Page 25 of The Cowboy Who Stayed

Rhett hooks his fingers in the waistband of my pants and drags them down my thighs. I kick them the rest of the way off, and then we’re tasting each other again, moving onto his jeans.

His breaths deepen as we free him, and I take his dick in my grasp and start working him. His hips buck against my hand, and he groans my name.

“Shhhh,” I murmur, kissing his lips. “Don’t talk. Just fuck me.”

The abrupt command is immediately followed.

No less than sixty seconds later, I am pinned against the wall, legs locked around his waist as he pushes inside me and I cry out.

Damn, Rhett Dawson feels so good inside me!

I had convinced myself I could go without, but now that he’s filling me and making electricity run through my veins, I don’t know what I was thinking.

Was I delusional to believe I could stop after just one time?

Rhett’s in his own bliss, burying his face against my shoulder and groaning.

The muscles on his back are tight and corded as my hands sweep across the broad expanse of skin. Then my nails are digging into him as he draws his hips back and slams into me, deeper and fuller than before.

We don’t hold ourselves back.

We’re like two addicts who have finally gotten their hands on their fix after days without. As Rhett drives into me, I hang off his waist, pressed between him and the wall, tremors of pleasure working through me.

His pace quickens. His thrusts grow rougher, more frantic.

Our mouths crash together, our kisses hungry and breathless, threaded between the noises we make.

We don’t bother even pretending to be quiet. From the rhythm of our bodies smacking together and the occasional thump against the wall to the strangled gasps and pants for air, we fill the small cottage up with our lust-ridden sounds.

Our bodies move in tandem. I squeeze at his hips with my thighs, and my pussy clenches down on his dick. His hips jut forward and slam into me while he braces a hand against the wall and the other gropes at my breasts.

My orgasm arrives fast. Just like how quickly we’ve lost control and given in.

One second tiny, hot sparks pulse through my body, then the next they’re multiplying. They’re exploding all at once, hotter and brighter than any fireworks.

My cries are so sharp and loud they almost don’t sound like my own.

A full-body tremble rocks me, and I cling to Rhett’s shoulders. He’s the only thing keeping me from melting into the ground.

His mouth finds the hollow corner of my throat, and he sucks greedily at the skin. His strokes never miss a beat, his dick filling me up even as I climax.

He seems to give himself permission to come once I have. His entire body goes taut before shuddering against me in a release I feel pulsing deep inside. His arms shake from the effort it takes to keep us both upright.

I caress the length of his muscled back then run my hands across his hard shoulders and veiny arms. My way of letting him know I feel what he feels.

I get how intense this was.

A moment goes by where we let ourselves revel in it.

When he finally lifts his head, his hazel eyes are glazed and half-lidded. The expression on his face can best be described as euphoric, like he really has gotten his fix—and still wants more.

But most of all, I recognize the same fondness he had the first time we slept together. The morning after when he’d asked me to dinner.

“So,” he huffs between breaths. “Still a one-time thing?”

I let my head fall back against the wall and stare at the ceiling.

Reality slowly puts itself back together around me.