Page 40 of Still A Cowboy
Their naked bodies pressed together, skin sliding against skin, every touch sparking something hotter, something deeper. Cal kissed her like he could never get enough, his hands roaming, exploring, memorizing the feel of her.
Willa arched against him, her breath ragged, her voice rough with urgency. “Now, Cal. I need you now.”
Somehow, despite the pounding of his heart and the rush of heat clouding his brain, he managed to grab a condom from his wallet and open it with surprising skill. He rolled it on quickly, grateful that for once, he had hit that rare sweet spot where coordination actually cooperated with him.
“Smooth after all,” Willa whispered, her lips brushing his.
He grinned against her mouth. “Told you.”
Then he thrust inside her, sinking deep, and they both gasped like the moment had hit harder than either of them expected.
They moved together, finding a rhythm that was easy and natural, a perfect mix of breathless urgency and playful heat. The world outside slipped away, and for a while, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing, the quiet hum of the room, and the undeniable pull between them.
Willa met him thrust for thrust, her fingers sliding over his back, clutching him closer like she wanted to pull him inside out.
Her soft gasps turned to needy moans, her head tipping back, her body tightening beneath his. Cal kissed the hollow of her throat, dragging his lips along her collarbone, tasting her skin, feeling her pulse fluttering under his mouth.
“Cal,” she whispered, the word catching,shaking.
He loved the way she said his name. Loved the way she unraveled in his arms.
He picked up the pace, their bodies fitting so perfectly it felt like the kind of thing you couldn’t fake, couldn’t force. It was just there. Easy. Right.
When she shattered around him, crying out his name as she clung to him, he followed, his own release crashing over him, stealing his breath and taking every last ounce of control.
They stayed tangled up together, chests rising and falling, hearts racing.
Cal buried his face in her hair, breathing her in. “Okay,” he said between breaths, his voice low and a little wrecked. “That… was better than cookies.”
Chapter Twelve
Thanksgiving at the Seaglass Saloon was a loud, crowded, slightly chaotic affair. The mismatched chairs around the long table didn’t quite fit together, and the plates were a mix of whatever survived the last dishwasher meltdown. Still, for Willa, it felt like home.
Or rather her Seaglass home.
For as long as she could remember, it’d been their family tradition to have Thanksgiving in the saloon and while it wasn’t the coziest of atmospheres, it was somehow always perfect.
Even when it wasn’t.
Right now, it was indeed perfect.
Willa sat across from Cal, doing her best to ignore the way her mother, grandmother, and even Fia kept dropping the most unsubtle soulmate hints humanly possible.
“I always say,” Delia said, passing a basket of rolls, “that a true soulmate will carve the turkey just right. Nice and steady, no unnecessaryshredding.”
Cal, who had been expertly carving the turkey with the precision of a surgeon, gave her a small, knowing grin. He’d taken over that duty after Willa’s father, Benji, had been more than happy to hand the chore off to someone else.
“Not everyone’s lucky enough to find a soulmate, though,” her grandmother Maeve chimed in as she heaped sweet potatoes onto her plate. “But sometimes, they’re sitting right across the table from you, and you’d be a fool not to notice.”
Fia covered a laugh with a cough, badly.
Willa focused on her mashed potatoes. She had been ignoring this matchmaking all day. She had been pretending that she didn’t notice the subtle glances or the not-so-subtle nudges from her family. She had been pretending that her pulse didn’t kick up every time Cal’s knee brushed hers under the table.
Except she wasn’t doing a very good job of pretending.
Because Cal was definitely looking at her like he was replaying every inch of their last night together.
And she was definitely thinking about it, too. Thinking about his hands, his mouth, the low rumble of his voice when he said her name against her skin.
