Page 37 of Cowboy Mountain Man

Still sensual.

Nothing rushed about his touch, the way he savors me. Every caress deliberate, even worshipful.

“Need more,” I gasp, arching up toward him.

His pupils are blown, his hair disheveled as he explores lower, hands caressing, mouth following down the tender spot beneath my ribs that tickles.

I gasp, trying to hold back a giggle.

“Interesting,” he grumbles deep in his chest, like he’s taking notes on my body.

Lower. Lower still. Lips feathering kisses over my stomach and my lower abdomen, tongue darting out to swipe across the flesh just above my jeans.

I gasp, his hand slides between my legs. Heat and pressure. I need more, my lower core coming alive.

Friction.

I slide against his hand, body taking over.

He thumbs open my jeans. The soft whoosh of my zipper raises prickles of anticipation on my skin.

“You still okay with this?” he asks with a lopsided grin, staring up between my legs.

“Yes.”

He buries his face in my crotch, breathing me in. “Fuck,” he says in mellow tones, like I’m his drug. “Love your smell.”

I gasp.

“You ever let a man do this?” he asks, arching a brow.

I shrug, fear and need clobbering me. “It was never like this.”

“Like what?” he asks.

“Like exploration. Like learning me.” I shake my head. “Nobody’s ever wanted to do that with me.”

His face darkens. He doesn’t take the words lightly. His hand comes up, stroking my jawline.

“I want to know everything about you. Every fucking inch. But only if you’re okay with it.”

“Yes,” I whimper, my heart thudding against my ribs.

“Hey,” he says, eyes fixed on me. “What’s going on in your head?”

“Just scared… excited.” I blink once, twice. “Don’t want to disappoint you.” That’s the real answer.

His eyes crackle with flames. He gets it, shifting until his forehead rests against mine. “Remember what I said before?”

I look up at him. “About just feeling?”

He nods gently. “Think you can do that for me?”

“I’ll try.”

“Good,” he says, then disappears between my legs.

He inches off my jeans, big hands sliding over my flesh, raising goosebumps on my thick thighs. I look down at the cellulite, the dimples. Should’ve worked out more. Should’ve gotten toned.