Claiming The Cowboy (Meier Ranch Brothers 3)

He knelt before her.

Her knees tightened together.

Chase shot a questioning glance upward and searched her vibrant, alive eyes.

“No one has ever…” Two fresh roses of color emerged at her cheeks.

Were the men who had bedded her insane? What lover, in his right mind, would deny himself a taste of her molten core? The vow he had begun with circled back through his mind. He recommitted himself to being the best steward of this refreshing, untapped purity that she had ever known.

Chase kissed the inside of one ankle first then the next before he hooked the heels of her red shoes to the counter’s edge. The small of her back arched to accommodate the change in position. Muscles in her legs tensed.

“Breathe, chief.”

Her chest rose and fell once, completely at his command. How hard that must be for her; how hard it was for him not to dive into her folds like a starving man into his first meal. He nudged her closer to the counter’s edge then ditched the heels completely in favor of making her more comfortable. They skated off his shoulders and dropped to the floor with a hollow clonk.

Instantly, she relaxed.

Propped as she was, hands braced behind her, she was willing but not entirely unabashed.

“Spread your knees, beautiful.”

She did. Not nearly enough for what he had in mind. He coaxed them open the rest of the way with kisses. As he nudged higher, closer to the meticulously-trimmed strip of hair at her mound, she opened herself more and more, by painstaking degrees, until he bit the crotch of her panties further aside and reached her glistening inner folds, sodden with hot, delectable cream.

As someone new to this level of exhibition, as someone who measured herself with a certain degree of perfectionism, as someone who could not relax unless she knew something was done well and right, Chase knew it important to extinguish all doubt, all worries. He had never tasted anything so unsullied, so addictively intoxicating, especially when blended with a trace of the whiskey that had made its way from her breasts.

“You taste heavenly,” he said. “Tart and sugary, all at once.”

The reassurance seemed to relax her even more.

He removed her underwear. “Might want to hold on, chief.”

“Why?”

He gave her clit one robust flick of his tongue. She bounded from the counter, a half-cry, half-groan fresh from her parted lips. Her hands scrambled for purchase before the next unexpected wave and found it in the solid, foundational beams on either side of the island. He barely allowed her a hold before he licked her base to front, pulling one syrupy scoop of her juices past his ready and willing taste buds.

She ground her hips, chasing his tongue, eager for everything he wanted to give her and more. He mined infinite pleasure from exploring every swollen summit, every soaked trench, greedy with lust to sample more, push further, drive her highs and lows, and play her nerve endings until she lost herself in this foreign sensation.

Unable to lick her to the depths her body begged to be explored, he brought his fingers into the mix, parting the tight, wet flesh of her channel, her walls telegraphing pulsing waves of ecstasy through his skin, his hand, straight to his heart.

Shards of pain shot though his left knee, the one a bull had used as stomping ground years earlier, and he was in serious danger of not respecting her wishes and releasing the hold his pants had on his steel shaft. But he forgot every distraction as her utterances came higher-pitched, faster-paced. She begged in both tone and words, and it was worth every tender torment to hear what near-euphoria sounded like on her.

Turns out, it sounded a helluva lot like his name.

And the word fuck.

Which pleased Chase to the fucking ends of the earth.

Gretchen cursed out a cry as her muscles clamped around his doubled fingers and transitioned to urgent waves. His tongue replaced his hand to drive her further beyond her edge. He pulled every single bit of her past his lips, the suction greedy and giving, all at once. She was in full throes of the ride he was giving her, and he had only begun.

Her body tottered, threatening weakness. He stood and scooped her against him because he had once promised her he wouldn’t let her fall, and it was a promise he intended to keep for as long as she’d allow. Exhales rode her orgasm and burned a trail of desire from his neck, where her lips rested, to the tip of his cock, which was unyielding in force. Still, Chase gave her all the time she needed.

“I had no…idea,” she managed between breaths.

“Surprise,” he whispered below her earlobe.

She pulled out of his embrace and straightened her spine, rod-straight, postured perfection, her breasts wide and proud and spread. Her gaze held his prisoner, recovered, again hungry, until she made one small request—"I want to see you”—before her eyes shifted focus down the planes of his chest to his bulge.

Carefully, so fucking carefully, as if he were a confidential dossier to be dissected and combed over, centimeter by aching centimeter, she unfastened the top button of his fly. His dick had a mind of its own. Unbound by the constraints of boxers or briefs or any such barrier, every available drop of blood surged to feed the tissue, and his pecker strong-armed the zipper all the way to its base.