Page 17 of Tattooed Cowboy
“Need you.” My voice is raw, breathing ragged.
“Yes.” Her answer trembles against the shake of her body.
Children of light land among the pines.
Ancient memory—shared, ours—seeping into the spaces between our flesh.
Hands building shelters of stone and star-metal as my palms graze over her impossibly soft skin.
I memorize every smooth plane and curve—perfection.
My head dips, mouth kissing along her jawline and neck, her shoulder, down to her full breasts buried beneath pink lace.
Her desire scents the air, sweet as a promise.
The clasp gives, the fabric falls, and I admire her for one exquisite, painful moment.
Every need hangs between us, begging for release.
She trembles beneath my touch, exhale shuddering as I take her nipple into my mouth, circling with my tongue.
She gasps, eyes searching mine when I raise my head.
“Too much?”
“Not enough. Need more.”
I suck and tease her, nip and lap, kneading her with my hands before switching sides.
Her moan melts into my skin, pleasure doubling back as I feel her feeling me.
Ecstasy so thick it could kill—or push me to reckless, dangerous things.Like this.
Her mind brushes mine again:It’s too much—heat, sound, you.
But the fear is holy, not horror.
I reach for more because I sense she needs to know what she is with me.
“Mine,” I say, the full thrust of longing hitting hard.
Something inside her flares in answer—not submission, but recognition.
The word doesn’t trap us; it names what we’ve already claimed.
“Yours, Maveryk. All yours.”
“Say it again.”
“Say what?”
“My name.”
“Maveryk.”
I’m a goner. Lost. Ready to die for this—for her.
Light bends around us.
