The Cowboy's Texas Sky (The Dixons of Legacy Ranch 2)

“Is this why you keep pulling back from me?” he pushed, when she seemed to snap.

“I don’t want this hanging over me, holding me back anymore,” she said, though it was more to herself. Lips collided with lips. His palm splayed upon her lumbar and rear, pressing her into him. “I don’t want it to hold me captive anymore, not with you.”

Tongues rolled upon tongues. Sweet. Honey. He could get drunk on this, lap it up until he died. He needed to pull back, needed to pry right now more than ever, and yet he wanted to shield her from whatever storm cloud had been raining upon her, wanted to hold her and be with her and affirm this growing bond with her. His breath, loud in his ears as her fervent need to be connected pulled flush with his chest as her hands gripping either side of his face as her nails dug into his nape, and he lost it.

“My Sky…I don’t ever wanna stop kissing you,” he breathed.

She nodded. Greed unleashed, ardent mouths gnashed as he gave into her demanding grip, hungrily plundered her, opening for her to take what she wanted. Memory and primal knowledge rushed back in crashing waves. She whined a moan as his hands slipped down over her rear, anchoring her firmly against his shaft, bold in his need for tactile stimulation.

Jeezus, just her sounds alone, the mewing whines, the writhing of her body brushing against his nipples sending shockwaves through his nerves was going to make him come right here in his boxers. His fist wasn’t enough, couldn’t assuage any longer the growing frustration of this semi-relationship mired in the barbed wire of hardship wanting to break free, of his primal need to lay claim. Wire cutters now. Break this barbed wire. Mere touches from her risked wringing it out of him. He slipped a hand beneath her jeans’ waist, palming her rear, curling his fingers between her thighs as his other jammed up the back of her worn-out flannel and tank top, skin to skin.

As if the stop gates finally cracked, she released her biting grip upon him and dragged up his T-shirt.

Fuck, but her fingers skimming over his bare flesh was too much, like feedback through a speaker. Like always, kiss Skylar and somehow their clothes miraculously evaporated. He ripped his hands away and bunched the shirt at his nape, dragging it over his head, sending his shades flinging in the process to land somewhere. Where, he didn’t fucking care. He just needed her hands on him, gripping his waist and arms and back and—

God, they were feathering over the treasure trail of dark hair dusting over his navel. He hadn’t been touched there in so long. He shuddered, gripping her hard to tether himself in place so he didn’t float away, ripped off her flannel and discarded it with his shirt, dragged down the straps of her tank top to reveal an equally tight sports bra as she further whined against his lips.

“You got on layers of security,” he teased, his voice throaty and his teeth nipping the plump flesh of her lips that he’d done nothing but dream about for so damn long.

She laughed softly against him, that angelic sound he much preferred over the emotional tug of war that so often seemed to be playing out behind her eyes, fumbled with his belt buckle and ripped loose the leather, equally desperate to get him as bare ass as he was making her, of one mind, like they’d always been. Was this happening? Jeezus, shi—he couldn’t think straight as he dragged the sports bra up and over her arms, the elastic snapping against her, her hair flopping in tangled disarray around her, as he finally pulled back for a ragged breath, gripping her ribcage to behold those sweet breasts and the way her hair curved around them, like mermaid tresses with the waterfall behind him.

And then he was leaning in, cupping them, squeezing them, the feel of the milky soft flesh sizzling his blood as he captured the pink tip of one in his mouth and suckled like his life depended on it. She dropped her head back and clenched his hair, dragging on his roots, the pinch of pain mixing with heady pleasure at her sensitive reaction and long, sweet moan.

He groaned. Low, long, he couldn’t stop. Tugged her nipple as he fed hungrily. Her hand, unable to pick a place, roved down his abs like tires on a rumble strip, tugging on his jeans as if to drag them over his rear. He’d damn well oblige. Leaned forward into her. Lifted his rear. Let go of her barely long enough to help her frenzied hands yank them down below his rear so that his dick sprang blessedly free. He dragged her hand to him and cupped it around his shaft as his mouth finally popped free of his suckling, hissing an inhale, then love-biting his way to her other breast to knead the nipple in his lips, his teeth as her hand teased his damp anticipation, his grip upon hers stroking his soldier down south from helm to his base, together, riding this wave of pleasure with her.

“Trav…” she whimpered, her hand massaging the length of him, stilling as his fingers snapped open her jeans, remembering to work him again, lulling as he nipped her breast, then laved his tongue upon the pinch to sooth it as her knees quaked to hold her up and her head fell back, snapping the final threads of his resolve.

He shoved to standing, gripping her between her thighs and around her back to pick her up and pivot her around, bracing her as he spread her out on the rock beneath him and fought off her boots, dropping them somewhere, dragging down her jeans and fighting with the ranch-worn denim to work them over her knees. She wriggled out of her panties next. He ought to stop. He ought to savor the vision she created, tan limbs and lithe waist, sprawled in disarray out here in this hidden utopia like a model on a photo shoot, yet her fingers were brushing over his shrapnel wounds as he braced himself above her, one by one, taking in each welt of scar tissue. He didn’t want to lose this moment of sunshine to that darkness. He’d missed this sizzling heat with her and selfishly didn’t want it extinguished.

With the pad of his finger, he guided her face back to his, shaking his head, whispering, “Don’t. These wounds claimed too much of my life.” His thumb brushed her lips, and she caught it with a kiss, gazing up at him so trustingly, so lovingly, he leaned over her, sinking into a kiss. “We’re here right now. I want you… God, I want you…”

She nodded and snagged his hips, drawing him tighter to her so he nestled dangerously between her thighs, his shaft sliding through her wetness. Her whine was a strangled sound of need. So hard. So painful, so burdened for release—He gritted his teeth. Condom in your wallet. Get it. Somehow he managed a coherent thought. They’d played with fire when they were young, but somewhere in his head as his reptilian brain threatened to take control and turn his rational brain to mush, he knew better. He wanted to thrust within her and make her cry out and find that union and chase that crashing euphoria he knew in the fiber of his bones would be as hot and delicious and beautiful as it had always been as he glided back and forth between her lips and soft, downy hair nestled between her thighs, but he refrained.

She threw her head into her shoulder as he teased between her legs, priming them both for release, coating his dick with the very essence he wanted to taste and touch and have all at once as she bit her lip and mewed and rode hard as he slipped his finger within. So. Tight. His fought his wallet out of his jeans’ pockets fallen around his knees, thumbed through receipts and bills to where he’d made sure to stash a few condoms again, plucking the foil wrapper and tearing it open with his teeth as he dropped his wallet onto their amassed pile of clothes.

“You with me, baby?” he whispered, the sound harsh and guttural, a palm cupping her cheek. “I don’t want to hold back, but I gotta know you’re feeling the same th—”

“I’m all in,” she breathed. “I don’t want to pull back.” She slipped the square from his fingers, withdrawing the condom. Eyes never leaving his as she rolled it slowly, painfully, deliciously down his cock. His eyes fell shut beneath the touch, that groan worked its way out of his throat, and the sensation of her massaging him caused his balls to tighten and tingling to erupt down his spine. Shit, she was going to finish him before he’d even gotten started.

He leaned on his forearm alongside her ears, their bare chests slipping against each other, and her beautiful nipples prodding his chest, pebbled with want, pinning her beneath him. His fingers wrapped within her tresses, gripped like reins, sinking into a tongue-mingling kiss as her body undulated, her lips spread and gliding upon the length of his shaft, soft hitches to her breath, fingernails clenching his shoulders. His lips meshed with hers. He couldn’t think of a more perfect place to do this.

His finger slipped back within her folds, stretching, wringing, priming. Her head tossed to the side, tearing apart their kiss, only to reconnect desperately as she moaned the most sensual, drawn-out moan. He made a champion’s effort at swallowing it, thrust his tongue against hers as his shaft slicked in unison between her thighs, the newness and familiarity of her swirling together in a heady cocktail he’d fantasized about so much he could hardly believe it was happening now. Hot pleasure slickened his fingers—his doing. He sucked the flavor off his skin as if savoring fine wine, pushed back within for seconds of the honey teasing his tastebuds.

So tight. God take him. His eyes fell closed as the taste played across his mouth, as he felt her heat and barely registered her moans, honed in on every shift of her body as she undulated down upon the intrusion, grinding with need, begging with her body language to release this pent-up craving, as she cupped his stones and massaged his length. He wasn’t going to last, couldn’t take it anymore, determined to wring an orgasm from her before he shattered completely, he pistoned his fingers, faster, faster.

Her head tossed. Her moans evolved to incoherent mumbling. She’d feel so good stretched around him, and he closed his eyes to imagine the sensation. Her body writhed, her nails gouged his ass as she gripped him hard and teased his cock. He watched, rocking through her fist, the sun on his back, every detail of her slender neck, her pulse at her throat, her lips slackened open, her eyes pinch closed as she rode his finger and milked his seed within him, his spine tingling with growing pressure.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged, working her faster, harder, anchoring her with his hips and by her hair, dusting frantic kisses to her jaw and collarbone, her lips, her ears. “Gimme that sweetness. I got you now. Not ever lettin’ go…”

“Trav, oh God…” She cried out, buckling her ankles around his thighs to draw him closer, as if such was possible, clawing up his back as if to keep herself grounded, and the heat flowed. Her pulse gripped his fingers. Her body pressed down on him, her back arched, and it was so damn pretty, he wanted to bottle this first because it was just like a first, as she somehow remembered to keep drawing her fist up and down upon him, too.

He couldn’t hold out any longer. She was placing kisses to his chest now, to the flecks of scar tissue from that explosion long ago, healing kisses. She gripped his rear. He positioned his helm, aligning himself with her on touch alone. Didn’t want to hurt her, knowing he wouldn’t be able to contain his thrusts once he tapped into this ultimate pleasure. He basked in the shower of attention, a salve on the painful memories. She still had that magic touch. Just that coy hesitation in the way she’d always stroked him, when he knew she wasn’t the least bit hesitant, slayed him in ways he couldn’t describe with mere words.

“You ready?” he breathed, sweat beading on his brow, holding on by a mere thread.

She nodded, her thumb brushing his cheek wound now, whispering, “Make love to me. Travis, I need it—”

On a desperate thrust, he pumped within her. She cried out. His head slumped as a harsh cry rang from his throat, and he fought to keep his strength as need shivered through his body. He held her arms, waist, hips, groping to brace, to push and pull, relishing Skylar’s scoring nails and palms cupping his rear to pull him against her, within her.