Page 24 of Hawt Cowboy
She breaks the kiss first, laughing into my neck, breath warm and uneven. “We’re gonna regret this in the morning, you know.”
“No, we won’t,” I say, and I mean it. “Not for a second.”
She pulls back and gives me a look that’s equal parts mischief and dare. “If you’re going to be reckless, Dalton, at least do it right.”
I draw back just enough to see her eyes. “You sure?”
She nods once, then grabs my hand and pulls me toward the side of the bed. The backs of her knees hit the mattress. She sits, tugging me down with her, and the move is so sudden and delicate at the same time that it knocks the wind out of me.
Her hands are everywhere at once — my shoulders, my waist, up under the edge of my shirt, warm and alive. For the first time, she isn’t shy about it. If anything, she’s greedy, nails digging into my back as she pulls me between her knees. I can’t believe how much I want her, how much I want to lay her back on this quilt and see just how far she’ll let me go.
But I slow down. I kiss her jaw, her throat, pausing every few inches just to feel her pulse race under my mouth. She’s still trembling, and it’s not fear or nerves, it’s just all that pent-up want finally breaking loose.
“Tell me to stop,” I whisper, “and I will.” I mean it, but I hope to hell she doesn’t call my bluff.
Instead, she tips her head back, eyes half-shut and mouth parted in a way that makes me dizzy and hungry and grateful all at once.
“Let’s try out that huge bathtub,” she says, and her voice is raspy — sexier than I’ve ever heard it. I don’t need to be asked twice. I slide my hands down her arms, feeling the shudder run through her, and press a kiss to her temple before standing up. The master bath is at the far end of the suite, all marble and wood and a soaking tub big enough for an Oklahoma football team.
I turn on the faucet, twisting both handles until the water runs hot, and watch the steam curl up in humid ribbons. She picks up a bottle of bubble bath and pours some in.
My shirt’s gone in a blink. Savannah is perched against the edge of the sink counter, fingers white from how hard she’s gripping the marble. Her blouse is unbuttoned halfway, and when I reach her, I waste no time. I want her wild and wanting, not poised and polished.
Her hands yank me in by the belt loops, and the way our hips catch is a promise that neither of us is backing down. My mouth finds her collarbone, then further, and her shirt’s gone in a blur of fingers, leaving her in the softest, sexiest lace and skin.
She arches against me, hands running up my back, nails dragging little half-moons into my sides. She’s not shy with me, not even a little. It’s like she’s been waiting all her life to let go and I’m the only one she’ll allow to see the aftermath.
Her bra’s pale blue. Delicate, but not the color of someone who expects to be undressed. I cup her through the lace and she goes still for a moment, looking up at me with eyes so wide and hungry I could drown in them. I trace my thumb under the cup, slow and deliberate, trying to memorize the shiver thatgoes through her. I slide behind her back and unclasp the bra, allowing her beauty to fall free. My hands grasp her breasts, massaging and kneading. I listen to her soft moans and map every inch of her skin, feeling her heart knock wild against her breastbone.
“Why are you still wearing this?” I tug the skirt, voice low and teasing. “Seems like you’re overdressed, Brooks.”
She huffs a breathless laugh, still playing tough, but her hands are fisted in my hair now, holding me as much as herself together. “You’re the one who likes a challenge.”
“That I do. And you’re one that keeps on giving.”
I hook my fingers into the waistband and tug, slow and careful, drawing it over her hips, slow as molasses. She lifts them for me, eyes locked on mine, and I drag the skirt the rest of the way, letting it fall to the floor. Bare thighs. Blue lace. Skin that’s somehow softer and warmer than sunlight. She’s perfect, and she’s mine, and the only thing that matters is the way she looks at me like I’m the only cowboy in the world.
I drop to my knees in front of her, because I want her to know exactly how much I want to discover her body, her mind, her soul. I nuzzle her stomach, her hips, peppering little open-mouth kisses along the bare skin. My hands slide up her thighs, thumbs moving in slow circles at the crease of her thighs. She parts them for me, just a little, just enough. A tremor rides up her leg and into my palms.
Sliding her panties down, I cup her mound and put gentle pressure there with my palm. She gasps, startled and her hands knot the back of my hair. “What about the water?” she asks.
I glance at the tub finding it not even half full of water. “It’ll keep, darlin’. You get to boss me around after the rodeo, sweetheart. But when I’m on the bull … or on you, I’m the boss.”
Chapter 17
Cash
Pulling Savannah forward, I line up my body close to hers until we’re flush. My hungry fingers stretch across her curvy hips. I kiss her again, this time deeper, like I want it to last all night. She tastes me back, all tongue and teeth, like she’s finally letting herself want the thing she’s been denying. God, it’s a high. I can’t remember the last time I felt this alive.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Savvy,” I whisper.
“I’m not, Cash. I don’t even know why you like me.”
“Woman, you’re everything I’m attracted to and want. What could make you think you’re not?”
“I’m … not built like those girls who crowd around you at events.”
“Those girls are fake as hell. Too much makeup, cosmetic procedures, and all they want is to feel like they landed someone half-way famous. They’re not for me … but you are. You’re real and that’s what I love.”
