intense. “You want to touch me?”
“Yes.”
He lowered his hand to his side. “Then do it. Put your hand on me, Maggie. Feel how hard I am for you.”
I wrapped my hand around him and the sound he made—low and almost pained—went straight between my legs. He was hot and hard and silky smooth, and the way he reacted to my inexperienced touch made me feel powerful.
My fingers couldn’t close around him. I ‘d never seen a cock up close before. Never touched a man before, but I knew he was big, larger than average. I remembered him inside and I had to clench my thighs as the ache started again.
“Tighter,” he instructed. “Yeah, like that. Now move your hand—up and down—yeah, just like that.”
I stroked him, learning what he liked by the sounds he made, the way his hips flexed up into my touch. His hand came up to cup my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple. Feeling bold I ran my thumb over his head. He jerked in my hand. “I’m close,” he warned, his voice strained. “If you don’t want to—”
“I want to,” I interrupted. “I want to watch you come this time.”
“Sassy little minx.” His hand covered mine, making me grip him tighter, stroke him faster, and then he was coming with agroan, hot and messy, and I watched it all with a fascination I didn’t know I had.
When he finally caught his breath, he pulled me onto his lap, kissing me deeply. My legs straddled him and his release mixed with my wetness.
“You’re incredible,” he murmured against my lips. “Absolutely incredible.”
“So are you.”
“We’re good together.” His hands slid down to cup my ass, squeezing. “Really good. And this is just the beginning, sweetheart. We’ve got so much more to explore.”
I shivered with anticipation. “I can’t wait.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rhett
Something was off.
I’d been noticing it for the past couple of days—little things, subtle shifts in Maggie’s behavior that set off alarm bells in my head. She was quieter than usual, more distant. She still came to my bed every night, still responded to my touch like she was made for it, but there was something in her eyes. Something guarded.
And it was driving me crazy.
We were out checking her cattle, riding side by side under a clear blue sky, and she’d barely said ten words all morning. Just gave short answers when I asked questions, kept her gaze on the horizon instead of looking at me.
I’d had enough.
“Alright,” I said, pulling our horses to a stop. “What’s going on?”
She looked over at me, confusion flickering across her face. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb, Maggie. You’ve been acting strange for two days now. Distant. Something’s bothering you, and I want to know what it is.”
“Nothing’s bothering me. I’m fine.”
