Page 74 of Slow Hands Cowboy

He hadn’t made her beg, hadn’t made her admit a damned thing. He was failing at this. Failing at keeping the upper hand, failing at winning.

He just didn’t fucking care.

He swept Addison up into his arms, and she squeaked, gripping the front of his shirt and clinging to him as he barged through the door.

This had been too many years in the making.

And he was about to get what he wanted. What they both wanted.

There was no waiting anymore.

Chapter Fifteen

She was floating, and not just because Walker was carrying her. Because she had never felt like this before. Her whole body was lit up. So on edge, and burning in a way that she never had been in her life.

No. There were exceptions.

That time that he had bent down at graduation and looked her right in the eye. Congratulations.

That time he had said it again on that horseback ride for what was supposed to be her bridal shower.

It had lit her up from the inside out. Because Walker had always been able to do that. Not Alan. Not either of the guys she’d been with in college. She had thought that maybe reuniting with Alan would make the sex better because it would be something nostalgic. He had been her first, after all.

But it hadn’t been like that, not at all, and she had just told herself that at that point she had to accept that it was her.

She was the one that wasn’t all that great in bed. She was the one who just wasn’t all that... sexual.

But this made a mockery of that. Because she was ready to beg, yes she was, to come apart at the seams, to come, just from that kiss, and that made everything she had ever thought about her sex drive, her libido into something that was a clear and obvious lie.

A lie she had told herself because of what she didn’t want to be, out of fear, and she didn’t want to live with that fear anymore.

She wanted to know what it was like.

To want and to have this desperately.

To need Walker inside of her, and then to have him inside of her.

She had been playing a dangerous game with him from the beginning.

Maybe it would have been better if that night, after the wedding, she had just begged him to take her.

If she had lost her head then.

But no. It had taken all this time.

It had taken them constructing some kind of facade to make it acceptable, and that actually made her feel small and ashamed.

But there was no space for that, not here. Not now.

There was nothing but this.

So he carried her upstairs, and pushed open the door to his bedroom.

It was nice. Which was expected, actually, because Walker was the kind of guy who seemed to like expensive things. His truck was great, brand new. His house was meticulously designed.

His room was slate gray with some sort of narrow vertical wood paneling on the wall behind the bed. The bedspread was a Pendleton blanket in muted colors with charcoal-colored pillows. The floor was dark wood, with a sheepskin rug thrown over the top of it. There was a fireplace with glass panels on the front and back that allowed you to see the view outside.

It was immaculate. In all the ways that Walker was.