Page 29 of Nanny for the Single Dad Cowboy
She looks me directly in my eyes as she responds, “I’m not going anywhere.”
And that’s all the invitation I need.
I reach across the small space and pull her into me, our mouths crashing together. She tastes like whiskey and heat, sweet and dangerous. Her hand fists in my shirt, tugging me closer, until I’ve got her pressed against the cushions. Her legs spreading easily when I shove my knee between them.
I drag my mouth down her neck, biting just enough to make her gasp. “You’ve been driving me fucking insane since the second you walked into my ranch. Hell, since DC.”
Her nails dig into my shoulders. “Good,” she breathes.
I groan, sliding my hands under her shirt, palming the soft swell of her breasts. Her back arches, pushing into me, and I yank the fabric up over her head, tossing it aside. She’s in a simple bra, but fuck if she isn’t the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen. I pull a cup down, freeing one nipple, and suck it into my mouth, biting until she cries out.
Her hips roll against my thigh, needy, and desperate. I shove my hand between her legs, cupping her through her jeans. She’s already hot, and wet, even with the barrier of denim. I grind my palm harder, swallowing the sounds spilling out of her throat.
“Take them off,” she pants.
I pull back, grip the waistband, and drag her jeans down. She kicks them away, left in nothing but her panties and bra. I hook my fingers in the thin scrap of fabric and rip it aside, groaning when I see how wet she is for me.
“Fuck, Tessa…” I slide a finger through her slick folds, teasing her clit before plunging two deep inside her. She gasps, clutching at me, her thighs trembling as I curl my fingers just right.
Her head falls back against the cushions, lips parted, eyes glazed. I work her harder, faster, pumping in and out of her, until she’s writhing, her cries filling the room.
When she clenches tight around my hand, teetering on the edge, I pull free. She whimpers at the loss, glaring up at me, but I’m already undoing my belt, shoving my jeans and briefs down. Pain flares in my leg and shoulder from this position, but it’s nothing compared to the heat wreaking havoc in my body from the beauty under me.
My cock springs free, thick and aching, precum smearing across her thigh when I press against her.
Her eyes drop, widening slightly, then flick back up to mine. “Jesus, Jace, I don’t remember it being that big.”
Pride swells in my chest. “Say it,” I growl, lining up at her entrance.
“I want you,” she gasps. “Please Jace.”
I slam into her in one brutal thrust. She cries out, nails raking my back, and I set a punishing rhythm, driving into her over and over until her moans turn into broken sobs of pleasure.
Her walls clutch around me, tight and wet, and I lose myself in the sound of her begging, the feel of her body yielding to mine. I flip her onto her knees, yank her ass up, and bury myself again, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. This position is much easier on my fucked up body.
“Goddamn, you feel so good,” I groan, pounding into her. My palm cracks against her ass, making her jolt and cry out.
“Yes—fuck—harder—“
I oblige, slamming into her until the couch rocks beneath us, the air thick with sweat and the slap of skin. She clenches around me, her scream muffled in the cushion as she falls apart, trembling with release.
I’m right there with her, pulling out at the last second and spilling hot across her lower back, marking her with my cum, breath ragged, body shaking with the force of it.
For a moment, the only sound is our breathing, tangled and heavy. She collapses against the cushions, hair plastered to her damp skin, and I stare down at her, chest heaving.
Fuck. What the hell have I just done?
13
TESSA
I wake to the smell of sex, leather, and the faint hum of equipment. It’s not a good mix, especially for the pounding in my head. It feels like I swallowed the bourbon bottle whole. But that’s not what twists my stomach. It’s the memory, heat, skin, Jace’s weight pressing me into the couch cushions, and the sound of my own voice begging him not to stop.
Oh, God. What the hell was I thinking?
I push up, groaning as my body protests, sore in ways that have nothing to do with ranch chores. The blanket someone, probably him, threw over me is tangled around my legs. All my clothes are folded in a neat pile on the coffee table in front of me, but my panties are nowhere in sight. I scrub a hand over my face, as if I can erase the night with enough pressure.
I’ve been living in denial for a month, telling myself that DC was a one-off that cannot happen again, yet all it took was one night, some alcohol in my system, and a very sexy cowboy to rethink all that. If I thought DC was great, then last night was out of this world. And I wouldn’t mind it happening again.
