Page 98 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

I pin her hips between my hands and drive her back until the weathered fence catches her, but she doesn’t give an inch. She fists my shirt instead, dragging me into her until our mouths meet again because neither of us has enough sense left to stop.

Her lips are split from the cold, her cheeks scraped raw by the branches she’d charged through, and all I can think about is kissing her. I want every stubborn, infuriating piece of her, every ounce of defiance that sent her charging after a stranger, every scrap of adrenaline that’s still making us shake.

“Fucking hell, Arizona,” I murmur against her mouth, but she steals the words away with another kiss before I can get them out.

She bites my bottom lip, grinning like she’s proud of herself, and that grin only makes me kiss her harder.

She smells like pine sap and mud, with the bite of fear still clinging to her hair, and blood beads along her arm where her sleeve tore open. Part of me wants to pull back and check every scrape she’s hiding, yet she has one hand working open the buttons on my shirt while the other hooks in my collar and yanks me down until my mouth finds hers again.

She tastes like salt, blood, and desperation, and I’d swear I could get drunk on it if my head wasn’t already spinning. Her tongue slides against my teeth with enough fire to make every muscle in my body tighten, and I fight the urge to press her harder against the fence, cage her there with my body, and kiss her until she forgets she ever scared the hell out of me.

Every instinct pulls me toward holding her there, but the one that wins is the need to know she’s here, alive, stubborn, and kissing me back.

When we finally break apart, we’re both dragging in breath, our foreheads pressed together while my hands stay locked on her hips because I don’t trust myself to let go.

“You’re out of your mind,” I mutter, still trying to calm the pounding in my chest.

She smiles without the slightest hint of regret, her fingers curling into my shirt again as she looks up at me. “You like it.”

The challenge in her eyes hits me square in the gut, and my cock twitches like I’m back in high school all over again.

She yanks my shirt open the rest of the way, sending buttons pinging across the frosty ground like bullets, and I drive her back another step until her ass presses into the weathered fence post.

I catch the taste of her laughter in the kiss, but she doesn’t give me a chance to answer because her nails rake down my back, snagging the fabric until it gives beneath her hands, and it takes every ounce of control I’ve got to keep from tearing the clothes off both of us.

I catch her wrists and pin them above her head, holding them against the rough wood while I crowd into her. She tests my grip right away, twisting and pulling as though she’s determined to break free, but I answer by pressing my body harder against hers until our hips grind together through two layers of denim.

Her chest rises and falls against mine, her eyes burn with challenge, and her lips are already bruised from the way we’ve been kissing. She drags her tongue across them, taking her time as she watches me.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to be gentle,” she murmurs, daring me to prove her wrong.

“I’m not.”

I keep both of her wrists trapped in one hand as I use my body to hold her against the fence and dip my head to her neck. Her skin is wind burned, warm beneath my mouth, carrying the taste of sweat after everything she’d put herself through today.

I bite just below her ear, and she gasps before arching into me, twisting hard enough that my grip slips a fraction. I tighten my hold before she can pull free, and the smile that spreads across her face tells me she was counting on exactly that.

“So that’s how you’re gonna play it,” she breathes, tipping her chin higher to give me even more of her neck. “Go on, then. Show me.”

I do.

I catch her bottom lip between my teeth and bite without an ounce of mercy, and she shivers against me like the cold never touched her until now. She comes back at me with everything she’s got.

Even with both wrists trapped in one of my hands, she turns every inch of herself into a weapon. Her knee wedges between my thighs before sliding up to grind against my cock, then she traps me there as she braces her boots on the bottom plank, bends her knees, and snaps her hips into mine with enough force to make me grit my teeth.

I let go of her only long enough to grab her by the ass and haul her onto the fence like I mean to split the damn thing in half. Her legs lock around my waist, the heels of her boots digging into my back as she wraps herself around me like a second skin, all lithe muscle and pure spite.

My fingers fumble at her belt buckle, clumsy from wanting her too much, but she beats me to it by popping the button with one hand while the other buries itself in my hair and yanks hard enough to jerk my head back, laying my throat open for her.

She bites down without holding back, and if any part of my brain still gave a damn, it’d be warning me about the marks she’s leaving along my jaw and neck.

Instead, I sink deeper into her, into the wild scrape of her nails across my shoulders, the sweat shining along her collarbone, and the single vicious line of crimson where her shirt tore against the pines.

I drag my thumb over the cut with enough pressure to make her shudder, and her chest rises hard against mine as she fights for another breath.

I twist her wrist behind her back and force her chest up against mine, holding her exactly where I want her, and she answers by arching harder into the pressure until her hips roll against every ridge and seam of me.

A rough laugh catches in her throat, breaking into little gasps that barely sound human anymore. When I slide my free hand beneath the ragged hem of her shirt and trace the line of her ribs, heat pours off her skin.