The Cowboy's Wife For One Night

She took a deep breath, licked her lips, and a moan rumbled out of his chest, his eyes locked on her mouth. “Tell me about the notebook,” he whispered, “or I’m going to screw you against this wall.”

Every bone in her body evaporated and she leaned back, her head too heavy to hold up. He stepped closer until her hips cushioned his and she gasped at the long, thick press of his erection. Her body burned against his and she arched her hips slightly, pushing into him.

His forehead dropped to hers and she could feel him sweating. Took great pleasure that she could make him sweat.

“You want me to do this to you, don’t you?” he whispered, his hips starting a delicious, torturous dance against hers. Forward and back, up and down. He pushed and retreated until she joined him, her hands going to his waist, her fingers twining through his belt loops to keep him close. She tilted her hips, and when he next pushed against her, she saw stars.

“Mia,” he breathed, licking her neck, her lips, and she opened her mouth, kissing him with a sudden, wild hunger. She bit his lower lip, he sucked her tongue into his mouth. It was agony; her blood burned, her skin was too tight and Jack wasn’t close enough. Not nearly close enough.

He lifted her from the wall, wrapping his arms around her lower back, keeping her feet off the ground. The contact was so delicious she moaned into his mouth. Her arms twined around his neck; her fingers sank into this thick hair.

He took three steps into her room and shut the door behind him, holding her weight with one hand and again, just like on that roof, she melted at his strength, at how small and womanly she felt against his masculinity.

She felt the floor under her feet, but he didn’t let go of her.

“Tell me about the notebook,” he whispered against her lips, trailing hot, wet kisses across her cheek to her ear. “Mia.” He bit the soft, tender lobe. “Tell me.”

“I kept a notebook of all the places you went, filled with articles and pictures I found,” she said. “So—” She gasped when he slipped his knee between her legs. The friction so good it nearly hurt.

“So?”

“So I knew what you were seeing. And eating. And smelling. So I could talk to you about it, be there in a way, even when I wasn’t.”

His kisses stopped, but his thigh was still pressed hard against the screaming junction of her legs. She rocked back and forth.

“What place did you like the best?” he asked, brushing the hair away from her face with both his hands.

“Jack,” she moaned, beyond pride. She was humping his leg for crying out loud. “Come on.”

“Tell me what place was the most exciting to you.” He held her head, forcing her to look at him. He was so serious. His eyes so hot. She forced her hips to stop moving.

“It doesn’t matter,” she breathed, feeling somehow threatened. Endangered.

“Stop hiding from me, Mia,” he demanded, his voice hard, and he slipped his hand between her legs. She gasped and shook at the contact, even through her jeans.

Her brain was short-circuiting. She didn’t understand what he was saying, why he wanted her to tell him, or why it seemed like such a bad idea to do it. None of it mattered when his hands pushed inside the waist of her jeans. His fingers slid across the trembling skin of her belly, the thin elastic at the top of her underwear.

“Tell me,” he said. “Where did you want to go?”

“Jack—”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come.”

Oh, oh, she was dying. She was falling apart. The wild animal of her hunger and her love was taking over.

“Scotland,” she said, pressing her head to his shoulder. “Edinburgh.”

“My first water summit?”

She nodded. “I liked the castle.”

He didn’t do anything; his hands were flat against her stomach, not moving. Not doing what he promised.

“Jack,” she breathed, unable to look at him when she was so in need. “Please—”

In a sudden move, he turned, laid her out on the bed. He rolled to her side, keeping one leg hooked over hers, so she was spread out, helpless to his touch.

She closed her eyes, praying for release.

“You have to watch,” he whispered, his voice gruff and deep, and her eyes popped open. She lifted her head and watched his hand slide into the open V of her pants.

“You’re so wet,” he sighed against her ear, using his teeth against her neck. “So hot.”

Was she supposed to say something? She hoped not, because she was speechless. He shifted down the bed, rearranged his hand, and his thumb found the ridge of her clitoris. Her body began to hum and shake. Her hands clutched his shoulders, searching for grounding in a world gone white hot. One finger and then another slid deep inside of her and fireworks exploded in her body. She bowed off the bed, her heels digging into the mattress.