Page 109 of A Forever Kind of Rancher

“I can do better than that.”

“Can you?” he asked, a note of desperation wrapped around his words.

She took a deep, shaking breath, her eyes never leaving his. She felt everything, every change wrought in her body from the moment she’d met him. And she didn’t want safe, or prim. She wasn’t the woman she’d been when she got in that cab, angry and unable to express it for fear of shocking or making waves.

She wouldn’t be silent now. She wouldn’t keep it inside.

“What if I fuck you?” she asked, the words hard, unfamiliar on her lips. But wonderful.

He growled low in his throat and gripped her hair, tugging her head back, pain shooting through her scalp, sending lightning bolts of sensation along her skin. His lips crashed down on hers. Taking. Taking everything she’d offered. Selfishly. Angrily. And she didn’t care. She took it all. All the rage. All the sadness. All that emptiness he had, she filled. She poured herself into him. Her feelings. Her love.

Because this was her first time. Feeling this. Wanting this. She wasn’t drained. She was full to bursting and she could do nothing but give to him.

His kiss was rough, his teeth biting into her lip, his hold tight on her hair, his arm wrapped around her waist, keeping her tugged up against him. She could taste his desperation, his grief. His pain. He shifted and lifted her feet off the ground.

He was so much stronger than she was. So much bigger. Physically, he had every advantage, but emotionally, she could tell he was on the verge of breaking.

That in that way, she was the one with the power to destroy, and the power to survive.

But just like she trusted his strength, trusted he wouldn’t use it against her, or hurt her in any way, she had to let him have the ability to trust her, too.

She’d pushed and she needed to let him take what he needed to survive the push.

She fumbled with the towel at his waist and it loosened and fell around their feet. He lifted her, set her on the bathroom counter, stepping between her thighs, pressing hard against her, sending pleasure crackling along her veins.

This was all he could handle. This was what he could take from her. So this was what she would give. Because she loved him. And that meant, for now, for this moment, they didn’t need to give and take equally.

It meant she didn’t need it all from him now.

She wanted it, desperately. But she had to give him time to get there.

He lowered his head, kissing her collarbone, moving lower and taking her nipple deep into his mouth. She held tightly to his shoulders, gasping as he teased the entrance of her body with the blunt head of his shaft.

“Condom,” she said, the word almost impossible to force out.

He swore and lifted her up from the counter, carrying her into the bedroom and depositing her on the bed. He wrenched open the nightstand drawer and produced the box of condoms, which he tore into with shaking fingers.

He was still shaking while he rolled the protection onto his length, something wounded, desperate in his eyes.

It made her heart twist. And it gave her hope. Because he was feeling. Whatever he said about not having the ability...he was feeling.

He joined her on the mattress and hooked her leg up over his hip, driving into her, a harsh sound on his lips as he buried himself to the hilt.

He moved inside of her, broken words pouring out of him. Dirty words. Incoherent words. Words that somehow touched her deep down in her soul.

She clung to his shoulders as he rode her hard, her body trembling, another orgasm rising from deep within, so strong, so overwhelming that she had to look away from him as it overtook her completely.

He followed right behind her, lowering his head and shuddering as his pleasure wracked his body. He lay on her, his skin slicked with sweat, his eyes closed tight, and she held him.

She wanted to tell him that she loved him again, but considering that was the source of his emotional breakdown she doubted it would be helpful.

A lesser woman might take offense to that, but she didn’t. If only because the fact that her loving him affected him so much meant that at least it mattered. Even if he didn’t want it.

She stroked his hair, moved her hands over his face, his stubble-roughened jaw. She didn’t want to live without this man, and that was one hell of a sobering realization.

He’d changed her. He’d changed what she wanted, what she expected.

Which was horrible because she’d been completely fine until she’d met him. She’d been happy with the trajectory of her life. Happy to live on a pass/fail grading scale, where emotion and desire didn’t matter.

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