Page 8 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys
The truck rocks beneath us with every thrust. There’s no ignoring any part of it. He moves like the world is ending outside those windows and neither of us cares enough to check.
His hands grip me hard enough that I’ll probably find bruises tomorrow, and I desperately hope I do.
His mouth travels between my jaw and throat, kissing and biting as though he can pull every sound straight out of me. I wrap my arms around his neck and sink my teeth into his shoulder, smothering a cry that’s equal parts laughter and relief.
Because this is why I run.
Not to escape.
To find.
The next town. The next pulse of excitement. The next disastrous man who knows exactly how to crack me open and make me feel alive.
He shifts his hips, changing the angle until he’s driving up into me from below, and my vision flashes white. A curse flies out of my mouth before I can stop it.
He answers with a ragged groan that sounds dragged straight from his chest. Every thrust hits exactly where I need it, hard enough to leave me breathless.
Sweat slicks our skin, sticking us together as the truck creaks around us. I can’t get enough of him.
All I want is more. More pressure and heat, more of him moving inside me until neither of us can think straight.
He keeps going without hesitation, burying his face against my neck, my hair, my mouth whenever he can reach it. Each rough breath seems to settle under my skin and work its way through me.
I unravel embarrassingly fast. He notices. I’m almost certain of it because the instant my hips begin to falter, his hand slides between us.
He holds me in place while his thumb finds exactly what he’s looking for, and I jerk against him with a helpless sound.
“That’s it,” he says, his words rough from strain. “Let go. I got you.”
The reassurance should feel gentle, but it lands more like a command, and maybe that’s why it works. Or maybe it’s because I’m already hanging by a thread.
Either way, I give in. The release crashes through me so hard it steals every coherent thought from my head.
I cling to him with everything I’ve got, muscles locking tight as pleasure tears through me. His answering groan vibrates.
He drives into me harder, deeper, chasing his own release until his jaw tightens and his whole body shudders.
I feel him come, feel the loss of control in the way he grips me and refuses to let go.
Neither of us moves right away afterward.
It takes him a few beats to loosen his hold. A few more before either of us remembers how breathing is supposed to work.
My cheek rests against the rough scrape of his jaw while my thighs tremble and his arms stay wrapped around me. Beneath me, his chest rises and falls hard enough to rock us both.
I stay exactly where I am, too spent to consider moving and far too content to try.
This isn’t the first time I’ve slept with a stranger in a pickup truck, but it’s the first time I’m absolutely certain the memory will stick. I’ll remember every pulse still echoing through my body, every scrape of cracked vinyl against my skin, every bead of sweat drying between us.
The marks will stay with me for hours.
The ache between my legs will last even longer.
CHAPTER TWO
Red
I wake up irritated with myself.
