Page 87 of Risking it for the Cowboy

You gotta be honest with her—

He kissed her temple.

Kissed her jaw as she turned her lips to his and kissed him back. He set down the phone. Cupped her cheeks, tilting her head to slot her lips to his better and felt himself thickening, unable to help it no matter how much he gritted his teeth to stave it off.

“Okay,” she murmured against his lips.

Victory. He pushed away his increasing guilt like the proverbial thorn digging deeper into his side, because he dared not break this spell.

Somehow, he was walking her backward toward the wall, his body heating with need he ought to suppress because he had stuff to tell her, but unable to, growing like pressure in a cooker for over two weeks, her touch growing frantic as he caressed up and down her jumpsuit, over her ass, holding her snug to his burgeoning lust and began to hoist her up by her thighs, her rear palmed in his hands. God, he felt himself crumbling like a tower to be falling into this woman again.

“Gotta—” He kissed wildly now, her mouth, her neck, as he wedged his hips between her thighs, feeling her trust, letting her legs slide back down as he ripped off his latex gloves and let them fall on top of the papers. “Get my girlfriend outta—” Steadied her body as he fumbled her to her feet. “This space-age lingerie—”

A laugh blessedly bubbled up her throat as he unzipped it and stretched it down her arms, pulling the sleeves inside out as he dropped down to his knees and yanked it down revealing her leggings and … that undershirt. His undershirt. She’d wanted him so badly she’d kept this. Thank fuck he hadn’t suffered these weeks of loneliness alone.

He ripped down his suit’s zipper and fought his arms out of the sleeves, stripping it to the waist as he hurried to strip down her leggings, next and…

Sweet, lace panties, powder pink against her tan skin, bikini line smooth. Still so manicured beneath her Birks and overalls. Still an inner beauty queen despite how much she tried to hide it.

He traced a thumb over the lace. Over her mound. She twitched and hitched her breath as fingers clenched down hard on his shoulders.

He dove forward, relishing her gasp as he shamelessly nipped her through the fabric right on that hot button that with just the right amount of pressure would release her passion for him all over again.

“Jeezus, I’ve missed your taste, baby,” he growled, her sweet, tangy arousal strong for him, kneeling before her quaking legs like a supplicant desperate for mercy. “On—my mind—constantly,” he gruffed between nips as he nuzzled right into the crux of her thighs and inhaled her fragrance. “In my dreams, here in this place … wakin’ me up.”

She whined with need and frustration he was stoking, sliding his tongue through the lace along her seam like a shameless devil.

“I’m—a desperate man, Flower Girl—Tell me I got a right to do this. Tell me to cut loose—” He kissed harder, biting down on her thighs, bracing her rear in his palms to keep her close to his lips where he could suckle through the fabric, wanting to splay her wide open right here and have every inch of his way.

“Tell me you want me—can’t do anything more—till you give me the right—”

She ripped off his sterile cap and raked frantic fingers into his hair to anchor him down as her whine droned in her throat. As she trembled, her legs shaking in his grip, he stared up her flat tummy with a mouthful of lace to see the outline of a matching bra beneath his undershirt, her brow furrowed tight, her eyes pinched closed, her mouth parted and those lips, those lips. Lips he knew would return this favor to him tenfold and look so hot yet sweet, with her mouth full as she stared up his treasure trail into his eyes, as he cinched her hair around his fist like reins and guided her to the rhythm that rocked his world.

“That’s right, beautiful,” he husked. “You’re about to detonate for me, aren’t you?”

Her whine turned into a desperate cry as he suckled that sweet spot, pinched it with his teeth, moaned at the delectable flavor and grinned into her as she began to ride up and down his lips.

“Want me to push you over the edge, baby?” he rumbled, taking in how sexy she looked in her work boots and exposed panties and miles of legs, her stance widened just for him with her jumpsuit and leggings tethering her knees.

And then, after a beat, she nodded frantically. “Yes.”

*

He shoved to his boots and hauled Charlie to him around the waist and dropped his lips to hers, her taste strong on him and … it was so carnal, she gripped him hard, legs trembling as Thaddeus McClintock dragged up her T-shirt and ripped it between their meshed lips, over her head.

“Use me to hold yourself up, I got you.”

Use me to hold yourself up … Such a simple phrase and yet, Charlie wondered, her nails digging into his shoulders for purchase, his jumpsuit only halfway peeled down, grappling with her again in the next second as if he was afraid she’d vanish.

He dropped her shirt on the rubberized floor on top of hairnets and gloves.

“Love my T-shirt on you, baby.” His mouth was back on hers as he raked his hand over her bra, over her breasts, frenzied with lust, a floodgate undammed. “Love it more on the floor.”

He dragged aside her panties, arm still cinched around her waist, and, and—oh, slipped a finger between her folds.

Her knees trembled. Sparks pricked within her for permission to ignite.

“Hold me up,” she begged against his lips, grappling to cling to his neck.