Page 37 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

He considers that. “That’s fair.”

Before I can gather my thoughts, Willy’s hand settles against my cheek.

The touch catches me completely off guard.

His palm is warm, rough in all the ways a rancher’s hands ought to be, and when his thumb brushes beneath my ear, a shiver runs through me.

The gesture feels unexpectedly tender coming from a man who usually hides behind jokes and crooked grins.

Then he kisses me.

The confidence of it steals whatever protest or witty comeback I might’ve managed. My eyes stay open longer than they should because my brain seems incapable of keeping up with what’s happening.

My pulse pounds against my ribs. Heat rushes through me so quickly it leaves me dizzy.

He makes a gritty, grateful sound and then his hand is right there under my skirt, callused fingers sliding along the inside of my thigh like he’s known the territory for years.

My panties are still damp from the heat of performance, and there’s no mistaking the desire painted onto his face as he traces the edge of the fabric. He hooks it aside with one resigned tug.

My breath hitches. I’m half-expecting him to say something, some disastrous quip about curiosity and cats, but he’s quiet now, totally focused, his mouth shifting to the curve of my jaw while two fingers nudge between my slick folds.

The intrusion is demanding, but delicate. I feel every whorl of his skin, every hesitation before he pushes further, careful like he’s reading me with his hands.

I clutch his shirt, twisting it tight in my fist. The wall behind the Silver Bit is rough. I brace a knee against the red brick for leverage as he works his way deeper, scissoring and curling until my legs nearly give out.

I can barely keep myself upright.

The wind hums low across the empty lot. I draw it in and shiver, equal parts relief and ruin.

“Fuck, Willy,” I mutter.

He slides another finger inside and uses his thumb on my clit, and the combination is so perfect I want to tell him he’s never allowed to leave town again. He grins into my shoulder, teeth nipping skin just above my collarbone.

“C’mon. Show me how much you liked singing your song.”

I’d punch him if I wasn’t so busy bucking against his hand. My knees are shaking as I climb, ever higher, unable to stop myself.

When the orgasm comes, it slams.

The force of it catches me completely off guard, crashing through me hard enough that I slap a hand over my mouth to keep from making more noise than I should. The world blurs around the edges as wave after wave rolls through me.

Willy keeps me pinned, uses every trick I never knew I craved. His palm twists, his fingers relentless.

If anyone stumbles onto the patio right now, they’ll find me with my head thrown back, coming apart on a wave so bright it hurts.

The lights overhead flicker and blur, softening everything but the hard heat between my legs and the taste of old sweat and salt on my tongue.

He finally pulls his hand free and rests his forehead against mine. For a minute, we just breathe together, my pulse banging against his chest like a second heartbeat.

I cannot believe how hard I’m shaking. I can’t believe he just did that, right out in the open, not even five yards from Riley’s kitchen window.

“I’m never topping that performance,” I say, still gasping. “My entire life has peaked. Cancel the rest of the shows.”

Willy laughs. The sound vibrates through both of us. “I’ll let management know.”

“There is no management.”

His grin returns in full force as he brushes a kiss against my mouth. A kiss that makes my whole body tremble all over again.