The Cowboy's Texas Rose (The Dixons of Legacy Ranch 1)

She slid her hands onto his waist, teasing the edge of his belt. She’d felt his hard chest and seen the trickle of hair leading downward from his navel. She’d felt the heaviness in his jeans when he’d taunted her while blindfolded—and more than once after. Her fingertips arrived back at the button enclosing the denim, tugging gently on his belt buckle. At some point during her visit, he’d stopped wearing the massive rodeo buckle in favor of an old, practical one with a worn out set of initials: HJD. The D was for Dixon, presumably, but what did the rest stand for? Were they his dad’s initials?

His breathing was fragmented, husky, and his lips dusted uncontrolled nips and pecks at her neck and jaw as he leaned over her. “What’re you gettin’ at, baby?” he muttered, his voice gravelly. His hands slipped brazenly down her back and into the pockets of her jeans to pull her body snuggly to his. He nudged his sex at her hands, heat intensifying as he stroked his tongue back into her mouth. “You gettin’ at this?”

“Just curious about guys with overly masculine trucks,” she whispered, feeling her lips turn up. Ah yes, she was inviting trouble of the best kind. “Feel like I need to see for myself to believe it—”

His grip upon her rear dropped so quickly she hardly registered it, as she felt him fumbling between them with his belt buckle, letting the metal droop open while he popped lose his jeans button.

“Look all you want,” he breathed. “Touch all you want. Damn, girl, all you gotta do is say the word.”

She took his zipper between her fingers, butterflies frolicking through her stomach as excitement urged her onward. Pulling it down, the pad of her thumb grazed the stiffness of his cock through his boxers. He hissed and sucked inward at the contact, and he scrambled to drag his jeans down over his rear to improve her access. Just how long had he been waiting for her to make the first move? It warmed her further, knowing he’d respected her enough not to pressure her. He’d sure given off a sorry image of himself that first morning almost three weeks ago, but if that playboy behavior had once been his norm, it was clear it wasn’t anymore.

Her fingers wrapped around his hardened shaft, caressing up to the tip that had moistened his boxers.

“God, baby,” he whispered, his eyes pinched closed.

He leaned into her neck to nuzzle his face along the crook of her shoulder and rest his forehead there. His palm slid up to cup the weight of her breast while his other slid within the back of her jeans, onto her lacy boy-shorts panties, and took a firm hold of her cheek.

She explored the length of him, slow caresses down to his base, long caresses upward to the helm of his cock, the heavy thickness of his shaft disproving every myth about guys overcompensating. His breathing, fragmented before, grew ragged. His face nuzzled into her neck before, now pressed there for support as she gave him delicate touches. Her hand slid down the front of his jeans and cupped beneath his balls, giving him soft, massaging squeezes, firing her hotter and hotter to know what he would feel like plunging into her, to know what he would taste like if she wrapped her lips around him.

He groaned helplessly at her exploration.

“Fu—God,” he managed to censor himself, his hand upon her rear now fighting to get beneath her panties and hold her skin while his other hand ripped up her shirt and shoved beneath it to slide over her bra. “Gotta…get this off.”

He fought with her bra strap and slid it over her shoulder as she returned her caress to his shaft, running her finger in circles at his helm as he soaked the front of his boxers with anticipation. The lacy cup of her bra slackened. He dragged it down over her breast so that her nipple grazed the inside of her shirt. She squirmed as fire lapped at her to give herself over to him, as he grabbed hold of her breast to touch her skin to skin. She wanted to let him drive her wild and prove just how much of her appetite he’d satisfy.

“How far we going with this?” he whispered, biting her lips, tweaking her nipple gently as he grew accustomed to what she felt like. “’Cause I’ve a mind to see the job done.”

She nipped him back, squeezed her fingers around his girth, feeling him jump at the sensation, then pump more forcefully into her hand as if on impulse. She slid her other palm under his shirt and caressed up his chest, giving his lips a sweet peck. “Think you can impress me?”

He paused, then chuckled darkly at the taunt. “Impress, surprise… You ain’t gonna know what got you.”

He tightened his arms around her and backed her up to the rock wall where the cooler had been dropped. Dragging them both down to their knees, he laved his tongue hotly into her mouth as one hand fumbled with the cooler to pull out a blanket that he’d crammed in the top. Her breath hitched. She wanted this. Anticipation skittered over her skin, lighting her body with nerves. He dragged her shirt up with one hand and whipped the blanket open with the other, flinging it out haphazardly onto the sandstone. Without warning, he gripped beneath her shoulders and pivoted them both, dropping her rear onto the blanket as the sun clung low to the horizon, warming them with the dregs of the day.

He straddled her lap on his knees, his cock at eye level, and popped loose each pearl snap until his shirt hung open to reveal his broad, bare chest, the old, healed welt of his bull-riding injury a reminder of the man he’d tried to once be but never really had been. She couldn’t resist the allure of his shaft, bobbing outward and stiff with need, and leaned forward to smell his musk and taste the saltiness dampening his boxers. She pressed her lips there and glanced up at him to see his whole body shudder at the unexpected seizure of control when, just now, he’d been the one preparing to lay her back so he could have his way. His eyes, pinched closed, now opened and stared down at her, half-lidded and hazy as if drugged on fine whiskey. The appreciation she saw lingering in his gaze was so intense, she had to indulge him further.

She licked the moistness, taking the taste of him onto her tongue and letting it heat her belly with desire to get his brand upon her. She admired the view up his chest. His hand slid suddenly into her hair, raking into her curls, cupping her crown to him as he nudged with need and desperation in his eyes between her parted lips. She felt a smile tug her mouth up.

“Don’t toy with me, baby,” he begged, his voice low and hard. “This what you want to do? I’d never make you do it if you don’t.”

She nodded, sliding the elastic of his boxers down and dragging it over his protruding shaft so that it bounced free, pointing demandingly at her for what she was offering. His hand gripped her hair. His other thumb ran over her lower lip reverently, pushing it out of shape as he examined it as if he’d never expected her to offer such a gift and was lost in thought about what was to come.

She pressed her lips to his helm, which wept with unquenched need, and stroked her tongue over the tip, taking him into her mouth and sucking until it popped loose.